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He had felt her heart beat. The thump-thump of it beneath his fingers where only moments before there had been silence.
And now there was silence again.
It didn’t make any sense.
Her body had been warm against his hand, even in the chill of the December afternoon. Even when she was still partially deceased, it was like her body came back to life under his fingertips, straining and yearning and alive. And then her body really was alive.
And now it wasn’t.
Now it was in a box, in the ground, and she was gone.
And it didn’t make any sense.
He stood at her grave, where she now buried a second time, clutching the tiger he had won her that day, wondering why. Wondering how this could be real.
He had finally stood up for his own beliefs, finally become worthy of her, finally caught her attention, finally had her… only to have her taken away from him.
He wants to remember that last day together, the wind whipping her hair in her face, her “introducing” him to her grandmother, the look of surprise and then joy on her face when she felt her heart beat for the first time in five years.
But all he can see is the blood. All that gorgeous, red blood, spurting everywhere, coating her and him. Blood that hadn’t pumped in her veins in five years.
Why did it have to start just then?
He remembers her limp on the table, Kieran clutching her hand as if he could will her to stay, to come back, hearing the doctor say she was gone.
But she couldn’t be. How could she be gone? He had just gotten her, finally.
She was here, and she was his, and now, somehow, she was gone.
It didn’t make sense.
He sat by her grave and stared at her tombstone, wondering how any of this could possibly be real.
How was it fair?
How was it possible?
Amy, his Amy. Bright and bubbly and so alive even when partially deceased. So very, very alive. And then literally alive.
And now gone.
The brightest spot in his life. The happiest he could ever remember being.
And now there was darkness.
It doesn’t make any sense.