Unrequited Love
by Moeshmoe
Words: 1087
Summary: Nothing torments more than what-might-have-been

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The buildings stand like knights; tall and proud and alone. Their dusty windows leak broken light into the empty rooms; rooms in which the walls are crumbling and peeling, rooms in which spirits peer out the windows at the lonely streets, waiting for redemption offered only by a god who doesn't exist.

He walks downhill, staring blankly at things that ought to be familiar. He strolls through the parkways, the districts, the boulevards; believing not in what he feels, but what he sees.

He’s been here a thousand times before. But this city is dead.

There is no one, not here; only the heavy emptiness and the occasional blinding light on the horizon. The air is thick and reeks of war and rancid destruction.

This place is hell.

He doesn't know when the revelation comes to him, nor can he remember what triggered it. Wandering sleeplessly for days has caused his mind to become muddled and lazy, and the once painful, excruciating memories have become little more than vague nightmares; terrifying visions that trickle through his fingers like cupped water when he regains consciousness.

The sky is dark and gray here, and sometimes he forgets that a sun ever existed at all. But that's not as bad as the things he has long since forgotten.

Home... He gives up hoping that there actually is such a place outside of his wandering mind. He has forgotten that there was once color, vibrant and bold; he forgets that there were once others, like him, in this place, with smiling faces and kind, understanding eyes.

Sometimes, he even forgets about her. He kicks himself mentally for it, sometimes kicks himself for real; he promised that she was one thing he'd never forget, one thing he'd never let them take from him...

She is why you are here. The Voices hiss from the shadows. She created this for you.

He opens his mouth to speak but nothing but gray, colorless clouds emerge from him. They'd be enchanting, his mind whispers in his ear, if they weren't so vile.

Createdthisforyoucreatedthisforyoucreatedthisforyou. It’s becoming a chant, a twisted cheer for a losing team.

Did she create this for him? He tries to remember, strains until his head throbs and his eyes burn with tears.

This isn’t what she wanted. Not for him.

All because of her. The Voices continue, refusing to respect his privacy, even in his mind. She did this to you.

It was so easy to blame her. She created this; all of this. The darkness, the cold, the loneliness…

Don’t you want to go back? Don’t you hate this place? He had asked her, the first time. Don’t you miss… your life?

She had looked up from the heating system she was wiring, cocked her head and peered at him through her bangs. Her eyes were large and happy, a warm amber in the dingy gray.

There was still color, then.

I told you, she had murmured impatiently, but the affection in her voice took away the sting. I don’t want to go back; I want to be here. With you.

He had bit on the inside of his mouth, looking out the window of the clubroom. The sky swirled in such a way that could have been beautiful and rain hummed on the tin roof, the chill of wet air causing his skin to crawl. The school was thick with quiet and cold.

The reverie collapsed in on itself as all the words he didn’t say echoed deafeningly around them, reflecting back at him from her saddened eyes.

So where is she now? The Voices hiss at him, mocking around him in sardonic amusement, taunting him. If she wants to be with you, then where is she-

He quickly changes direction, striding down an alleyway. At the end of it he can see a dilapidated brick building; the top caved down into the center, the walls bowing with the pressure, dust swirling and dancing in formation.

Once he’s reached it, he pokes his head in a broken window and, against his better judgment, calls her name into the inky darkness.

He wonders why disappointment floods over him when she doesn’t respond. He knew she wouldn’t.

Bunkering down, he manages to start a fire and scrounge up something questionably edible. In the darkness, memories keep him company, flitting amongst the firelight.

He remembers the last time he was here, not too long ago. He remembers the last time he wanted nothing more than to leave, to go back to the life of which he’d become accustomed. He remembers how happy she was to be here with him, regardless of what they’d left behind. He wishes he hadn’t been so stupid then. He wishes she were here now… because if she were, this time he’d be happy with her.

He remembers asking her where they were, and the way her eyes brightened as he did.

Don’t you know? She had answered quietly, hopefully; we’re in paradise.

We’re in love.

He had shaken his head, but decided against pushing, against clarifying; because she was touching him in a way that no one had ever touched him before. He touched her too: her face, her shoulders, the curve of her back. She had hummed and it was a smooth sound, like silk over velvet.

He had paused, had looked down at her, exposed and vulnerable and trusting him with more than she had to give. Hesitation became a heavy lump in his throat.

This place isn’t where you want to be, she had said with her hands, her body. He had swallowed and tried to tell her that maybe he did want to be here, that maybe he didn’t want to leave. Maybe he was just scared, scared of what being here meant, scared of-

But the words came out only as wisps of words that-might-have-been. It seemed like all he could ever give her were maybe-answers or almost-words.

She somehow seemed to understand. She always did.

Reluctantly she had pulled away from him, but her touch lingered on his skin like frostbite, a scalding and icy burn. With dull, colorless eyes she lead him away, away from this silly little fantasy of love and commitment; away from their naïve, colorful childish dreams and back to the world of prosaic reason he knew, back to the world he could hide in. Back to cold, loveless unfeeling.

And that’s how he ended up here.

Goodbye, she had said. I hope you find your way out.

“It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of Annabel Lee;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea;
But we loved with a love that was more than love-
I and my Annabel Lee;
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her highborn kinsman came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
Went envying her and me-
Yes!- that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we-
Of many far wiser than we-
And neither the angels in heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling- my darling- my life and my bride,
In the sepulchre there by the sea,
In her tomb by the sounding sea.”

-Annabel Lee by Edgar Allen Poe-