the light that was never shed

He sat on the dock, legs hanging over on the edge of the lake. The moonlit surface reflected a beam of white that grazed his eyes. His feet swung back and forth, only inches above the shifting ripples pattering relentlessly at the shore. His hands were clasped in his lap, twiddling with each other. He stared fixated on the horizon, eyes on the ever moving silhouettes that danced about the night while the silent whispers of the wind sung their song.

A crack of a twig disturbed the cool. A stray bird chirped, its voice echoing in the ravine. The man blinked at the noise, but made no initial movement. He stared on, undisturbed. 

From an initial glance you would take him for a wanderer. He had a strong and vibrant build. His unruly hair flopped down in an unmaintained state. His hands were calloused roughly, the skin covering them chiseled away. However, one look into his eyes and one would find much more. Pupils gleaming with sorrow, there was a confining sadness stranded away somewhere deep within him. Those dark brown eyes, shaded by the night, betrayed nothing.

It was just him and the stars. The rest could go unnoticed. 

Then, slowly, he lifted himself off the dock, hauling his legs up on the wood and stood, a slight drag in his step. He said goodbye with his eyes and turned, his back on the lake started trudging up the path. He narrowed in on a small shack bordering the edge of the forest. One could hardly notice, but his eyebrows furrowed and his footsteps quickened the slightest. From his pocket he retrieved a rusted key, the shine chipped away from all its years of use.

The floor creaked under his impending footsteps; the house was pitch black. There was not a sign of life. She had blocked the windows again.

Of course she had. It was part of her secluded nature to isolate; her cautiousness had been a dominating part of her personality for the past month. Suspicion and fear had found their way in their life and molded her to become the weary and superstitious women he now knew.

He sighed wistfully, withdrawing from his reminiscence of the past and maneuvered his way into the building, his familiarity guiding him to a half empty door. He entered the room silently, a familiar scent hitting him, and spotted her lying on the bed. A sigh of relief washed through him. She was there. He approached her cautiously, careful not to wake her sleeping form. He could see the tiny glass bottles reflected on a tiny strip of light entering from the windows. Scattered around her were empty wrappings and litter adoring the floor. 

He flinched at the sight of her lying still, surrounded by her elements of torture. Agony clawed at him, and he rushed over to her side, cupping her face with large, calloused fingers. Gently, he stroked her hair and pulled her in his chest, inhaling her sweet yet artificial scent. 

She didn’t move. He placed his hands on her chest, searching for something, but finding nothing. Panicking, his hands wandered across her body, feeling and sensual. Realization finally dawned on him. It hit him like a truck, thrashing its way through his veins. He was too late. 

In the dim light she looked almost peaceful, but he knew the irony behind the face - he knew how painfully looks could deceive. The cliché saying tensed at the tip of his tongue, but nonetheless she drew him in. He could not deny the attraction between him and this woman; perhaps it was at a point requited, but now he would never find out.

She had left him, stranded in the whereabouts of the unknown, with nothing but desperate memories to cling to. He had hung on for dear life, while she had confronted them with her impeccable boldness. Her arrival had exhilarated him with pleasure. Her departure tore it away. 

And now, he had nothing, except a cold, barren body, broken and battered and null of life. His eyes filled with tears, contrasting his nonchalant expression. He tried to hide his hurt, but it was pointless. It was impossible to put himself back together at this point, just like parts of a broken puzzle. He had been beaten at his own game. He was scattered and shattered and-

Pointless.

He realized it. His fists clenched and he let go of her. Unaided, her limp body dropped to the floor with a thump. He didn’t notice. His hand slammed on the nightstand, and the glass bottles rang, clattering to the floor. The contents spilled out; white, milky liquid coated the floor. He stood up and headed straight for the door.

A stray bottle rolled in his path. His foot collided with the fragile material and it shattered, emitting a piercing wreck of white. The liquid dripped all over his boots. He did not care.

He ran wildly, pushing at everything as if clawing for his life. He stumbled out of the shack, his breathing frantic and uncontrollable. The thumping of his heart raced through his ears, its frantic pulsing strumming against his chest.

What even was the point?

A voice, her voice, chided him. The question echoed in his mind, a shadow, almost.

Her presence was comforting. His mind responded with bliss.

He calmed himself and made his way down to the abandoned dock. The lake gazed back at him, moonlight dripping from its mirth. It seemed as peaceful as he had left it only moments ago.

It had been only moments ago since he discovered her carcass. She had given him the pieces to put together on his own; her last gift. It dawned upon him that she had never meant to harm him - just tell him the truth; everything that he had dutifully rejected for her.

Everything, every bit of life. The ultimate reality of owning a soul on this planet was to realize that it was all. Just. A. Façade.