A Word That Start With S

Dayna Samuels (age 14)

he's walking
no
he's treading quickly
towards the big oak tree
where she said she'd meet him

there's an anxious smile on his lips
a single blood red rose
clutched in his sweaty palms
and a little velvet box
which held a ring of gold and ruby

he's twiddling his thumbs
each quick breath brings no relief
to his gasping lungs
or his heart beat
flitting at a thousand miles an hour
his feet are all twisted with each other
all of his thoughts are of her face

he takes out the box
opens its squeaky hinges
and examines its contents
the perfect ring
one worthy of the rest of her life
she would love it
she would say yes

then he sees her 
his dark angel
wearing that dress
the one she knew he loved
the one with the almost long enough tulle skirt
the patchwork corset that hugged her body so tight
and barely enough lace to cover her white breasts

her eyes she had painted like an egyptian queen
her soft lips were their usual pale flush
her short fingernails were the color of midnight
as were her dainty toes
dampened by the young night's dew
her fair skin a seamless match
to the finest silk

but his joy is short lived
as he sees her mouth hangs ajar
her emerald green eyes stare blankly
into nothingness
her feet dance wildly in the wind
inches from the ground

and most of all
atop her chain necklace
is a noose
of thick brown rope
tangled in her auburn curls
suspending her corpse
from the top most branch
of the big oak tree

the still open box falls to the ground
with his ever-rolling tears
the ring bounces out of it's case
he sinks to his knees at her feet
his grip on the rose loosens

"i'm sorry...."
he whispers painfully
each move feels like a thousand knives
stabbing him
"no..."
he cries in hush to his dead lover

and now
as punishment
for not seeing through her mask of fake happiness
he watches the still warm crimson blood
flowing from her slashed wrists
and the unnatural angle of her neck

he lowers his eyes
from the painful sight
to the cold ground
where they fall upon a small folded piece of paper
beneath her feet
scattered with drops of blood

his numb fingers gently pick it up
and unfold it
'don't follow me. live my love." it reads
only 'no' 
floats to his mind

his eyes and hands shoot upwards
towards her right wrist
where the small knife is still embedded
he slowly pulls it out
against the suction of her veins
determination in his swollen eyes
his breath rugged

he rolls the horrid piece of metal in his hand
creating small nicks
on his rough fingers
little red dots appear
tears of anger begin to flow
with those of sadness

then he closes his eyes
places the blade at his neck
and takes a deep breath
knowing that it is his last