The blanket of stars over me does little to prevent the chills that the wind washes over me. Then again, this blanket isn’t meant for warmth. It’s a reminder that there are tiny specs of light no matter how far the dark reaches.
Even colder than the wind on my face is the steel in my hand. It’s a smooth surface and my fingers can’t help but trace it back and forth. The only finger not tracing is stuck in place over the trigger. Firm, but not forceful.
My hair waves in whatever direction the wind tells it too. All the grass, save for the ones beneath, my feet does the same.
It’s always beautiful here. Tonight, however, it’s just breathtaking. One of the perks of living away from the city is places like this. There’s a lot of green. You also don’t need elevated places to see the sky. It drapes right over you.
I smile. This is a beautiful last view. It’s something worth remembering – if there’s any remembrance in the life after. If there’s a life after at all.
”Don’t!” A voice comes.
I’d recognise that voice even if my ears were being flooded. It’s the voice I replay when I’m lying in bed. When I’m bare and my legs are separated, that voice is the catalyst for the magic my hands perform on my body. Even I’m simply falling asleep, I replay the voice to soothe myself.
I’m ready to convince myself that I’m simply hearing the voice because I’m trying to calm myself in my final moments. That conviction, however, is rendered mistaken by the sound of someone walking through the grass. I look back and find that it really is him.
”I read your letter.” He says slowly.
”You weren’t supposed to see it so early. Why were you at my house?” I can’t keep the agitation out of my voice.
”I was coming to tell you, princess, that I’m sorry I didn’t figure out how I feel sooner.” He says.
”It’s too late.” I say.
I want to raise my hand, but I can’t. My index finger is no longer firm on the trigger.
”Because you’ve chosen to ignore oblivion?”
”I listened to it’s call.” I’m trying to convince myself more than him.
”No. No. No.” He shakes his head. ”It doesn’t work like that.”
”How does it then?” My voice cracks.
The tears are now rolling down my cheek. His face is blurring. Save for when he speaks, it’s quiet. I can’t even hear the wind anymore, but it still makes my hair and the grass dance.
”You used a Hazel-Grace line. Here’s an Augustus one.” He smiles at me.
“I’m in love with you, and I know that love is just a shout into the void, and that oblivion is inevitable, and that we’re all doomed and that there will come a day when all our labour has been returned to dust, and I know the sun will swallow the only earth we’ll ever have, and I am in love with you.”
I let go of the breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. Oblivion does call, no doubt. One day, we all will answer. Today, however, isn’t that day for me.