I Wonder Why

I wonder why, of all the people in this universe, why in the world did it have to be me? Pity and self-sorrow won’t do me any good, yet it is this single thought that consumes me. Why couldn’t it have been another soul to suffer this tedious fate, a soul who hasn’t as much to lose as I? For as myself, to perish here would mean to threaten the life and happiness of not only myself, but also that of my betrothed. However, bound by destiny, it does not seem as if on this night hope is in full form.

“I wonder why my love has yet to arrive?” I pondered with anticipation. Although it is not ceremonial to do before the wedding, I had scheduled to meet my bride, Isabel, one-half of an hour before the unusual midnight ceremony, next to our favorite weeping willow deep in the heart of the garden. I had yearned for the opportunity to hold her one last time before we became united, to inhale the scent of her hair, to confess to her my undying love before I did it in front of the world. But she had yet to arrive, henceforth becoming 15 minutes late. Where could she be?

I wonder why it pains my chest just to breathe… which is perhaps a foolish objective considering the knife wound inlayed deep in my side… Oh, curse this world! Why must it be so heartbreaking! Why must I leave so suddenly? I’m not even going to get the chance to say goodbye… am I? Here, in this place, here is to be my last farewell…

“I wonder why she is still not here?” I could not help but question. There was now but a mere 5 minutes until our romantic nighttime ceremony was to initiate, yet there was no sign of her. “Perhaps she has forgotten this ordeal,” I answered myself with poise. But, that could not be. She would never in her heart leave me like this. Never. And so, the doubt began to preside in me…

I wonder why he did this?! Of all people, to ruin such happiness! Could not he see that I never loved him? My heart has always been with my betrothed, with my Derek. It was only his infatuation with myself that even kept him tied to me. Did he really lust me so much as to slay me in order to prevent my groom from having me? Is that the cause of this mortal disturbance? Am I now to die because my obsessive adorer could not stand me to be with another?

“I wonder why the ceremony has yet to start?” I heard a man whisper impatiently as I rushed down the aisle of the open field of worship. As I approached the altar, I turned to face the questioning countenances of the guests gathered to celebrate our happiness. “Has anyone seen or heard of anything pertaining to my sweet bride?” I shouted with an almost unbelieving authority. No one replied, instead, a look of shock filled their faces, eyes lighting up with mimicked worry. Here I waited for more than a moment, glancing into the faces of the awestruck with a desperation unknown to the world. Just as I was to turn and leave to begin the search, a man stood amongst the seated crowd. His hands were smothered in what appeared to be blood, and splashes of it were slashed across his face, preventing me from discerning his true identity. He spoke with a high and timid voice that at once I recognized. “I have.” And without another word, he grasped his hands together to clutch a glowing red object which I took as a knife, and slammed it into his chest.

I wonder why no one has yet to find me? It frightens me, almost, to believe that I may never see my love again. Yet it begins to become the truth. With each passing second, the wound dealt to me by my obsessor grows more numb, spreading with the chill of loneliness throughout my body. I am emerging weak, and the sense of time I once so dutifully maintained has now drifted. I do not know how much longer I am to be in this world; I only know that it is not an extended time.

I wonder why this is happening?! The day of our wedding, why must such tragedy ensue? As soon as I saw that man, flayed with blood… I knew. Always inside my head was the thought that he, Isabel’s stalker, might try something to prevent our grand love… but I never though to speak it aloud. Now, have my untold worries become truth? My dauntless hope is the curse of a fool. As I head to the back row of the worship area to investigate the mortally wounded man, I noticed a trail of blood smeared across the pedicured grass of the lawn. It continued on to the forest, where, amongst the shadows it fell dark. A sickening lurch titled my heart, and I knew then that to follow that path was to find my lover.

I wonder why everything fades to black as the end draws near? Why black? Why not another color, such as blue or red? Perhaps these colors are too happy to represent such an event. Perhaps black is the only color that matters anymore. In fact, no matter how hard I try… I cannot remember any hue except that if this surrounding darkness. It seems even the atrocious color of my blood has now been tainted with a black depth. Oh, how the color black infuriates me! Yet it continues to be my only memory…

I wonder why he has done this? The thoughts in my head were streaming with pain. Would I find my betrothed alive? The multitude of blood on that corrupted man’s robes made me fear for the worst. If she was… if she were to be… What would I do ? I could not continue living without her. The path of blood I had been so carefully following veered sharply to the left. I rounded a great oak that had positioned itself in my path, and came to see about 50 yards away, a still hulk magnified in the streaming moonlight. My faith led me to believe it could only be her. “Isabel!” I cried for hope.

I wonder why that man is calling out strange words from so far away… It’s almost as if he’s searching for someone… My sudden lapse of thought lifted briefly, and I once again regained a recollection of who I was. That man… he was calling my name… that man was Derek! My love has found me, he was here to salvage me from this eternal doom! Yet… something stirred inside of me, something that did not feel at all right. But I would not give in! Not yet! No! Not before I said goodbye one last time!

I wonder why she did not respond? Could it just be she was unconscious? My tensions grew as quickly as a rabid virus overtakes a living being. There was no time to waste. I flew over to my dear Isabel, traipsing through the eerie moonlight. As the wind blew past my face, a faint cry reached my ears, strained and hoarse, “Derek.” She was alive! A rush of adrenaline entered my arteries, lifting me to new heights and causing me to dart even faster. All was not forsaken! My Isabel lived!

I wonder why it is getting so hard to hear my love’s cries? Is he running away from me? I wish to call to him once again, but it seems my throat will not cooperate. What does this mean? Now all sight has gone black, black like the sky on a starless night. What does this mean? I will not give up… I will not give up… I will not…

I wonder why she has yet to call me again? Perhaps she is just resting her voice. It does not matter, all that matters is that each breath she takes is one to make her alive. I slowed my strides as I reached the lump, a great hope welling in my breast. But what I saw ripped to shreds my notion of reality. Blood lay scattered into every corner of the forest floor, splattered violently onto the trunk of a nearby maple. And there, in the midst of it all, lay my Isabel. A dark knife protruded from her abdomen, sticking out against the sleek contour of her frame. Her red vitality was all I could discern, immortalizing every moment as a second of doubt. My eyes shifted from her body onto her face. Her thick, auburn hair was tossed wildly across her face, and stuck in large clumps where blood had dried. “Isabel?” I muttered softly, straining my ears to hear even a breath from her body. With anxiety, I knelt down beside her in a large pool of blood. I gently lifted my hand to her face, to caress her soft cheekbones. “Isabel?” As my fingers brushed her skin, the hair fell out of her face to reveal eyes that had glossed with lifelessness, eyes that would never have the power to focus again. I could not move. I could not breathe. All I could do was take in her beauty, the beauty of a bride on her wedding day, a beauty in which had never been before recognizable. She was now more beautiful than ever.

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