would you stay (if you were promised heaven)

by flaccid_probe

Summary:

Amanda always thought she’d die crushed under the inescapable grasp of over-the-counter pills, or snug under the warm blanket of alcohol dripping like licks of hellfire down her throat- her corpse shining soft under early spring sunlight.

She never thought she'd die like this.

Notes:

okay sooo um sorry for not posting like AT ALL. i've been uninspired but it's a-ok! also i know this is short. it's really just a drabble tbh

Amanda Young never thought she would die like this.

 

She always thought she’d die crushed under the inescapable grasp of over-the-counter pills, or snug under the warm blanket of alcohol dripping like licks of hellfire down her throat- her corpse shining soft under early spring sunlight.

 

She never expected to die under the gaze of the only man she’d ever truly admire, gasping like a fish on land as hot blood trickled from the gaping hole in her neck.

 

“Amanda.”

John’s voice barely overpowered the sharp ringing in her ears.

 

“It’s okay.”

 

Don’t fucking lie to me, old man.

 

“This was your destiny.”

 

Fuck.

 

I can’t do this.

 

Maybe she really was doomed. Maybe the dollar store tarot cards and plastic crystals from her high school years were right.

 

The Tower, Ten of Swords, Death.

 

That last one had seemed far too literal.

 

The Ten of Swords had always off put her- the terribly painted man lying flat on his face, swords stuck out of his back like a pin cushion. She’d abandoned all of that stuff eventually- when the high seemed more important than her eventual fate.

 

She could still feel the thick blood pouring out of her neck- spurting like a fountain and running across the scars on her arms like a river over rocks. Her hand cradled gently around her neck, the two pieces of flesh intertwining like puzzle pieces- fitting too well for it to be a coincidence.

 

As she coughed, her nails dug into her skin, and she could imagine the coroner tracing the four half-moon divots that would surely adorn her dull, dead skin.

 

Amanda’s body melded perfectly to the floor as she slumped over, little black dots dancing around in her vision as her hazy, death-addled brain could only think one thing over and over:

I don’t deserve to die like this.

 

I don’t deserve to die like this.

 

I don’t deserve to die like this.

 

I don’t deserve to die like this.

 

I don’t deserve to die.

 

After all those years of praying for death- the sewing kits, the hunting knives, the pills and needles and disinfectant stench- Amanda Young could only pray for life.

 

Blood pooled along the floor, surrounding her like a gory halo, but the excitement of heaven was so short-lived when Amanda knew that God’s words were emptier than her.