Together Souls Can

WARNING:

This story has themes of death and sadness. If you are prone to sensitive emotions, please take caution. This also mentions 'Heaven' and 'souls', for future cultural reference. This tale also has several sadly happy moments, strange(ish) descriptions, etcetera, if this affects reading culture.

Once Upon A Time,

By the whisper of the willow tree and the cool of the pond, in the summer when the frogs croaked and the wolves howled, there lived an old, sweet couple.

May had wrinkles lining her face, and her skin crinkled and cracked when she smiled. Which didn't happen often these days, a smile. For he was sick.

Her heart, her bones.

Her joy, her pain.

Her happiness, her sadness.

Her true love.

Elijah.

His bones creaked when he moved, which was only when he shifted in his bed, or when his chest heaved and his ribs shook from a startling cough. He was so sick, in fact, that May hadn't seen the sun for days, caring for him, nursing him in his seemingly endless sleep. She only fed him porridge and soup, and the only thing she could force down his dry throat was a small sip of water. Even when he awoke, he tired quickly, never saw through his milky white eyes, never spoke in anything but a croak, and never left his bed. He was so sick, even, that May didn't know if Elijah even knew who she was.

Then, one night, as May was tucking herself into the bed, and as she turned off the lamp with the little moth imprints, Elijah tossed and turned, and found himself tangled in the sheets.

And he called her name.

At the sound of his voice, May broke nearly in two. And even if she didn't, her heart had split down the seam, to hear him say, "May." She was awful glad she was sitting in the bed, for otherwise she was sure she ought to have collapsed to the ground.

This, however, Elijah didn't seem to understand. He didn't see the tear trace its way over the folds of her skin on her face, but he must have felt her sorrow, because he sat up for the first time in months and pulled her over to him, unable to push his old bones any further. May realized this, and gave him a soft hug, for fear of hurting him.

May only looked down at him and sobbed, and told him off, saying he needed rest. She helped his slumped sitting position back into the covers, and stroked the little gray hairs he had left.

"Love, it's okay," He whispered, seeming to speak to all the air around, to everything and everyone. "We're all alright..."

Then Elijah placed a little kiss on her forehead and an even softer one on her cheek. Then May held him, and through the night she only thought, and she never slept. She thought about why he had gotten up, how he had managed to speak to her, what this meant, if he was safe. She didn't think what this meant for her, or if he was dying, simply wasting away. She couldn't go there. She couldn't bear the idea.

Then early in the morning, he told her he loved her. He looked at her, truly, as though he could finally see clearly. He blinked when she responded, that she, too loved him so, and took a moment. A small smile finally spread over his cracking lips, and then he closed his eyes. He didn't move anymore, and the chamber of hidden worries and thoughts of death came flooding out to the open in May's mind.

She wept over his body, and kissed his broken face, but nothing could change how he was dead, as a stone, so she just kept loving him.

It is said that when one has true love, the stars can bestow a blessing, or a wish, or a dream, or a hope. Then, hearts can be content, and their love sound, and minds can rest and chests can fall and rise, breathing content.

This seems to be true, because later that morning, May's last wish was to meet her husband again. Then she died next to his body, still holding his hand, though long cold, and their souls escaped together into the summer breeze.

I don't know if there is a heaven, or an afterlife, or even a rebirth. I truly can't say, and I can't promise, either. Maybe there is just a void beyond existence, made of memory and happiness and love. Maybe that space has bad things, too. Like lost souls, or broken hearts, or sad thoughts. We'll never know, because the dead can't tell us.

What I can tell you is that May and Elijah were happy. Wherever they went, or wherever they didn't, they saw each other again, and they could dance on an endless plane of moonlight. They could hold hands and look at the stars, retell stories of youth and kindness, and sing lullabies to crying children with smiles on their faces. I won't say that being dead is happier than living and feeling; but rather that Death should not be feared, but accepted and welcomed when the time is right. There is a whispered tale of this. How a beetle and a crow and a tree met their ends. Then there is the meaning of it all, 'Peace at death is Peace forevermore.'

Maybe one day, you'll be walking home with me.

Maybe that day I can tell you the whole story, and endless more.

Maybe we can have a cup of coffee, and I can show you the piles and shelves of tales I hold.

Maybe we can look at maps and stars and words and discover things together.

Maybe we can gossip or tell stories over tea and biscuits.

I look forward to seeing you, maybe writing a letter or having a laugh. I hope that most of all, we can listen. Because everyone and everything has a story to tell.

Love, to all, Kay Loverman.