I believe that true love is real. I also believe that I met and fell in love with mine. The story itself is a cotton candy mirror of what my life is now. But, I had the most powerful and truest emotions tied to love with her. She is dead now.
I curse myself every day by saying that I hope that she was not 'the one'. I hope that there is a 'truer' love out there for me. But, in doing so, I sour the memories of what we had.
I ask forgiveness and chalk it up to just being lonely. An overbearing feeling of solitude surrounds me. It ways me down and makes me dwell on things out of my control. I loose sleep unless I can swallow my pride and cry myself to sleep.
If dying meant that I could see her again, I would. But I just do not know for sure. So I hold onto this physical shell against the torrents of life.
* * *
-Two orderlies peer through a tiny view port into a white, padded cell. Their clean white coats bear a striking contrast to the grey stone walls and floor. Within the cell sits a man with long white hair save for two thin stripes, on either side of his part, that are the color black. His head is lowered and his gaze is fixed on the space between his feet. He wears not shoes and his legs are covered with loose, pajama-style, white pants. He shifts ever so slightly trying to find a comfortable position for the straight jacket that he wears about his chest.-"...admits to killing her," says the first orderly finishing his statement, "but keeps sticking to some crazy tale about how she wasn't supposed to die."
-"Oh, right" chimes the second orderly, "this is that Duvoss guy I've heard about. Sounds like a cheap way to get out of the death penalty to me."
-The orderlies share a laugh combined with a shaking of their heads. This gains a reaction from the patient in the form of a sidelong glance.
-"Whatever, man. Let's check on the others and I can finish your tour," concludes the first orderly.
-I can't take it anymore, Camelia.
-Tears begin to fall from the patients face only to find a resting place on his jacket. He can't remember a time when he wasn't crying since being placed in here. So, his tears join the others that have succeeded in making the top half of his jacket soaked. His lips have become chapped with dehydration and he parts them slightly to take a deep breath.
-He lets out his final breath and wills himself to stop living.
-The mental health facility is sprung into activity. Patient Duvoss is not responding and his life signs are fading.
-I guess I wasn't fast enough. They are going to revive me. Maybe next time my dear wife.
He can feel himself being raised up but cannot see anything.
-"What on Earth do you think you are doing, baby?"
-His heart jumps. I know that voice! But, could it be? Please let it be true.
His eyes open quickly to be filled with a bright light. He strains to make sense of the shapes he perceives. When, at last, his heart fills with joy. Hovering above him, like some Gothic angel, is his dead wife, Camelia.
-She is wearing a grey, leather, hooded trench coat. And she looks down on Darrel with a sign of displeasure. Darrel is shocked by the look on her face, hoping that she would be pleased to see him again. His heart falls instantly, fearing that all that he 'knew' was false. Never good at hiding his emotions, Darrel's expression shifts to one of depression.
-"Oh, no, no, no, baby. You can't do this. Not if we are to be together again." She smiles broadly and does her best to reassure him. "It is not your time yet."
-He realises that he was reaching for her and drops his arms limply, "I can't, Cami. I can't go on anymore without you." He turns to look away from her, realising that he is floating in the air and spots his body being positioned and cared for by orderlies and doctors.
-"Remember the things I told you before?" Camelia touches Darrel's cheek and turns his face towards hers, "They were... mostly true."
-"You see," she continues, "death was only a small part of my abilities. I am Karma. I am Chance. And I am Balance. You are a noble soul and would have gone to 'Heaven' but you ended your own existence which damns you to oblivion. I may just have a solution though. Those doctors are going to save your life, but for a price. You now have a debt to repay... in souls."
-"When the Angels were created, they picked 'sides' long before I came about. So, I chose my 'Angels' from humans. Charon was my first, and I want you to be my next. As one of my Reapers, you get to assist me in the collection of souls, and thus get to visit me on occasion."
-"But, and here is where it gets tricky, you still have two things against you. One: You will still be of the living and reaper abilities will alienate you from others and could have an adverse affect on your psyche. And two: You have too good of a heart and will go to heaven when you cross over. To remedy that, you will have to be equally evil."
-"I want you to become my avenger and my revenger. I want you to kill people. Bad people."
She then presents Darrel with a set of scythe blades, "I want you to become my Angel of Vengeance."
