52.Mature

Short story that is set in the 1920's and based on a gay relationship. However, the main narrator kills himself as his partner was hung after being found out he was gay. Continue however you like! For example you can write about their past etc.

It’s been fifty-two weeks since you’ve gone away.

My hair is longer, curling at the ends and brushing my collar, falling over the hollows beneath my eyes. What used to be crinkles from the effortless laughter you drew out of me are now deep frowns, replaced as your name was scoffed at in disgust and damned by those closest to us. My nails are bitten raw and my skin is blemished; this anxiety never seems to fade. My pace is slower, but time more so, for I will never heal if you are not beside me; I will never heal if you are not beside me to step into a land where those who loved the same were cursed and condemned.

I long for a revolution. One where honour doesn’t mean abiding by the norm, and the right to love wouldn’t be stripped from our bare, calloused hands. Your memory is kept alive only through the beating of my chest, goose bumps rising as our secret is silenced still. The silver of the pendant you placed around my neck with whispered kisses is fading, fading from fingertips that plead for change. If only you were still with me, we would be far away from this wretched land like we had once dreamed, far away from anyone who would dare to preach that our love isn’t pure.

What could have become of us, our future, had I been able to kiss the lips that belonged to the one I loved?

I remember how your tan skin would contrast against my pale palms during the times we were alone, covering the prominent veins as your fingers linked with my own. Your fine hair was swept to the side, the sides short but not shaved, perfectly aligned teeth on display when the spaces between your ribs were tickled. Nobody could compare to the light that stole my solitude, the light that erased all sorrow, worry, and torment. The joy you set alight within me gave hope that one day being open and proud wouldn’t be spat upon and that we would no longer have to stand without one another in a room full of immorality. When you whispered promises of protection, love, and faith underneath the sheets it became an ever-growing need to have you by my side, to depend on the touches that only I saw.  

Without you to press your lips against mine as the moonlight creeps through the thin drapes, our bodies once shadowed and hidden from the harsh beliefs of our sick reality, darkness engulfs me. It scratches at my skin until I’m begging on my knees for forgiveness, forgiveness for my sins, my flaws, my love for a man who brought me shame and pleasure entwined. Your name isn’t spoken of, for I am the only one who dares remember you, but uttered when another commits the same sin against an unforgiving God. The Bible teaches that ‘above all, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins’ yet here my chest aches with hatred for those who taught sexuality is absolute, for those who dared preach that our love couldn’t cover sin.

But the days, my dear, the days have grown so long and bleak since they bound your neck that December evening, your cheeks raw and blue from the bitter breeze. Traces of my love were scattered across your body, fingertips having once brushed skin that was now embraced by demise. Remorse is all that runs through my frail bones, knowing it should have been me hanging before a repulsive city. You didn’t utter a word as I pleaded desperately for them to leave you, to leave you sheltered from the fate you didn’t deserve, your chin held high throughout all the beatings served at the hand of a loveless religion. If only I had an ounce of the strength you once possessed, if only I could have fought the demons that tore our fate apart.

Winter will come and go, but this obscurity will always stay. Trickles of crimson are dotting along this paper as I write, my tears mixing and running the ink until it’s dripping onto the cold, hard, stone floor beneath my bare feet. My wrists ache, but the haziness that is clouding my vision does more. This sharp metal is slipping from my grasp. I never would have kissed you behind the Church all those years ago had I known family cared more about pride than their child’s happiness, that even your own flesh and blood will betray. I am no longer with them, but I will soon be with you, my love.

I cannot continue in a world where my sins are compared to those who strike their hand at another. May your soul be at rest and silence mine.

The End

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