The layers of rock twisted upon themselves, swirling upwards in perfect chiseled circles. The marble was cracked only slightly, cool as death under my questing palms.
Even I barely knew what it was I searched for.
I tilted my head back, body pressed against the pillar for support. My(more) arms trembled in perfect sync with my legs and my fluttering heart. Maybe the column reached to heaven. Maybe it showed what was above. Maybe, if I followed the spirals, I could reach there too.
Tears moistened my eyes and I blinked desperately. I promised Timmy I wouldn't cry when he went. He held my finger in those tiny smooth hands of his, grip gentler and smoother than the cold marble. His deep brown eyes were full of worry, his tiny brow crinkled in pain. Not from the chemo. From my obvious distress.
"I'll be Ok Amy," he had said, though his hand was slick with sweat. That he wasn't sure himself made Timmy's comforting words all the sweeter. "Amy, just please. Don't hurt for me, ok?" And he had locked his gaze onto mine until I pressed my lips tight together, nodded, and reached over to hug him.
"Of course Timmy," I whispered, as the tears started to leak out, blurring my vision into a mess of sun and columns and sky. "Of course I won't."
But I couldn't help it. My heart ached like it would burst, like it would melt, that it would give up and stop beating altogether.
"No!" I shook my head, sucking in deep breath of air. I would live. For Timmy, and for myself.
The column stood majestic, a testimony to steadiness, to life. Rock lasts thousands of years. I would survive.(less)
“Don’t you dare!”
Sylo looked frantically between the dream below him, and his past, present, and future above him. A rapids shimmered 18 feet below the soles of shoes, gems bobbing up and down. He was so tyred with his life. Up until this point, in hindsight, it moved(more) like the cogs of a pocket-watch. Every romantic event: education, emotional ties, and youth - followed a very obvious blue print. This cave of wealth could free him from the grimm being he had been moulded into.
Sylo let go of the sturdy rocks he groped, and sank through the air with the right corner of his mouth tilted upwards.
“Why?” screamed his older brother. Sylo’s life flashed before Phelos’ eyes: lightly plastering a scar before water burst from his face, and another, of forcing the bedroom door shut as his farther’s gin soaked breath screamed through it. His companion decided to leave for the chance at a new life. With all this wealth Sylo would be able to rule the underworld, for the small cost of love.