couldbelovely

Ibland känns det som att jag av misstag placerades i denna värld när jag egentligen var menad för en annan. Som att något gick fel och att jag lyckades hitta ett kryphål i universum. Skulle inte det vara en fin förklaring till varför jag aldrig lyckas förstå världen, och världen aldrig lyckas förstå mig? Jag är helt enkelt en pusselbit som hör till ett annat pussel. Ett pussel som inte finns.

Det börjar alltid likadant. Målade läppar, fladdrande fransar och ett dunkande hjärta. Klirren från glas som sammanstöter med vinflaskor. Skratt. Musiken vrids upp och skratten eskalerar. Askkoppen är plötsligt full och flaskorna tomma. Utsmetat läppstift och röda ögon. We rule the world. Kramar. En öl. Två öl. Tre öl. Meningslösa kyssar med en främling. Lögner. Smärtsamma sanningar. Tårar. Ensamheten blir påtaglig men vi blundar. Det vinglar nu och jag faller. Blåmärken. Skrapsår. Våra jag förvrids till något vi egentligen inte är. Och vi gillar det. Fuck the world, det är du och jag. Det är en flyktig förförelse, älskling. Bang.

Jag önskar ofta att jag föddes under ett annat århundrade. Jag skulle vara dotter till en förmögen adelsman, leva i en stor vacker herrgård på den engelska landsbyggden och sväva runt i vackra, viktorianska klänningar. Jag skulle bli förälskad i en vacker dräng, och våran kärlek skulle vara omöjlig. Min far skulle gifta bort mig till en man jag inte älskade, vilket skulle tvinga mig och min älskade till att rymma. Olyckligtvis skulle vi inte komma långt då polissystemet korrumperats, och jag befann mig illa snart tillbaka i den historia jag så desperat försökt fly. Det bestämdes på min pappas begäran att min älskade skulle få ta straffet för vår flykt, då han genom trollkonst måste förhäxat mitt sinne. Natten innan han skulle brinna, grät jag tysta tårar och letade efter svar på den stjärnbeströdda himlen. När tiden för hans avrättning var inne och eldens lågor sagta men säkert började slicka hans kropp skulle jag, till omgivningens stora förskräckelse, omfamna min älskade i dödens grepp och viska jag älskar dig. Tillsammans skulle vi dö, och först då kunna leva.

såret gick upp när orden passerade hennes läppar; varför blev det såhär?
en sorgens suck gjorde sig hörd men ingen såg. ingen märkte när hennes värld rasade samman. allt gick så snabbt. stjärnorna slocknade och mörkret kom. för att dölja sanningen spändes tiden runt hennes handled alldeles för hårt; skulle någon se det ingen annan såg?

Inside the famed and dusty institution, Isabella was making her way through the crowed. Looking for Him. Where was He? She bite her lip. He had no idea about her feelings. Would He eaven care? She closed her eyes and sighed. Praying for something to happen.

He was athletic. Dark, tall and beautiful. There was something angelic about his face which made it hard to stop looking at him. This he knew. He used it to his advantage, charming teachers and girls to get what he wanted out of life. Maybe that was the problem. Life was no longer exciting. Life was dull. That was why he had to do it. Make it end. If he was going down, he would take everyone with him.

Isabelle walked into the classroom, oblivious to the fact that she only had one more hour left of life, and chose a desk inte very back of the room so she could peek at Him without Him knowing. Then suddenly he was there, right next to her and she could smell his wonderful scent. Isabella's heart went absolutly mad and she had to gasp for air in order not to faint. The dark saint glared at her and she could feel her face turning red. Astonished by his angry, but on the same time sad eyes, Isabella turned her head to focus on the teacher.
He was still looking at her but she didn't dare looking back. It was impossible to concentrate when he was sitting right next to her, and she longed for his touch. But it never came. She gracefully leaned her head against the wall and it was then the energy in the room changed. The room was being filled with dread, chock and hatred. And it was all because of him, her angel, her beloved, the love of her life.

He was standing up with a gun in his hand. When she had given him some space he had seen his chance. His chance for freedom. And he had taken it. The gun was pointing at a foregin exchange student who started to cry and plead in broken english. He felt sick. He didn't want to do this any more. But there was no turning back now.

She could see the panic in His eyes and she wanted to hug Him, comfort Him, tell Him that everything would be all right. But she was afraid. Isabella feared for her life but mostly for His. What would happen to Him now? Jail? Death? Hell? No, she couldn't let that happen. Not to Him. Not to her angel. She could feel her body slowly moving until she finally was standing upright. Terrified eyes were fixating on her and He turned around.

He couldn't belive his own eyes. What was she doing? Did she have some sort of death wish? He was holding a GUN. He was suppose to be in control. No one was suppose to defy him. Everything was falling apart.
She raised her hand in a comforting way and was just about to put it on his shoulder, when he got suprised and by accident pulled the trigger. Everything did fall apart.

The blood emerged from her chest and turned her white tank top red. Her mother bought her that tank top. It was her favourite one. Her blood was warm and she was starting to get dizzy. The screaming came from everywhere but she couldn't hear it, she could only hear the last beat of her shattered heart. The angel was looking at her, horrified and with big tears running down his face. Everything was getting fuzzy. Isabella didn't want to die. What about her family? What about her baby brother who just had learned to say her name? What about them? Then it all turned black.
 
He stared at her pale, gorgeous face and all the blood that was pouring out of her. What had he done? He had taken someone's life. Deprived her of her life. There was only one thing he could do, only one thing he wanted to do. He sat down next to her body, gently took her hand and closed his eyes. He could feel the cold iron against his skin as he pressed the gun to his head. Two words left his lips before they were forever shut, and then, he pulled the trigger.