Memory's Domain

Strange Currencies by Mneysome

I don't really know what caused it, or when it first began to happen... but by the time I realized something was wrong, it was too late. People look at me now, with this look of disgust before pulling thier friends over and, behind turned hands and finger points, repeat the same, gruesome story. You'd think after five years, I would have gotten over it, you would think that. Its not true though. Everyday it wears me down, little by little, stealing my strength. I'm getting tired of this.

I had just graduated,a young, idealistic, girl who had all the things in the world going for her. A hopeful career, money, a supportive family, I was living the American Dream at 21. And then I met him. My life was completly inverted, he turned my life into a tailspin, seeking ever downward to the abyss.

It wasn't his fault. He began to feel sick, would start to push me away. He started sleeping too much grew pale and even thinner than he already was. He stopped seeing me, and I started to chase him, trying to find out the reason for sudden reversal in his feeling towards me.

I didn't expect what he told me... but then I suppose nobody does...

He died, a few months after he told me. I was there with him, in his bedroom, with his dark hair curling in my lap. He was so weak by then, it was hard to reconcile this handsome but sickly man, with the robust incarnation I had met, two years, and half a lifetime ago. He had kissed me, and looked up in my face. I remember touching his face and watching him fall asleep in my arms.

I don't know if I knew that those were his last concious moments alive, but I knew that I would never see him look at me again. I remember watching him breathe, his chest rising slowly up and down, and then how it had paused, and then a long sigh as the last air he breathed left his lungs in a rush. He breathed no more. I could have tried to revive him, but what would that have done? It would have given him a few more days. But days of pain and sadness. I didn't want to give him that. So I gave him the peace I know he would have wanted. He died in my arms, peacefully.

I called 911 after he was dead for an hour. The EMT on duty was a fervent sort, and I have no doubt that she thinks I murdered him. I remember her quizzical look and its transformation into loathing.

It was she who spread the story.

Its been five years since that night. I look in the mirror every day now, wondering when I'll see the demon that killed him start to show. Its been seven years now, so it can't be very long. Now.

I still live my life. I try to take care of myself, as best as I can. Its expensive living, this. I'll survive, for now.
I hope.

I don't want to die alone...

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