SONG: Kesha - Praying (slowed)
Trigger warning: suicide
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D e r e k
M a t t h e w s
I was born on the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month. It arrives, for the eighteenth time, in a blink of an awakened-dead eye.
The night before progressing to the early morning, the darkness is darker than usual. Growls and soothes, Mum clashing Dad, crawling on the walls, delusional and real.
The Dobermans woke up early, sensing the demons of sleep paralysis snickering at the edge of the king-sized bed. The demon disguised as Samuel Matthews, a clever trick; my father masked as a fallen angel, the wish the stars refused.
The alarm clock rings. 5:00 AM. With a shaky sigh, I smack it into silence.
Atlas whimpers as, like a ghoul, I rise from the bed. Dad's grunts and snarls echo in my ears. In the gym, I lifted the depression off, the anger off.
You're the devil that never fell from heaven.
No — the sod, the truest evil, born in evil's twin, buried in the twin. Hell on Earth — that's your national anthem, isn't it?
In the realm of light, the realm of darkness, the realm of grey, as if providence cannot decide where you truly belong. Because I don't.
The product of the system, a symbolism of the system's misery. An allegory of hope. The empyrean's chosen parable of change.
Born into nothing, died as one of the richest men to ever live.
You never wanted to create an empire.
You did.
It is the greatest in history.
Your name makes the Romans shiver, makes Satan want you, makes God proud, makes the divine choirs sing.
You were a king, left two princes, two prodigal sons, and couldn't meet the third.
Did you meet your queen, or are you trapped in the once-deemed-eternal abyss you begged to escape?
The world mourned your death. Your name was on the news. Lasted for months, months, months.
Shops closed. The roads were closed. The city stumbled into a quietude.
The Matthews Headquarters removed our initial, the first time, and was replaced by, in capitals, In Memory of Samuel Matthews.
Two days after your death, the 16th, the people gathered in the heart before your skyscraper; gathered in Times Square of New York, outlined the River Thames of London, in the parks of Edinburgh, in and around Circular Quay, walked to the Eiffel Tower — lights off —, and so, so many other monumental sights.
The globe fell into remembrance, into a respected silence for five minutes, on a knee, standing, holding enkindled candles.
The esteemed hush descended, choruses of your name in a hymn ascended.
How does it feel to be the villain everyone loves?
How does it feel to be the only villain heaven accepts?
I grip the edges of the sink in my bathroom, glaring at the reflection. It shifts, Dad's smile elongated and browbeat, my scars identical to his — except his are fresh and bleeding, trickling down his arms and neck like hungry snakes.
YOU ARE READING
Trying To Endure
Romance{ BOOK 1 of the SANITY SERIES } Secrets are made to stay hidden, and people will take any means necessary to keep it that way. But to April Levesque and Derek Matthews, silence has no place in their worlds. ...
