Blood and Ashes

Delia’s eyes were cast to the ground as she walked up to the front door of the big old house that her late husband had promised a lifetime of memories would encompass. She held his urn in one arm and with her free hand unlatched the door. As she entered, a stream of light followed, giving visibility to the tiny dust particles that floated in the air refracting light, stirred by the movement. She closed the door behind her and kicked off the filthy shoes that had followed her almost everywhere in life.1

She had only stayed at the women’s shelter for a couple of weeks, but the house already reeked of age and abandoned memories. And she reeked of sweat and dirt, having not showered since the day of Eric’s death. She thought it funny how such a loss can put someone into a zombie-like trance, not caring about anything, with absolutely no will. She was glad she had finally come to terms with things and come home. She did not feel anymore, she simply got on with life thoughtlessly.2

At first Delia did not notice the emptiness that lingered around everything in the house. She trundled upstairs to their bedroom and got a change of clothes. She set the urn down on the dressing table and walked mindlessly to the bathroom. It was as the hot water washed the stench of the past fortnight away that she noticed how heavy the silence of melancholia had become. Suddenly it felt like a physical burden, and she fell to her knees, disappearing into the steam.3

She felt the shower tiles and was reminded of their first night in this house. It felt like she could reach out and touch Eric’s skin, re-live that beautiful past.4

Just as she closed her eyes and began to feel his touch again, just as it had been on that night in this very shower, his face broke through the darkness and beckoned to her with his tears.5

“No,” she whispered. Delia stood immediately and reached for the taps. The water stopped and the steam followed her like his ghost as she stepped out of the shower. She dried herself and caught a glimpse of his face and body behind her in the reflection of a mirror, his form etched into the soft clouds of vapour.6

She blinked just once and it disappeared.7

It’s just an illusion, she told herself as she moved away from the mirror and dressed quickly, making sure not to look at it, or any reflective surface, again.8

Once Delia was downstairs again her rational mind blinded her from any presence her senses would otherwise have felt. She fixed herself some lunch and as she cut the dull sandwich in half, the blade sliced her finger. Blood poured from the wound and decorated the bench in snakes of scarlet in the sleepy afternoon light. She hardly felt it. She put her finger to her mouth and sucked the wound – tasting her own sweet blood, then went in search of a bandage while her blood soaked into the bread and dripped off the bench, the single droplets drawn to each other, and forming a single shape on the kitchen floor.9

Delia crossed the living room to get back to the kitchen after she had found something to wrap her finger in, and noticed the urn sitting on the coffee table. She knew it was not where she had left it. She sat on the couch and looked at it just sitting there, inanimately. The porcelain was decorated with dragons and natural elements, and dark patterns lined certain areas. She knew what Eric liked, and had gotten it custom made especially for him. It never actually occurred to her that what was inside was once the beautiful masculine form of the one thing she lived for.10

Delia settled in a more comfortable position on the couch, holding the urn and examining it, running her fingers over its smooth surface. She closed her eyes and shivers ran up her spine as she imagined that the emptiness around her was the warm embrace of her soul mate.11

It wasn’t fair. At the prime age of 27, they had so much left to do. It was so close to thirty, which wasn’t far from 40, from a pessimistic view, but even 50 would feel young if they were together. If he was still here. It was injustice that life took away the salvation and happiness – the everything she had lived for – so soon after she had received it. Life is a bitch for teasing her with such little time.12

Delia held the urn against her aching heart, and before she could cry, sleep took her.13

She slipped into a world where the past was alive again and she could physically feel Eric’s touch. They were in the grass on top of a hill, watching the sun burn away and the stars pierce the oncoming darkness like diamonds. The moon was huge and although she was looking up at the world, she felt like she was on top of it when she was in Eric’s arms.14

He stroked her hair out of her face and kissed her cheek. The gentle summer breeze counteracted the heat and both bodies were left to cool off a hot day in the pastel serenity of dusk. Delia could feel the warmth of Eric’s body as he held her tightly, and the feel of his heartbeat was a pleasure that could comfort any pain. She turned to face him, and relished the sweet smell of his salty sweat. Delia admired her lover in this dimming light, noticing how his hard but handsome face softened when he looked at her.15

“I love you, beautiful. You are my life,” he said in the mature, sensible voice that had always spoken to her with a hint of marvel at times like these. Their eyes closed as their whole bodies approached and their lips united in a soft, heavenly kiss. Delia felt herself melt into him, their souls diffusing into one another and churning like honey into cream.16

Suddenly the softness was invaded by a choking sharpness that exploded in her throat, wet and rough like sandpaper, like a demon’s tongue. Delia couldn’t breathe. Her eyes opened and widened with panic, but she saw nothing. A force took hold of her body and she couldn’t move. In her mind a message pulsed angrily, insistently, urged on by some sinister outside source.17

Mourn for me, it said.18

Mourn for me.19

Mourn for me.20

Mourn for me.21

Just as Delia’s head felt like it would crack, she opened her eyes and was welcomed back to the world of wake with the familiarity of her home. It was just a nightmare, she sighed. She reached out to Eric for comfort, but was met with a cavity. She realized what she hugged tightly to her chest was an urn, and her eyelids were weighed down with despair.22

The words echoed in her head.23

Mourn for me.24

Night had fallen. She got up to turn on the lights, but when she flicked the switches only darkness pursued. It must just be the electrical company, she assured herself, they must have cut power to here when they noticed there was no action for two weeks.25

Delia got up and went to the cabinets to search for a torch. She rummaged through things – simple things that belonged to the both of them, now associated with pain, such as phone bills and receipts – when she found the torch was not in the drawer she had assigned to house it. Delia went to the kitchen, where maybe she could find a lighter. It was pitch black and she felt her way through the rooms.26

Although she could see nothing, she could swear by her irrational mind that a shadow moved across a wall. A shadow not her own.27

She dismissed the thought, but her heart raced. She froze. Someone was behind her – there had to be. Her breath wavered as she expelled the cold night air from her lungs. Her hair stood up as the presence became just a chilling void, stalking her.28

She rejected what she’d just felt and concluded that it was her imagination, her mind playing tricks on her. Had she finally gone insane?29

She returned to her search for light. She opened kitchen cabinets and things fell out and broke. She took comfort in the clanking and crashing of objects – it reminded her that she was not surrounded by nothingness – but at the same time, it reminded her that there was so much she couldn’t see. Dishes, furniture, people…30

“Fuck!” she yelled. A small sense of solace arrived with the sound of a familiar voice – her own.31

Another familiar voice that should have consoled her rang in her ears.32

Mourn for me.33

Eric’s haunting voice resonated in the darkness.34

Mourn for me.35

Delia shook her head. “No,” she whispered. “No! You’re not there!” she yelled.36

She fumbled in another drawer and a sharp pain dug into her hand. Warm, cascading wetness followed. “Come on, come on…where are the fucking lighters…”37

She spoke to herself to mute the silence, to mute the loneliness, even though she didn’t quite feel alone… “Lighters, matches, anything…come on…”38

She felt a touch on her shoulder. She froze, paralyzed, then kept searching after her heart settled. Delia began panicking. She felt an even lighter touch, and turned rapidly to where she thought was the source. Blackness.39

She swung her fist.40

Nothing.41

Delia made her way to the phone. Instead, she bumped her knee on a structure. The coffee table, no doubt. She grabbed the urn from it and latched onto it.42

Mourn for me.43

“Shut up, shut up!” she screamed as she searched for the phone. Maybe if she couldn’t call for help, someone would hear her and come for her. She lost all sense of direction and found what was the kitchen bench. She put her hand down and felt something slimy, grotesque, and flinched away from it. She explored the rest of the bench and touched something sharp, held it in her hand by a not-so-sharp part. A knife, no doubt. She took a step right and felt something slippery under her foot. She jumped away, fearing the worst.44

She turned and could see nothing.45

She swung the knife blindly infront of her as she walked, not even able to see her own movement. Suddenly it struck something and punctured it. She swung again and found it was the couch.46

Mourn for me.47

“Stop it!” she screamed. “I’m so scared. So sad. Is this what you want?!” Her voice wavered as she yelled at the nothingness around her. Another shiver touched her body as a gentle caress tickled her face, just like Eric used to do. She scratched at her cheek to efface the feel of it.48

She sat down on what she believed was the coffee table. The silence grew cold and darkness embraced her in its hollow sincerity.49

“Why did you have to leave me? We had so much left! Now I have nothing,” she whispered. “Nothing!” she screamed. “Why couldn’t you have fought harder? You knew what this would do to me! You fucking knew!”50

Mourn for me.51

The pressure built in her head and the anger grew. Eric’s voice, ghostly and taunting, would not leave.52

Mourn for me.53

She closed her eyes, relieved that it was her choice to see nothing if she did, and huddled on the table, clutching Eric’s remains.54

Mourn for me.55

For the first time since her loss, Delia cried. The tears forced out of her screams of despair that she had held in for over fourteen days, but she could not hear herself. The three little words ricocheted over and over, overlapping each other.56

She sensed Eric for a split second, then he was gone. She could not go on like this, with the only whiffs of love coming and going in fleeting moments. She felt for the urn and opened it. In a moment of weakness, she tipped it over her head, spilling his ashes and letting them bathe her, then scattered him over the rest of her body. The ashes stuck to her teary face.57

With the strength of rage, she cried out and threw the empty urn. It collided with a wall and smashed.58

Delia felt around for the knife, and grabbed it by the blade. She winced, but savoured the pain.59

“I can’t live like this. I only see you in my dreams. The pain only goes away when I sleep…” she cried softly. “Oh, Eric, I love you so much. Too much.”60

With that said, she thrusted the blade into her chest with an agonized screech that sliced through the treacherous night. She pushed the knife in deeper, and the indescribable pain invited sanity to return.61

She fell to her side, and her blood seeped from her chest and trailed through her husband’s fine ashes, making the thick, sickly paste that was the combination of the physical deaths of two kindred spirits.62

Suddenly the pain stopped – was left behind to drip into the floorboards with the blood and ashes.63

In her last moment, Delia smiled as she felt the release, as she felt that she would never wake up without Eric again.64

“Mourn for me,” repeated the shadow in the house as he played with the blood and ashes.65