Short Stories

The pale pills hardly resembled her pale lips, that's for sure.

It was their anniversary. She has promised they'd make it. Their bed trembled as they inhaled and exhaled simultaneously. Pale, slim fingers intertwined with his large, thin ones. She had become so gaunt and frail; his heart ached for her. He prayed her health could improve, she didn't deserve this. Her every breath was accompanied by a whimper, but the pain didn't just extend to her. Her survival this far was a miracle, but as he lay and watched her chest rise and fall one last time... Was it worth it? Her grip loosened, her blood ran cold.

Flowers: poppies, roses - scattered everywhere, from one room to the next. Cards that read sorrowful poetic paragraphs were stacked hastily among her belongings. The words didn't register, they never did. No one understood. A death is more than just a loss when they mean the world to you, when they're not only your soulmate, or your wake up call, or your goodnight kiss; she was his life, his everything.

His crumpled form moved for the first time in 24 hours. Perhaps 48. The tears subsided, the bottle rattled. The tap stopped running, the glass was full. In a singular motion, he had emptied the contents of the the bottle into his perspiring palm. The tears began, again. Blurred vision and shaking hands, his mouth had soon engulfed the majority of the pills. He raised the glass to his chapped lips and washed down the antidepressants. He didn't know if you were meant to use water, he was a rookie. His eyes darted to the mirror above the wash basin, but he could barely look the man in the eye.

The shakes soon became the convulsions. Gagging was not yet throwing up. He had lost all feeling in the lower half of his body, and he couldn't stop his eyeballs from rolling backwards. His foot ricochet off the shower door, the glass shattered, raining over his sweat soaked figure. The pain was excruciating but he couldn't scream, he had no one to scream for anymore. He felt the tears run down his face, and the saliva drip from his mouth. His senses were failing him.

Her voice soothed him, her hand reaching to caress his own, just like she used to. His eyes brightened, a smile formed on his plump, red lips. He couldn't live without her, but she had never left. The light shone from behind her, much like a cliche movie, but he didn't care; Angie had come back to him. His body rose from the bed, and he began to bound towards her. His arms outstretched, so close to being in contact with her again.

The light from behind her faded, her face contorted. The room darkened. The surroundings altered - the bedroom becoming the bathroom. His eyes shot open. She hadn't come back to him. The pain, overwhelming. The smell of blood and vomit burned the inside of his nostrils. Overdoses in movies never looked like this.

A scream roared from his throat.

------------------A/N----------------
Just a little note, this was written for my English exam: written in approximately 40 minutes, so don't hate? x