Of Heroes and Martyrs
I stand upon the stage. The red-crushed velvet curtain walls me in towards the crowd. The crowd. For I see no one, nothing but darkness beyond the amber light which illuminates me for the world to see. I shuffle papers…papers I’ve never read, but I hold them all the tighter. Walking up to the lone microphone, I clear my throat and begin…
“My name is Elliott James Griffin. And this is how I die.”
…
We’re driving. My god what a beautiful day. Windows-down doesn’t even begin to describe it. Crisp, warm air flows between us while the sun shines its wondrous rays upon the Earth, warming that in which temperature has no domain. You look so beautiful. Hair wisping across your face, picking pieces out of your laughing mouth. We were born for this.
We’re talking but I do not hear the words. I suppose I wasn’t meant to–I didn’t need to. My hand in yours; my hand upon yours. I glance over to catch your presence, which you so magnanimously have given me, and I am stricken with fear. In the corner of my eye I see a large truck collide with an oncoming car.
I slam on my brakes, but we speed towards chaos. The trucks cargo, hundreds of large metal pipes, begin peppering the ground. And we are headed right for them.
I do not think. I cannot think. I grab your head and force you to duck…and everything turns black.
But the world is not gone. Slowly it fades into view–very slowly indeed. We are stopped. Glass is everywhere. Your gorgeous face is cut. But you are ok…
Thank god you are ok.
But my comfort soon turns to fear, as you stare at me–shocked and horrified. You begin to tremble and pull away from my hand. I lean to grab you, to console you, and make you feel the thankfulness I feel. But I do not move. I simply cannot move. Looking down I see two pipes buried deep inside my chest. My clothes are soaked so deeply they appear purple.
Grabbing one of them with my two hands, I utter the first audible words of our journey…”This cannot be fixed.” You’re still trembling and sobbing…you crawl across your seat and place your hands upon mine, just like we were, and slowly peel them back. You hold my hand in yours and bury your face into them, and your sobbing turns to hysteria.
I take a deep breath and in the distance see the flashing lights of salvation, but nothing can save me on this day. So I turn to you…
Your name is Hero, the heroine of my life. The one who has saved me from hurt, from pain, from fearing that nothing in this world will ever understand me. Yes, I turn to you.
I ask for you to look at me and your cries reach out the further. I whisper it again, but indeed I am truly begging. For this is my last moment, and I want it to be within your eyes…
You look up and those amazing pools of blue, flooded with tears, have never looked more breathtaking. I take her hand and place it over my heart…and I tell my one and only heroine…
“Do you feel that? Do you feel this beating..? For as long as I can remember, this has existed for you. I have existed for you. I never told you how much you meant to me. Words could never express what I possess for you. Words can never express what I hold for you. I am going to die. But I am glad I could be with you, here, at the end of all things…Never forget the way this feels, never forget how much this heart held for you. It will stop soon, it will stop forever…but I will never stop loving you. In this world and the next. I was born for you. I was always born…for…you…”
And the beating stops. Not with a thud, but with a decrescendo…the evaporation of my life. The last thing I see is the wrinkles of her sweet hand–the ear piece which finally gave her the message I could never.
And everything fades to white…
No, everything faded to light…
And I was dead.
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