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You approached the bridge, clusters of stagnant stars dotted in the sky, looking down on you, staring, judging, scrutinising. They know. They are watching. They see right through. It was like you had been swallowed whole by an eternal void, cold lapping over your malnourished stature like a bittersweet embrace. Its thorns pressed into your body like sharp, shallow yet warm kisses. You feel like you can’t get out. You don’t think you will make it out. You’re too used to that sensation of suffocatingly sweet isolation. In a way it’s your new home. You love it too much to let it leave you. You hate it too much to let it change everything about you.
Your boots clack rhythmically against the uneven pavement, gaze delicately trailing the dull and rusty metal handrail. Your cape caught a subtle evening breeze, flapping softly, reminding you of a life you used to live and the people you used to love; tiny tears, repaired in a hurry, and fraying fabric edges, forever left unfurling into oblivion. Your knight helmet, which once had taken on the chivalrous, undying spirit of a thousand suns was now cold and scarred, sagging and shading your face from the world. Your hands, riddled with callouses and cuts, once considered the mark of a true warrior, were now blemishes on your battered and bruised body that only existed to remind you of what you could have been. Your arms. Your skin. Your legs. Your face.
Was it all for nothing? Was it all a waste? You apologise. In your brain, you say sorry, thanks and another sorry to the demons in your life, who didn’t abandon you and loved you and didn’t mess everything up.
Peace and happiness is hard. You thought you had everything figured out, you thought you had fixed it all, but it was never ever going to be that easy. It never gets better. It never gets better. It never gets better. It never gets better. It never gets better.
Is it really already time to say goodbye?
You stare down at the water, swaying, swirling and curling; it was so beautiful, it made you almost not want to do it anymore. You glance back at the sky. Your hands shake. Can you really do this? Did you even plan this far ahead? You want to cry. You want to cry so bad. But you think; who will listen?
The voice in your head always offers an answer.
I’m sorry, Medkit.
I’ll miss you.
It’s been weeks, Medkit thought. Where was Sword? Around this time, he would usually show up to his apartment and ask to hang out. It had become a comforting routine. The doctor sat absentmindedly at his scruffy desk, papers and books strewn across it, alongside a mug of coffee that he had not had a single sip from and had already grown cold and a single black pen. He didn’t even know what the task was anymore. For the past hour, he hadn’t been able to go a minute without boundless doubt and profound worry settling into his mind like a virus.
Medkit took a long drawn out breath, shutting his eye, setting the pen down. Something was wrong, and he knew it. He could feel it.
“It’s going to be fine… He’s probably busy…” Medkit whispered reassuring assumptive words, hugging himself and squeezing his arms tightly. He craned his neck slowly, peering at the cracked, murky ceiling, gaze dancing and concretely landing on the window. It was a filthy pane of glass that didn’t reveal much of the outside world but it was nice, nevertheless. The wooden chair creaked as he stood up from it, he stepped over and unlatched the window lock. In the abyss of black and navy were small specks of white and gold, like a glitter spill on the bright night sky. Medkit was enamoured by the breathtaking display, briefly forgetting where he was and who he was missing and imagining a voice next to him, and a hand on his shoulder, promptly followed by a tight hug. Medkit frowned, his eye watering, crumpling in on himself as he sorrowfully walked away from the window; it was like a part of him had died.
I’m sorry, Sword.
I miss you.