The Evanescence of Death | Teen Ink

The Evanescence of Death

July 27, 2014
By UltraViolet1197 BRONZE, Fort Worth, Texas
UltraViolet1197 BRONZE, Fort Worth, Texas
1 article 2 photos 0 comments

Favorite Quote:
"Anger is an acid that can do more harm to the vessel in which it is stored than to anything on which it is poured" Mark Twain


They say that time heals all wounds, that no matter how big the scar is or how devastating, it can be healed. Maybe that's true to some but here I am, wondering how anything will ever be the same. As roars and cheers erupt from all sides with an ocean of applause I stand here in shock. My mouth goes dry and I find it impossible to form words as I look upon the scene. My beautiful lover, my friend and now my wife, is lying lifelessly along with my unborn child that I will never see or be able to hold. Shouts of victory and anarchy arise and I can't do anything but watch her. The young woman's body lying lifelessly on the ground. As crimson blood surrounds her pale body that was once a creamy white but now holds a bluish tint to it. The once bright emerald eyes remained open and hollow, keeping the last moments of her death frozen in time. The light breeze of the crisp air rustled her fiery red locks as strands caressed her blood stained neck due to the slit on her throat.

This is how an uprising just became a war; by the death of one of our own. I am forced to leave before we are sought out and captured by the same terrorist as the crowed thins. As I began to walk away I look back for one final glance but she is no longer there..

No one truly knows how they would react when faced with death. Some are calm while others fight to hold on to every last breath. Others are brave and do what is necessary but some are cowards that choose to let someone spare their life for them. But not her; the stubborn hot-head. She was brave as she stood there overlooking the crowd of men who cheered for her execution. She held her head high despite the tears that streamed down her porcelain face, she no longer looked like a military soldier waiting to die but a young girl that had a front row seat in experiencing how terrible and cruel mankind truly can be, about to be murdered because of her choice to be on the side that was willing to fight to protect those who are in charge. About to die with an unborn child as she found my eyes among the sea of people. She mouthed the words I have said to her over a thousand times. "Don't be afraid to feel" I told her that whenever she tried to push her emotions aside or tried to act like nothing bothered her because the truth is, you're always bothered by things but you make a choice not to feel it. But when you do that, it never truly passes, it just stays hidden away waiting for the day that you suddenly break and the same emotion you tried so hard to block out overwhelms you and consumes you until there's nothing left of yourself but the hurt and rage of that memory. But as I'm watching this event unfold I tried so hard not to feel, to push it away and refuse to believe that what my eyes revealed to me was in fact what was happening.

I see the triumph smile of my former friend who now serves as the leader of one of the terrorist groups who are fighting to take control over this world. And as the cold blade presses against her soft skin, I'm aware that he knows I am among the ones who are watching. He scans the crowd looking for me fully aware that he is not about to rip away one soul from its host, but two, and he does it with a grin. 22 years of life, erased from the earth at the hands of a friend... The crowd grows silent for once and I hear her sweet voice for the last time as she mutters "Annabelle", the name of our baby... She falls to the ground as I stare wordlessly at her, torn away from life by a man we spent years training and working with only for him to turn his back on us and decided that killing the innocent was a much better way to get what he wanted; a change of power.

I often hear people say the money is the root of all that is evil but clearly it is not money but greed. Greed corrupts pure minds and drives them to do things like this, to kill a friend. To think that the only means for anything to change requires having power and to use blunt force to prove a point, that you will do anything to start a revolution.

My teammates hold me back as I try to run towards my Deceased wife, shouting and screaming at the top of my lungs as my vision becomes blurry by my own tears, only to be suffocating by the crowd of roars and cheers. I punch and kick trying to get free from the grip that separates me from her. My chest feels heavy as I struggle for air and I feel my body trying to shut out the emotion to help me cope. I jam my elbow into my friends gut and I hear a grunt from him but it feels like I just going right through everything. When I finally break free from the grip I realize I'm not where I thought I was. I'm sitting up in my bed of my small apartment, covered in sweat from the nightmare of my wife's death. A memory I haven't relived in years. It had been nearly a decade since we were able to put an end to the terrorist group, a small victory for something that tore so many lives from existence but like the Phoenix, death always has a habit of re-birthing something new.

I glance at the clock beside me and it reads 6:00. I've been asleep for a good 4 hours and with a heavy sigh I lay back down hoping to get some rest before I leave to head to the base. I close my eyes and my body begins to relax and I focus my thoughts on the cool air of the apartment and the distance sounds of birds chirping. just as I began to nod off I hear the doorbell ring. "Coming!" I shout as I roll off of my bed in a groan and quickly pull on a pair of pants as I make my way down the hall that is lit up with a golden hue due to the rising sun. I run a hand through my brown hair to make sure it's not a complete mess before I answer the door. I unlocked the deadbolt and opened up the creaky wood door to reveal a clean cut man in a uniform along with a small girl standing in front of him as she stared up at me with her big eyes clutching a bag. She must have been around 9 or 10 years old. "Hello?"

The child smiled brightly at me and something about her reminded me of myself... "Hi, my name is Annabelle."


The author's comments:
This is a stand alone story I took from a current book I am writing.

How would you react if you could only watch as the person you cared about the most, was taken away from you at the hands of a friend.

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