Nygmakins Drabbles

Together

As he lies on the floor, clutching his stomach, blood seeping out and over his fingers, Ed watches Lee stumble to the floor, the knife he had plunged into her still embedded deep within her gut. Both of their legs touch each other as they writhe in pain on the floor. Separately.

The deep, sharp pain in his stomach is one of the only places left in his body where he still feels any warmth. He wants. . . no, he needs her to be closer to him.

"Lee," he chokes out, retching up blood as he twists slightly towards her, removing a hand that's slick with the blood from his stomach and placing it on her calf. She doesn't respond with more than a groan of agony and she's starting to turn gray. There isn't much time.

"Lee, I want to be together when we die," he scooches even closer, angling himself even more towards her, which only causes a huge amount of blood to gush out of his stomach. He's getting fainter by the second. He has to stop. "Please . . . Lee. Come here."

There's a look of determination in her well-worn eyes. They had looked weary ever since he had made his way to this room to gauge her true intentions. She told them they had been honorable and he had turned and killed her anyway. Lee had been right – it was in his nature to kill the ones he loved.

As time runs out for both of them, she grunts and starts moving ever closer to him, blood dripping over the knife and her hands as she continues to hold it in place. It stems the bleeding just enough so she can make it. Her head flops onto his chest. The weak light coming in through the large windows bathes them in the last rays of the sun that they will ever see. But they will see them together. And that's all that matters now.

Lee tucks her head under his chin and coughs up some blood onto Ed's white dress shirt as a trickle of blood still dripping from his mouth courses down onto her hair.

"I still love you," he barely manages to say and he feels her nod in agreement, accepting the truth of his words.

It's getting dark. He's losing sight of the world. And it's so very cold. There's so little time . . . He needs one last reassurance.

"It was real?" he asks through a fit of coughing and retching.

"Yes."

To finally hear the sound of her voice one last time is music to his ears. Even if it is just one last word. Or three.

"It was love," she says as the light goes out of his eyes.