PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

     I heard my name being called, gently, so gently I first mistook it for the wind, but it then came stronger, demanding to be heard.  I spun around; trying to distinguish its source.  A man was standing a few feet away from me.  He looked at me, his eyes hidden in shadow, a slow smile creeping across his lips.

     He was dressed from head to foot in black.  Black leather pants, billowy black poets’ shirt, and soft black boots.  He watched me with large dark eyes that were placed in a strikingly handsome face.  Sharp cheekbones accented his full lips and angular face.  Black hair drifted across his pale cheeks and fell in a flood of soft curls to his shoulders.

     He spoke my name again, his vice deep and slightly tinged with an accent I couldn’t place, Italian maybe.  I tried to answer, but the only sound that was pushed past my lips was that of my breath.  He smiled again, a bit amused at the startled look upon my face, and  assured me it was only a temporary side effect.  Side effect of what? I couldn’t ask.  

    He stepped forward and held out his hand to me.  I glanced down at it.  His hands were large and strong looking, like they would engulf my hand if I gave it.  I looked up into his eyes and now that I was close to him I could tell they were a gray-green, not the dark brown or black I had first mistaken them to be. There was a warmth in his eyes, a kindness, that begged to be trusted.  He smiled and I smiled back.  I was lost.

     I took his hand and he stepped closer to me, so as we were almost touching.  He pulled me into an embrace, and leaned his head so that his lips just brushed my ear.  He began to whisper a poem, sweet nothings that were lost past the sound of his voice. I  caught one verse,

     “Death is touching her shoulder,

        Icy fingers sliding over skin,

           Telling her the pain will be gone,

              As long as she’s with him.”  

      His cold fingers slid over my shoulder as he told me how happy I would be if I stayed with him.  He promised me the world, and his love for eternity.  He played with my hair, running it through his fingers, burring his face in it, breathing in the scent of me, as I made my final decision.

     He cradled me in his strong arms, my head resting against his chest, the silk of his shirt rubbing against my cheek.  I wrapped my arms around his neck and planted a soft kiss on his pale cheek.  He kissed the top of my head.  I smiled, then out of sheer curiosity  I looked back over his shoulder as he began to carry me away.

     I saw myself in a puddle of cooling blood.  My favorite dagger, with the ruby in the hilt, lay upon the floor beside me.  The puddle beneath me was slowly, ever so slowly, growing and the blood closest to my body was beginning to turn a rusty-brown color.  My black cat, Demon, stared down at me from his seat on the windowsill.  He, with the grace only a cat possesses, leapt down from the windowsill and stalked over to where I lay.  Gently he nudged my face with his paw, then, when I didn’t stir, bent down to lap at the pool of blood around my right arm. I vaguely wondered if he could taste the different painkillers I’d taken earlier to numb myself.  A little of my blood still seeped from my arms as my eyes began to glaze over, the rest would soon settle into the lowest portions of my body, turning the skin black.

     I turned around and rested my head against his chest once more as we he carried me into the shadows.

     I did not look back again.