Love Never Dies

TIMING’S A BITCH

‘So this is it, huh?’ Daphne looked exhausted, hell- bent that her happiness could still align with his.                                                                                                                Fresh tremors interrupted her pouty lips and droplets fell onto her tie below. Her cheeks were flushed, soaked all the more with tears that had exploded from her bloodshot eyes.                 ‘It has to be’, said Martin, far less emotionally.                    ‘I just – I am sorry’, he continued, squeezing his eyes apart, wishing away the tears.                     Daphne nodded at him, to which Martin gleefully responded with his own head bob. They had both missed Maths for this, expressing themselves in an empty playground with far more ease than a full one.                                                                                          ‘I do love you’, said Daphne, prompting Martin’s swivel to pause in motion.                                          He turned back and looked again at the girl who he shared his first ever kiss with. He had graduated from amateur to beginner in the kissing department in the last 8 months.                              ‘I do love you – forever’, she said.                                        Her eyes ran dry, but Martin felt a droplet fall to his collar. He fell silent, quivering with a weepy explosion. A firm grip entrenched him – they cried together, torn apart, timing really is a son of a bitch.

Martin hadn’t received a reply. His letter had been blunt, without passion, and most of all… very late. Being apart like this was hell, but life gets in the way, especially easily for two fifteen year olds. Martin swept back his brown locks which had turned into bouncy curls over the last few weeks. The winter was cold here, like never before for a Southern boy, and this new look warmed him during his solitary brisk morning strolls. Today he brought a knife out into the empty forest with him and started carving. It didn’t take him long, the boy was little an artist. He left in a familiar direction, footsteps from yesterday already drenched with fresh fallings on snow. He left behind the tree with its new message that sat at its chunky base. The message was sweet and simple. The name’s ‘Martin & Daphne’, encased with a love heart, a message he would never bore of seeing on his daily walks – a message that kept him moving.  

Daphne sat alone in Maths class for the third week in a row. Her empty seat had been stolen a fortnight ago by another who wanted to join her friend, or perhaps to just copy her work. She cracked on with her simple task, with today’s issue being Pythagoras theory. She eased through it, and with each pinch of graphite on the paper she expected a hearty nudge from Martin. But no nudge came, rather absence sufficed, and Daphne was joined only by the simple Tuesday exam – for the third week running.

LOVE STRIKES TWICE

As Martin stood clammy handed at the end of the aisle, his mind harked backwards in time. He could picture Daphne in his mind clearer than day, and a beautiful visage of what she ought to look like, after all these years. His mind quickly grew blank, and his hands clammier, as his fiancée arrived in a sweepingly radiant eggshell dress. She strode elegantly towards him, and their likewise smiles widened with every sandy- footed gallop. The sun above was setting – igniting the sky with a powerful shading of red, orange, and teasing starlight. Martin was in love… for only the second time in his life.

LOVE'S KEEN BITE

Daphne waited patiently outside, as the morning’s chill began to defrost and the springtime sun began to show its bite. The rain had held off, but her figure darkened, concurrently the coffin being lowered into the freshly excavated ground. A vicar approached, dressed smartly and standing upright.                            ‘Some souls are taken before their time – but the beauty of love is that we have the chance to do so in the first place’.                        He peered at Daphne who held her own stature upright, contradicting the waterfall of tears seeping onto her chin. ‘Londre lived. He had a full life as a loving son and brother, and a devoted husband. Daphne and Londre enjoyed 19 years together, and cherished every moment. Let us pray’, he said. But Daphne’s mind was closed now. Her ears shut down to anymore noise, and her head drooped – she had only ever been this lost once before.

THE 40 YEAR OLD PROMISE

Martin rested on the sofa watching the golf today – nothing unusual about this slow suburban Sunday morning. As his wife scooted closer to him the noise from the hoover filled his ears, he automatically lifted his feet. She appreciated it, kissing him gently on the forehead with her passing skip. Seconds later the hoover was silenced – seconds later Martin’s face had fallen to one side – and his hands had drooped too, dropping his cereal down his front and throwing his love into a turbulent worry.

Martin spent another day in his coma, kept alive by the heavy beats of the life support machine, and the sky high costs of keeping it that way. His wife wondered up to him again today and held him tight, knowing that her funds were as low as they could fall – fully aware at the promise she made to him before now. There were mouths to feed at home and Martin hadn’t shown a positive sign in some time.                                                                                  ‘Gloria’, said a familiar doctor.                                She knew what this was about – the weekly update, more bad news, no doubt.                            ‘Gloria’, repeated the doctor.                                            ‘I don’t want to waste your time here so I’ll just get to the point. Martin hasn’t showed us a positive reaction for over two months now. Now I know that this will be hard to hear, but for you and your family, financially and to give you an opportunity to properly mourn, our best recourse may be to turn off the life support. I know this is a big decision, but you have to think of the strain this is putting on your family. If you want to you can keep it on for as long as you can – I just have to tell you that his recover looks slim'. Gloria looked vacant. Of course she didn’t want to make such a grim ultimatum, but, unfortunately for her, everything the doctor had just sad was almost right.

Later that day Gloria walked gingerly to the desk in which she was used to seeing. The paying counter for her medical bills. This check was another hefty one, but one that would almost certainly be her last payment. She scowled, before hoping that her name could drop a few places on the cue. Alas, here she was, and it was her turn again.                                                      ‘Hi’, she mumbled, ‘Gloria Richards to make a payment for Martin Richards’.                                          The cashier paused. They frowned, and leapt of their chair. ‘One moment, Miss’, he said, sauntering off behind a door only authorised for staff.                        ‘Ah, Mrs Richards’, said a new cashier.                            ‘Hi’, repeated Gloria.                                                     ‘I have some good news’.                                                 Gloria looked perplexed, it had been a long time since she had heard some good news. It would appear that an anonymous donor has paid for the prolonged treatment for your husband for the next two years’.                        Gloria held her mouth open, ‘what’, she whispered, barely able to believe that this wasn’t a dream.                                            ‘You’re all paid up, Mrs Richards’, he confirmed, handing her a payment confirmation.                  She exploded with tears and hugged them closely. ‘Oh, thank you – oh, I can’t believe this’.                           Her tears streamed – no more financial worries for Gloria Richards.

Martin’s machine whirred. His hand was held by somebody else today. Her left hand had a gleaming ring upon it, stroking at his hand in a forgotten comfort. As his machines beeped and buzzed she held a firm smile at him, as beautiful as she was in the first day of Maths class. Daphne held him close, dressed head to toe in nurses scrubs.                                                     ‘What’s an inheritance if you can’t do a little good with it’, she said.                                                              The room replied with only mechanical buzzing's.     ‘You have a beautiful family and they love you so much. You be strong for them, Martin. Be strong for them. I love you – forever’.

She released his hand and gently placed it onto the freshly made bed. She left, leaving behind Martin and his machine. But he wasn’t alone for long – Gloria returned and held the very same hand – with an embrace that she hadn’t been capable of for months.  ‘I love you Martin. I love you – forever’.