My Immortal

It is the anniversary of the death of Shane's girlfriend; he and Lacey go to visit her at her grave.
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1. Chapter 1

                How do you do it? How do you save someone who is drowning in their own irrational thoughts? How can you banish their demons if you do not know how to start? How can you possibly feel what they feel, the pain, the ache, and the emptiness that yearns to submerge them in their own blood? How can you even begin to understand them, tell someone that everything will be okay, when your words are meaningless? 

            It took me a while before I realised that there were no answers. There were no answers to these questions that every suffering soul desperately desired. You cannot fix the broken.

            A year ago today, my girlfriend had taken her own life, with a blade in her hand. Her mother had found her later that evening, lying limp and lifeless in the crimson coloured bath water, her arm slack against the hand rail, with a word carved into her flesh.


            All that time, I had never known how she felt. How worthless, pathetic, meaningless she felt inside. She had never once confided in me. Had she been bullied? Did she feel so insecure about her appearance that she only saw perfection in her own corpse? Or perhaps she had considered her life to be a dead end - purposeless. And I had not been there for her. I had not fought away her fears. I had not kissed away her tears. But she left me on the outside, built up walls and kept me away from her shattered soul.

            “Shane!” Lacey called from outside my window. “Shane, wake up,  it’s the anniversary of your girlfriend’s death!”

             I mumbled, clamping the pillow over my head to muffle out her yells. As far as I was concerned, today wasn't supposed to be something to celebrate. I didn't want to celebrate her death.

            But I owed it to her, didn't I? Wouldn't she like it if I paid her a visit? It would show I still cared, wouldn't it? If she was watching down over me, she’d know I'm still hers. And even though she was not here physically, she lived on in my heart. My love for her kept her alive. She was immortal.

            I untangled myself from the sheets and stumbled across the laminate flooring of my bedroom to the dresser, where I rooted around for a t-shirt and a pair of old jeans, leaving my hair in a mane of knots. Since her death, I hadn't cared much for myself. My grades had plummeted. My social life had ceased.

            “Finally, he rises...” Lacey dead-panned as I stepped out of the front door, squinting at the bright sunlight. “Nice to see you made an effort. Do you like the balloons? Her favourite colour was pink, right? Please tell me it was pink.”

            “Sure was...” I mumbled, walking along the path with her, watching the balloons bob and sway in the cool, morning breeze. Memories replayed in my mind, I saw her long, cascading blonde hair, sharp jaw line, captivating blue eyes. Tears stung my eyes. God, I missed her.

            When we reached the graveyard, we headed for her headstone, which had been situated underneath a Cherry blossom tree. The anniversary of her death would come every spring, just after the tree blossoms. It reminded me of her beauty, giving me a warm sensation, as if, crazily enough, that she lived within the tree. As if her soul lived within all living things and made them as beautiful as she had been.

            “Shane, I miss her so much,” Lacey wept, trying to lift the drooping flowers, as if her touch would magically revive them. As if she could stop them from dying. We cannot fix the broken.

            She handed me the balloons so that she could wipe away her tears. I collapsed onto the curb of the road that dissected the graveyard. Lacey continued to weep a few metres away from me.

            And then I imagined her, like I quite often did, sat next to me on the curb, looking into my eyes with that same enchanting, mesmerising look she had given me so many times before. Her fringe framed her eyes; God, she was so beautiful.

            “Can you see her?” Lacey asked, sitting next to me. My girlfriend disappeared as she did so. “Are you still imagining her?”

            “ I'm not imagining her, Lacey. She was really here. She was real. I could see her. I swear I could have touched her. But you came over. You made her disappear and now she is gone,” I raged, tears falling from my eyes. Her death had chased away all my sanity.

            “ I'm sorry, Shane,” Lacey cried. “Maybe her spirit lingers here.”

            “She’s always here, Lacey.” I tried to explain, desperate for her to understand. “Always in my head. Always in my room. When I look into my bathroom mirror, sometimes I swear, God, Lacey, I swear I can see her reflection. And then I turn around and she isn't there. She will never be there.”

            Perhaps I felt a different kind of emptiness, but now I understood how she had felt. She had felt hollow and dead. She took her life because of it. And now I was feeling the same thing.

“I know, Shane, I know,” Lacey sobbed, squeezing my upper arm. “Sometimes I hear her voice. She used to sing all the time. Even at the oddest times, like when I'm painting my toes or whatever, I can hear her sing. Shane, we need to let the balloons go. She would want us to move on with our lives. No matter how lost and alone we feel inside.”

            I gripped the balloons tightly, afraid to let them go, as if it meant I would lose her. Lacey squeezed my arm gently to comfort me and I slowly began to uncurl my fingers.

            We sat back and watched the pink balloons drift away, carried by the breeze.                   




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