Blind Love

Trigger warning: suicide

I stare into the oncoming train lights. 

After Sam and Devon, I had vowed that in this life, I would never love again. Damn my heart that I follow with such blindness. My head is swarming with memories that hold so much pain. I can barely stand. I can scarcely breathe. My heart strains like a sack of grain almost splitting in half. 

Reason tries to make my feet move, but I am rigid. Nothing can stop me. Nothing can knock me over, not even this train. I am ready to meet oblivion. Finally, it will be all over. 

The final straw, the terrible event, is what cements me to the metal tracks. The straw that broke the camel's back fits my life story perfectly. The straws had been piling up for months, years, my whole life. And it all came tumbling down just yesterday. The final straw, which ended it all. 

When I state that I am the most unlucky person in this world, I am not making a hyperbole. I am merely stating a fact as I was born in a low-income household in Harlem. My mom was a drug addict. She did not even realize she was pregnant until a few months before she gave birth. By then, it was too late. The drugs had permanently affected the little fetus in her stomach that would one day become me. A real-life miracle, I even survived her toxic body and was born into this world. 

Sam rescued me at age sixteen when I found him, the love of my young existence. Together we ran away and formed a new life. We opened a little soap business with the store he had inherited from his grandfather. Within a few years, we had a steady income, and at age nineteen, he proposed to me. 

After two years of being engaged, I walked in on him cheating on me. I can still picture his flushed alarmed face as his shameful eyes met mine. I cursed at him and ended things. He started dating this new girl, and I had nothing left. The store was his, and all the income was his. My whole life had belonged to him. 

I fled as far as possible with my meager savings. I chose South Carolina, where land and living were cheaper. I finally found work at a local pub where I served drinks late into the night. The tips were decent, and slowly I began rebuilding my life. The heartbreak persistently reminded me that I was not enough. Not enough for my mom to quit drugs, not enough for Sam to stay faithful, and not enough to achieve anything above a waitress. About a year later, I met Devon, a foreigner from Europe. He enthralled me with his accent and tales from across the Atlantic. 

He visited the pub every night and afterward took me out for dinner. He spoke of a magnificent farm with rolling fields, fresh eggs laid by flocks of chickens, and a donkey that plows the fields with vigor. 

A week later, I was convinced and flew back with him. He manipulated my gullible heart with promises of a perfect life, rid of any complications. He told me I was to be his wife and take care of the farm. When we arrived, he dropped me off at the bleakest farm. All it contained were a few ragged chickens and a depressed donkey. 

Every few days, he visited, and I became suspicious of where he was spending the bulk of his time. He attempted to smother my concerns with tales of meetings with wealthy investors to help improve the farm. He had yet to pursue his promises of making me his wife. 

One day I followed him in a cab to a grand mansion. Out from the oak doors waddled a smiling pregnant woman who greeted him with a peck on the cheek. A young boy then leaped into his arms with a laugh. 

"Daddy, I missed you!" The boy called out, and my heart plummeted. 

Tears filled my eyes as the realization that Devon had deceived me just like Sam settled in. 

I found the nearest train station and traveled to Poland. I did not have nearly enough money to afford a plane ticket back to the United States, and Poland was the cheapest option. I once again found a job as a waitress. 

I spent a few months there but was eventually fired for my unfriendly attitude toward customers. Fooled twice now, and my heart remained sealed against any intrusions. As I was wandering the streets without purpose, I ran into a gorgeous woman called Delila. She wore the most angelic dress with beautiful daisies sewn onto the white lace. Her hair was almost white and trailed down her back in elegant waves. Her fingers were dainty, which I learned suited her business as a seamstress. 

We talked all night in her seamstress store. Quickly we became close friends, and she gave me a job as her apprentice. Soon enough, I was sewing simple designs such as hanker-chiefs. Our friendship blossomed into something more, which we kept a secret to protect us from the leering looks and threats. 

Our efforts at discretion somehow failed. We were sitting at our favorite pub holding hands under the table when we heard yelling. Soon the pub flung into chaos. Glass bottles shattered, and people begin racing out of the back door. I pulled Delila toward the door before I felt a tug from her hand. I twisted around and froze at the blood seeping from her left chest through her beautiful lace dress. The one with the daises, memories of our first meeting flashed through my mind. I fell to my knees and cradled her head in my arms as I applied pressure to her chest. 

Her glazed eyes stared into mine as her eyelids blinked slowly. 

“I am incapable of living without you,” I choked out as warm tears rushed down my face. A buzzing ringed in my ear, and the shouts became distant. Everything was silent like death was waiting around the corner anticipating Delila’s final breath. She lifted her hand slowly. I could feel her body shudder as she tucked a piece of hair behind my ear. I leaned into her gentle touch, the touch of a seamstress that loved her work. 

Her hand drifted back to her side as her eyes stopped blinking, and her chest ceased to rise. I numbly glanced down at my fingertips, caked in blood. Trails of red smeared across her eyelids as I lowered them. 

The train is now seconds away from the impact. I am unable to get out of the way, even if my mind changed. Peace blesses my mind. Maybe I will see Delila once again. 

There is no place for Sam or Devon in the beautiful resting place that Delila waits. Her heart is too pure for them. I only hope I am worthy of the space she resides. 

The train collides, and then there is nothing, only bright light and a world of pain.