aurora aksnes || murder song

five, four, three, two, one...

The entire room was quiet; the only sound that echoed off the blank walls was the distressed sobbing of a broken man. He held her body very carefully, as if she was delicate flowers whose petals were about to fall right off. Her whole body was limp and could easily be mistaken to be dead, to be off in a faraway land in the sky where all was good. But her heart was still beating, hanging onto her life by a measly little thread. She was a little nervous, yes, about what was nearing around the metaphorical corner. The both of them knew that this would be the last time, the final straw. Too many times had they just barely escaped the merciless grip of death, just barely being scathed by its fingertips.

A small, slightly cracked light hung above them, an ironic resemblant of the distraught couple. It was hung from the cement ceiling, dangling by a single wire. It could fall and crash onto them at any moment, though it stayed put, flickering every now and again which made the aura of the room even more unsettling.

The woman moved her pale, shaking hand toward the face of her lover and gently placed it onto his cheek. Her thumb moved in slow circles on his stubbly cheek, accidentally brushing against a small cut he got from shaving earlier that morning. He could barely even see straight, let alone stand up straight, and so there were many little cuts that scattered all over his jaw. She'd tried to calm him down, tell him that everything was going to be fine even when she knew that it would not. Things didn't end too well. For the rest of their morning, the two stayed silent as they poked around at the cold eggs which waited for their arguments to cease.

They rarely argued. Only during a time like this did tension spark, as if they were both tied back by a rope and somebody had cut them free. Somebody who wished to see two love struck people go at each other with the intention to destroy the other. Fortunately, after each time they realised the wrong they'd done, they would be full of regret.

She moved her hand away from his face carefully, letting it rest on his shoulders. Her cracked lips parted slightly, little bits of chap stick sticking to the top and bottom, trying to form words. The only sound she made was a strained sigh. He noticed and quickly moved his finger to hover over her mouth.

"Please, don't." His voice was soft, cracking slightly.

With a small smile, she squeezed his shoulder lightly and shook her head.

"Don't tell me what to do."

The two stayed silent for a few moments, her breathing slowly becoming more irregular as seconds passed by.

"I don't..." He trailed off, hesitating as he moved his hands toward a strange object lying on the cement beside them. "I don't want to say goodbye."

She put her hand on top of his, guiding it toward the object.

"Then don't," As she spoke, just barely above a whisper, you could hear the sternness in her tone. "Look away."

He shut his eyes, wrapping his hand around the object. He could feel her hand slowly guiding him, showing him what to do. It felt cool under his touch, just like her hand against his. He opened one eye opened slowly, staring at where he had placed it.

"I can't-"

"Don't you dare let me suffer."

She cut him off, pulling part of the object – a gun – to cock it. Their eyes met, staring at one another for a few minutes more. He looped his finger through the trigger, his bottom lip trembling. He shut his eyes yet again, trying to prepare himself.

"I love you."

The sound of a gunshot bounced off the graffiti ridden walls, accompanied by a cry of pain. Her mouth was wide open, clutching her chest as blood poured out the wound. It was slow and steady, the bullet lodged inside her heart as it pumped away furiously, trying to do its job to the best of its ability before it failed. He dropped the gun, speechless. His mouth moved but no words were formed, just incoherent sounds of a man who had just committed something he would forever regret. It didn't how matter how many times she'd told him it wouldn't be his fault – he pulled the trigger. He put the bullet in her chest. He was the reason that she was dead.

Her eyes slowly rolled to the back of her head, looking as if she were possessed. He stared. And stared. Then he started crying hysterically. He clutched her to his chest as if she were a ragdoll, clinging on for dear life. All he wanted was for the both of them to live happily, without the underlying danger that they knew would creep up on them one day. These thoughts only made him cry even harder, muttering 'I'm sorry' under his breath over and over again.

But nothing was going to bring her back...

The gun was gone, and so was she.