As she helped Sara lie down on the bed, her face bewitching her emotions, all she did was wait, for THE moment.
I've always been good to you, to everyone around me. Alas! Life hasn't been so fair to us, she mumbled.
Life
Isn’t death everything
Isn’t death everything
Isn’t death everything
..crooned Elton John in the distance. The gay bastard was so right. For her, Sara's death meant everything.
However ironic the song might be, Sara would never approve of shutting off the radio. She was sure, Sara would want the radio to go with her in the coffin [since she could smell Sara's death. Soon]. But the undying love and loyalty had always remained. Funny how people set up relationships with inanimate things. The materialistic ones, but more often then not, fail to have genuine love from the animated ones, like her. Sara seemed to have only invited her hatred.
From the very start, the better one, the closet devil. The more-loved. The equally more-hated.
Die when I may, I want it said of me, by those who knew me best, that I always plucked a thistle and planted a flower, where I thought the flower would grow.
-Abraham Lincoln
Stupid Lincoln. It was not a flower that the dying hath planted, it was a thorn, of pure, rotting hatred.
Some water please!
She wouldn't mind taking the life off her, though she obliged.
After I die, do take care of my precious garden, I wouldn't want the roses to wither and die. My grave should be next to mother's with the same ivory craving. Not like I'd see it, she coughed some phlegm, but it would give my soul some sweetness to cherish, I'm sure. Do be a good person to all.
She rambled on. Testing her patience, like every single time. Almost tempting her to retaliate with a few harsh words, or actions, not that she has ever done any, but how long could Sara instigate her like this. The elder, the better, the sweeter, the prettier. The one with the better husband, though dead. The one with beautiful children, though none here, not so soon, the one with a huge house, that she was allowed to live in. She, the barren, abused wife of a fucking bastard. Ah! The cruelty of life.
She sighed, this time aloud. Took the pillow, and sucked out the remaining life off Sara. The devil had acted, after all.
I've always been good to you, to everyone around me. Alas! Life hasn't been so fair to us, she mumbled.
Life
Isn’t death everything
Isn’t death everything
Isn’t death everything
..crooned Elton John in the distance. The gay bastard was so right. For her, Sara's death meant everything.
However ironic the song might be, Sara would never approve of shutting off the radio. She was sure, Sara would want the radio to go with her in the coffin [since she could smell Sara's death. Soon]. But the undying love and loyalty had always remained. Funny how people set up relationships with inanimate things. The materialistic ones, but more often then not, fail to have genuine love from the animated ones, like her. Sara seemed to have only invited her hatred.
From the very start, the better one, the closet devil. The more-loved. The equally more-hated.
Die when I may, I want it said of me, by those who knew me best, that I always plucked a thistle and planted a flower, where I thought the flower would grow.
-Abraham Lincoln
Stupid Lincoln. It was not a flower that the dying hath planted, it was a thorn, of pure, rotting hatred.
Some water please!
She wouldn't mind taking the life off her, though she obliged.
After I die, do take care of my precious garden, I wouldn't want the roses to wither and die. My grave should be next to mother's with the same ivory craving. Not like I'd see it, she coughed some phlegm, but it would give my soul some sweetness to cherish, I'm sure. Do be a good person to all.
She rambled on. Testing her patience, like every single time. Almost tempting her to retaliate with a few harsh words, or actions, not that she has ever done any, but how long could Sara instigate her like this. The elder, the better, the sweeter, the prettier. The one with the better husband, though dead. The one with beautiful children, though none here, not so soon, the one with a huge house, that she was allowed to live in. She, the barren, abused wife of a fucking bastard. Ah! The cruelty of life.
She sighed, this time aloud. Took the pillow, and sucked out the remaining life off Sara. The devil had acted, after all.
4 comments:
Hey, Hi...
nice..it reminded me of a tshirt quote that i read...
"Good gals go to heaven, bad gals go everywhere..."
Being bad aint that bad either....
;)
nicely crafted...liked the writing style...
Regards,
The Silhouette...
Innovative and different!
Liked it, speechless! :)
ur writing style is quit different from others. and the thoughts which convey are very deep.. liked it so much.
I love my computer, just like she loved the radio. Not that i am dying, but then, someone else's ending moments can also turn the wheels in our mind too... But I won't mind if it shut down for a while.
Nice post,
Blasphemous Aesthete
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