Azure Eyes

It was her eyes–with her eyes that filled me with such passion, such desire, such love–it was her eyes that made it impossible to love another after her departure. For with such brilliance and beauty in those eyes, I’d find my heart captured every time as my brain and body would fade away in thought and spirit within her oceans, engulfed in a world of her hues. Because she’s all that I’ve ever craved, all that I’ll ever yearn for. And it is because of her–because of her eyes, a fire burns within the pits of my every word and within the ever-ensuing decay of my mortal remains that may never, never, and I truly mean never be extinguished, nor ever forgotten! For it is her eyes that I will forever and eternally feel the warming spirits of branded upon my soul.

Oh, and hello, I’m sorry for that. Currently, you’ve found me abysmally and vacuously lost in thought, but if you give me a minute–JUST A MINUTE, I can and will tell you the very preciseness of why I might seem a tad perturbed or unsettled. It’s very, very simple you see: for when I love, I love unreservedly with all of my heart. Yet, when I have no love to give, my whole world falls apart. And an author I am, a poet, and a literary savant, I turn the rawest, most tender of emotions into compositions of art. But lately, at least since my maiden fancied to vacate, I haven’t been able to find the inspiration to write.

But tonight–tonight is different. Yes! So very, very different, because invariably as one could fathom, despite my lady I love no longer being in sight, still I hear the euphonious tones of her voice every night before my slumbering takes fold. As if tucking me in before I go to sleep, I feel the dampening warmth of her kiss upon my forehead every night, telling me she loves me the same, with her words that never, ever change.

But TONIGHT–tonight is different, oh, so, so different. Though, true!–as an author, with this story that I begin to pen, surely I feel incumbent, in which I must warrant that any and all material written is, in fact, held with the legitimacy of actual events that have already and have yet to transpire. For this story is, was, and will be singularly derived from one night: tonight–a night that surely I’ll never forget.

And now, to most, it might seem with quite a difficulty and nearly even impossible, at that, to pinpoint with true precision the lapsing time of their lover’s farewell to the moment they currently reside in. But I–I, on the other hand, I can render to the very hour, minute, and even second of my maiden’s departure. As upon a frigid morning, full of sleet and ice, still, I remember waking up in our bed–without her there, all alone. No letter, no explanation, and not a note, I sat in my bed day after day, night after night, with the monotony that began to aggravate. With the stress! The agony! The disbelief! My whole world shattered because left with no inspiration to write nor a woman to love, no reason further did I have to live. And surely vulnerable in this duration, my innocence would be swarmed by an army of capricious peculiarities. I began talking to walls and random inanimate objects. I began playing with fire–FIRE FOR PLEASURE. I quit eating, I quit bathing, and for the first week of solitude away from her my soul nor mind could rest in the pernicious vacancy left behind beneath the covers of our bed.

Yet, then it came upon day eight within the nightfall, there, lying upon my bed precisely as I had done in the previous seven nights. I remember the gelid silence–the keen pain within the lining of my diminishing stomach. I remember the despair, the helplessness that fogged up the atmosphere, and I remember closing my eyes, where I began to count slowly within my mind, SLOWLY.
One.. two… three–as I’d hear “I love you, sweet dreams”

With a kiss gently falling upon my forehead, instantly I faded into the abyss of her tranquility, within the warmth of her calm, in another world, another realm, in a place that I was with her: in a dream by her side again.

And it was and has been for six long strenuous months every night her voice and kiss would tuck me in upon the arrival of midnight telling me every time “I love you, sweet dreams.” Yes, with those five singularly exclusive words, every time, and nothing–nothing evermore! But tonight!–tonight she didn’t tell me she loved me. No!–nor did she tell me sweet dreams. For to the contrary, as in fact, she whispered, begged entreatingly. Yes! Mercifully she begged for my return. She told me she yearns for my touch, desires my love, and craves the mere presence of my soul. She needs me!

So admirably, I obliged, which is and was why, and the only reason why I, myself, walked seven miles bound numerous streets. Within the strides of my pace, my heart raced: full of love, full of passion, and full of her. My mind was immersed in memories that we had shared. And my nerves unsteady, though bold and intrepid, led me to the steps upon her mother’s door.

It was her mother’s house: a three-bedroom, small, red-brick, one-story ranch house. A short metal fence enclosed and surrounded the southern back half of the property. In the pitch of the backyard resided two trees, a shed, a fire pit, and a chicken coupe. The front yard, howbeit, was very basic and vacant. The mailbox was attached to the house. There were no bushes nor yard ornaments of any sort invading the property. The western apparatus of the house did, however, contain a small one-car garage lending itself to a curvy paved driveway. And parked, there, in the driveway was my lover’s car.

At the doorway, my mind and heart began to wander in every direction. Yet, my body, motionless, did not move. Instead, I stared vacantly at the door as if in a daydream. I entertained within my mind the fairy-tales that’d wait. I envisioned the writing, the romance, and the erotic natures that this temptress–this goddess would inspire. Yet, a daydream occurring at night beneath clouds of ominous uncertainty is still a nightmare! And to envision within the dark is blindness to the unexpected! For this!–this was, is, and could never be the fairy tale I had envisioned, nor expected. Because I was there, right at that door, building the courage–yes, just a mere moment or two away from knocking and then, and then I heard–I heard a voice, then two voices!

SPOOKED!–And yes, unnerved I ran, lurked, and entered into the pitch shades of shadows that cast from the house. In the dark, I listened acutely. Closely I monitored the ever-approaching voices as they came. And–and I knew one of those voices–I knew one of them all too well. Because it was with the absolute, purest, and most distinct conviction ever imaginable. For it was her: my lover, my best friend, my everything. It was her!–: the woman who abandoned me, left me scarred, deranged, the woman who carelessly left and left without a word. Yes, it was her, THAT WOMAN!

Now, if you feel the detestation, the hate, the rage steadily and gradually boiling at the tip of my pen, you should. And, if you think or thought this was going to be a mystical little fairy tale then I want you to continue reading because I have a string of revelations in the lines below. But as I narrate, I want you to closely observe how coherently and vividly I describe the next few sets of misfortunate events. For they are all so very, very true.

And thus, back to where I was, in the pitch, hearing one voice that was hers–yet, the other voice was that from a male. You know, just a male late-night companion out on a stroll:–NOTHING TO WORRY ABOUT. Though, I continued to listen! I heard their laughter, his banter, the happiness! Upon the doorway, they continued to talk as I heard with perfect clarity the exchanging words “I love you” and “I love you too.” In the following moment, both would walk inside (with the door I’d hear close.) My skin itched, my blood boiled–though I refrained and hid within the darkness. Upon paranoia, I hopped the fence and proceeded to then hide in the backyard. For a minute–for an hour, I hid and hid well. I began to monitor the passing traffic (with few people that would be out this late.) I studied the surrounding houses as all of them were dark inside–dark with no lights and with no one to witness the endless, evil, demoniacal deeds that ran through my head.

Another hour passed, and yet!–I did not move. Stealthily, craftily I did not move a muscle. I breathed scantily waiting for my time–waiting for the world to fall asleep as my heart inside seethed. Enraged in such a loathing manner, my mind could only come to one resolution–and one resolution only: MURDER!

As consequence, there, bar none. And feral, yes!–instinctively I grew, I lurked enveloped by the pitch to the unlocked shed. Firmly, I governed a can of gasoline… full of gasoline. My mind contemplated but little for decisive that I knew, there, I marched toward the front door with a smile of glee and began to pour gasoline upon the lower extremities of the wooden door. My smile increased with the more that I poured. My sacredness, however, dwindled with every drop. My sanity conquered none as a god I became I walked around the entirety of that house pouring and pouring until every morsel of gasoline had been drained from within that can.

Empowered! Yes, unstoppable! Excited for the destruction capable at the will of my desire, I, in the backyard, lit a match–one match and one match only. I analyzed and revered the radiance: the glow of the flame. I acknowledged its serviceability. Yet, I admired it for its catastrophic properties and the carnage it can induce. I dropped the match. In one instant, as the match was still descending, it was dark–complete and absolute darkness. In the next, an inferno lit up the sky and encircled the house with flames that soared high as seven or eight feet.

Immediately, in the subsequent moments, the temperature drastically rose. The roof became inhabited by fire, where consumed in whole began to buckle. Slowly, the house went up in flames. I stayed for many, many minutes, and I watched. I heard the screams of horror that I had aroused from everyone within the house, but one voice–one scream pronounced and differentiated itself from the others. It was her voice–and her screams–: dehumanizing, marrow-chilling, soul-crushing, blood-curdling. It was her voice.

With the house in ablaze, through the billowing smoke, I saw her make it to the window, surely, vying for an escape. The metal, however, unfavorably to her had been seared and welded together. Her screams intensified and became louder, and louder, and louder! And then–then she looked up from the seared window frame, through the pane, into my direction, and–and she saw me. Instantly, there, her eyes lit up in azure luminescence hotter and brighter than any of the surrounding degrees of blue within the flames. Though, her screams, once I had been noticed, ceased instantly. For one moment there was silence, and in the next, the roof caved in and her demise was met. The house rested in ruins, the destruction was absolute, and my happiness–my happiness was extraordinary.

After the massacre that I had inflicted, I sauntered home–skipped casually: full of optimism, full of felicity, and unlike her, full of life. There was no guilt for my evil deed. Remorse was non-existent. Upon the arrival of my house, the ambiance of the entryway caressed me with a cooling sense of relief. My inspiration–my inspiration to compose began to swell. My brain perceived logically and with perfect clarity as every bone within me had the urge to write. Which is where I am now–writing–writing–writing.

Oh, but yes!–yes I say!–what a night–what a night–and what a story! Full of excitement! Full of fear! Full of triumph!–as this story will surely be one of the greatest marks thus far upon my young literary career!

Though, here, writing, in a world of serenity, abruptly, I’m interrupted by a sound–as I hear–I hear an unusual, unquestionably peculiar sound arise from within the ceilings. With first a slow hissing sound coming apparent, followed then by a dulling quietness that disseminates throughout the room leaving behind a lingering degree of warmth.

It is the air conditioning–it has broke!–this I am nearly certain of, for the degrees, steadily–but ever so gradually have already begun to rise. I feel it slowly but surely the summer’s warmth invades my home, where now, in the direction of my window, I see to the sight of the morning sun peak in with a ray. And yes, bewildered!–yet, still utterly aware, I glance toward the wall to see that it is now 7:00 o’clock in the morning. And in that instant, whether it’s my conscious speaking, my instincts reacting, or the reality of these affairs coming to light–for it’s in whatever manner you wish to detail it, I have become tired–significantly and insurmountably–inconceivably tired.

My face, albeit, currently, is flushed, and my armpits trickle with sweat. Here, I proceed to undress to the bare minimums before I climb into bed, Without air-conditioning, my bedroom is extremely warm, but also very, very silent, nearly even beyond silent. Where so mum, I can hear the rumbling tones of my heart–as it beats cold–it beats fast, and it beats arduously from the sweltering torridity within the air.

It shouldn’t be this hot!

Though wearily tired and exhausted that I am, I disregard the climatic change and proceed to close my eyes. In a minute, possibly even in a few, my mind circles itself into a trance, where unconsciously, I begin to drift away. But then-now! I’m awake!–wide, wide awake! For, here, within the eerie persecution of silence I hear–Oh my god–No!–No!–No!–it can’t be. Quietly, yet with a crescendoing effect, it is a voice–a scream!–a dehumanizing, marrow-chilling, soul-crushing, blood-curdling scream:–it is her–.

Suddenly, before my mind can even begin to grasp the sequence of events, a dampening warmth lays delicately upon my forehead. Pressing gently–warmly, relieving my anxiety gradually, until the warmth of her kiss climbs to such degrees of an ironing brand, singeing through the flesh of my forehead and into the innermost core of my brain. I scream! As her screams become louder and louder, the kiss upon my forehead begins to slowly boil the eyes within my sockets. Disoriented–delirious I am becoming coated in sweat, I climb out of bed and fall headlong. Though I stand up quickly and try to calm myself. But the screams, the degrees of the room, the kiss upon my forehead only swell by the second. I reach for the doorknob–the sole exit out of this hellish room–but the doorknob fumes of flames intolerable for human’s touch. So I screamed!–and scream again. As now, here, with blurred vision wrecking my world, I stumble, where teetering onward in a drunken manner and with my arms in front of me fully extended, I have found the bathroom.

My blood boiled, and yes!–my skin felt seemingly on fire, yet upon entry of the bathroom, the degrees begin to descend dramatically. The kiss no longer simmers everything besides the thoughts within my head. And the screams–her screams of horror no longer roar nor shrill of any decibels: for the eerie quietness has reappeared. Though wretched!–and “done with the quietness” I say, I turn on the shower to cool–to soothe my skin, and to eradicate this putrid form of silence from my being.

Yet, here, with my head beneath running water I hear with–with acute and accurately irrefutable distinction–for the door–the bathroom door just locked itself–.

And what is going on? I just thought, and still thinking (where through credulous bravado I shout) “What spell tries to haunt me will only burn in hell, so make your fiery bed of doom, if you dare!”

And yes! Nearly nude, with cold water running down my body, I shout as a madman would! Yet, with no response, I turn the water off and proceed my way toward the suppositionally locked door. But I make it not to the door, nor even out of this shower–for the water… the water won’t stop running. No matter which way I turn the dials–clockwise–counter-clockwise–and no matter the force I exert: the water won’t turn off! And irritated!–Annoyed!–Yes, as I’m done with this FOOLERY!–I hear a loud, intensely sharp bursting to my immediate left. With the sound of an explosion catapulting me into a frenzy, I fall from the slippery base that I once stood–.

–And now, as my face rests upon slime, slowly I open my eyes, flickering to the hazing sight of my sink riddled in ceramic shards and dissembled in fragments, as water spews from the sole pipe that lies intact. Naturally, I grew quite, quite leery, yet, I remain to hold my composure fully to the highest extent. For here!–I stand CALMLY back to my feet. And casually–casually I begin to walk to the door unruffled, collected, and poised, whilst walking with no fear, no worries, no stress or tribulations of any kind. Because everything is fine–fine I say!

At least those are the assuring conjectures that I try to alleviate any subtle worries with, as my heart inside discretely beats out of its chest! Though still calm–calm–calm that I am, I reach for the doorknob and twist it. I twisted with confidence–twisted with hopes of sanity preservation–yet, I twisted in vain for the door is locked–utterly and devastatingly locked–. And it is here, the paranoia begins to resonate extending beyond the limits of what I’ve deemed a sequence of events to be coincidental. For superstitious of such follies I could never be a part of, but here–here something strange–supernatural is occurring in this immediate presence of mine: I feel it.

Currently, my feet reside in an ever-developing reservoir of approximately a foot and a half of water (with the water still running.) At the door, I stare, still, ineffectively lost in thought, another unique sound intrudes upon this room. With a deep muffled, nearly regurgitative sound, timidly–timorously I turn around–the toilet has just begun to overflow–.

And goaded into a rage of pure delirium, I disconnect the toilet seat from its frame and hurl it mightily against the door. The door, however, remains unscathed. I run at it, running shoulder first–yet, it budges not. I kick it, send ruthless blows upon its medial down towards the lower portions–but the door absorbs every blow with fortified ease–.

–The water is now well past my knees: nearly three feet high–and still rising. My mind has been contemplating heavily, but option-less I remain. I begin to pace, trudging through the water that’s rising easily an inch every minute–rising–and rising! Above my navel, unceasingly, ineluctably the water continues to rise–.

–Presently, with the spirit of hysteria vying to lure me into its consumption the keen sense of survival conquers all. For to a higher place I climb upon the sink–unsteady and wobbling, yet still intact. The water, however, continues to rise–rising to my toes! I observe meticulously the turmoil scattered throughout the room. Observing and wondering–observing everything within the room–wherein the mirror I shudder to wonder no more–.

–For it was–it is my eyes–my eyes, green as the summer’s leaf–there is displayed right in front of me: an alteration! Drowned and engulfed!–I stare into a pair of bright, luminant, blue, azure eyes radiating brighter and hotter than any fire–and hotter than any hell I may ever know.

–I close my eyes only allowing my soul to cry. For many, many minutes–the water continued–continues to rise. With water now surfacing to my shoulders and my head pressed against the ceiling, I count the remaining seconds that I have left to live. And with our love that was forever meant to burn, I’ll drown here in the memories of her. As water now enters into and fills my lungs, a kiss delicately lays upon my forehead wherein the arms of a goddess I feather lifeless to the floor hearing her voice for the final time, with the words:

–”I love you, sweet dreams.”


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