Dark Angel

Authors Note:This story is indeed based on real people and half real events. I leave it up to the reader to determine what is real and what is fiction. Please do not read too far into it.

Yellow lines and white. Memories of you. The wind rustles my hair, as I speed through the black night. Bits of vaguely remembered poems, songs and conversations speed through my thoughts. Trees, houses and farms fly by me, instantly taken by the night. I beg of my dark memories to follow... with no hopes of success. Black denim ripples in the wind as I force myself not to cry. Blaring music pounds out a throbbing rhythm as I tell myself: "I can live with or without you"... and know it is a lie. I feel my small black and silver heart flap in the wind... my last reminder of my love. I swore I would never remove it as long as I loved her. Gears shift silently in my mind and in my bike, one speeding up, the other slowing down. Silently, the rain begins to fall as I speed into the night.

Night falls completely, the darkness pulling at me, as I drive up to a cheap motel. Cracked green paint, cheap ugly furniture, small TV, ugly green carpeting, but a bed is all I need. And time to think. How did this all happen... where did it all begin... When did I start down my path of pain... love... and destruction. The room fades out as the black memory returns.

Snow falls in torrents outside my bedroom window as I sit and gaze out into the bleak, winter darkness. Winter has always been my favorite season, with long nights and desolate look. I loved rainstorms for much the same reasons, the somber, peaceful qualities of both as well as the inherent, violent, destructive powers of Nature. My room, done in green and black, with a few imperfect white splotches that I would not correct for 6 months, is bathed in an eerie red light. The lava lamp, the source of said light, casts a red glow upon my page, and my writing upon it as well. I look down upon the work that I have done, to remember my thoughts... and my feelings. I reread the words, my words of love, words dedicated to her...

Yes, my angel of the dark. How I loved her so I think, as I return from the depths of memory. I can remember each and every detail, as if it were only yesterday and not the full decade it has been. I remember her brown hair, with streaks of purple. I remember her eyes... how deep and piercing they had been... and how much pain and sorrow they had held at times... but not the colour. The colour changed often, with her mood. Her black clothing, how similar it was to mine, and how it matched us both perfectly, the clothes to the personality. I can remember her scent still... smoky with a hint of cat fur... yet it seemed to draw me in. Slowly, blackness drags me down again...

An old, grey couch thats beyond saving. It sits beside a similar chair. In front of the couch is an oak coffee table, cluttered with lighters, papers, bottles and junk. A smallish, black T.V sits in front of it, raised up to head level. Smoke fills the air... not from me... from her, but I don't mind. I'm sitting on the couch... a movie is playing on the T.V. Not quite sure of the name... it appears to be an older colour film. Beyond the T.V. I cannot see... it is black as she and I both enjoy it. Her head rests on my side. I look over at her and think how lucky I am... but I remain silent. My thoughts begin to stray from the movie.

I think of how perfect life is at that moment. I have all that I want... my angel... my heart... and my head. Sure... fame and fortune would be nice... but they pale when set beside what I have now.

Slowly her hand drifts to mine, and then we are joined, hand to hand. I think "What more perfect moment could there be than this... lying with my angel in the dark, late at night, hand in hand... but I remain silent. Her hand begins to sweat from the heat. I rise, disentangling myself from her and I find my way to the window, through the pitch black, open it, then grope my way to the fan and turn it on. I return to the couch and she returns her hand to mine.

"Thanks" she says.

I smile in the dark and reply "You're welcome."

The movie ends and her face turns towards mine... we embrace and hold each other tight. I start to stroke her hair, as I love to do... but stop myself. She hates having people touch her hair... she won't get really mad at me, but she doesn't enjoy it.

"No... go on... please Mike?" she asks

I hesitate, but then continue. She presses herself against me... and then falls into a light sleep. I continue to run my fingers through her light, brown hair, then, with a gentle hug and a sigh, I fade into sleep.

In the motel, eleven years later, I awake and then the tears come streaking down my face. The intense emotion overwhelms me... and I lie for awhile upon my bed... waiting for it all to pass.

Drying the tears from my eyes, I dress as I love to dress, in black, and walk to my motorbike.

An hour later, my stomach filled after gulping breakfast, I continue my journey, through the flat praeries, towards my destination.

The day passes... I try not to think of my angel, yet I find my thoughts returning to her all the time. Why must life deal me a royal flush... then laugh and say "Sorry... I cheated, I have to take that back."

In the darkness of the night, I stop once more, knowing that I need sleep, but also knowing that I will dream of her...

More cheap furniture... but a bed is a bed... and time is time... and love is forever yet never for me.

As I stare at water stains on the ceiling, the darkness engulfs me again...

I see my journal... and the words I have written within... It is night... and I know what is to come. I can feel it in her manners... in her words...

Life is full of mysteries. Why somethings happen, we may never know. Why, Bridget loves me is... a mystery. Why I loved her, well... I cannot explain that either. All I know is that I do...

These thoughts ran through my head as I write and write about her. I am a poet... so I write about what I know. I have written many, many pieces about her... my angel of the dark. I remember the day I bought my chain... with its black heart. I remember it fitting my mood at the time well.

Black love. The worst kind. To be able to see her... hear her.. talk to her and touch her, but not able to call her "my love" even if it's true. Not to be able to say "I love you" or hold her tightly, knowing she loves me. Black love is the worst kind.

Things are going badly... Why... I know not. I hear the words "we need to talk" and horror runs through me. Losing her in that manner... my angel... my love... would be worse than the death of her... with death comes... closure. Finality. An end. With this... there are questions... damn my questioning brain and loving heart. Days like this, I wish I was an uncaring bastard, like Steven. But... I am who I am... and I must live my life as myself... and, to tell the truth... I like loving... when it's going well. English has no words though, to describe my love... for her... none at all. Beyond lust... beyond friends... beyond intimate. Why do I love her like this... I don't know... its not one thing... its everything. I would tell her anything... anything she wanted... except of how deep my love for her runs... beyond her rejection... I think it might last forever... but I cannot be sure. Perhaps I should tell her of this... but... the time is not right. Extreme devotion at a young age can be... frightening

to say the least. I must wait... wait until shes older... willing to love completely with all her heart... until then I will be there for her... I will love her, and care for her through her darkest hours... I will help her through the bad times and praise her through the good times. I will help her achieve her goals in life, do what she wants to do. But... of my love... she must not know... until the time is right.

The story of my chain is interesting. I bought it a long time ago... as a gift for her... when we were dating. I never gave it to her. Thoughout the months after we broke up and fell apart, it was lost, found, lost again... then found right before we got back together. I wear it now... to remind myself of my love for her. It represents her and my love for her... in case I should forget. I vowed never to remove it... except in water. (Can't have it rusting, can we??).

But now... I've written enough... I must be off to see her.

Tonight, I'm staying over.

I arrive at her apartment. Her black cat brushes against my leg. At first... I was afraid of him... but I've come to like cats. We begin by watching Queen of the Damned. After viewing Queen of the Damned thrice, we drift into sleep... but before, she takes my hand in hers. The clock reads 4:00AM. I have never felt this close to a person... and I feel my doubts about our love washing away. But I know they will return, when I am away from her.

She falls asleep... and I stroke her hair... consider kissing her... reject the idea... then I drift off into sleep as well.

Conciousness returns to me, in a small motel on my road to destruction. My love returns full force, as I am wracked by sobs. My love... I miss her terribly. It is a huge gap inside me... that I doubt can ever be filled.

My love of the highway helps as I keep pushing onwards, towards my goal..

The days are beginning to come together... into one day. One long day... in my long nightmare, which is almost at an end.

Night falls... another seedy motel room and, after lying down, darkness claims my thoughts again.

Middle of a park... in the dead of night. We're holding hands... kissing. I see the light in her eyes, and it makes my heart pound. I'm in love... completely and utterly and hopelessly in love. But I don't care. Just being there, holding her, and knowing she loves me is enough. Then... sudden movement. I hear an odd sound following a sound I did not immediatly recognize. I scream as my angels blood gushes over my shirt from a bullet hole in her head... she falls over... the light in her eyes forever gone... her killer unknown... the sound now known as a a gunshot... my life in ruins... my heart torn... I grab at her falling body... I swear revenge... I pass out.

A week later, they catch him... but there's no evidence for this killing and he gets off with a decade of prison time before parole. Anger floods me...I fall asleep, dreaming of the light in her eyes... and of how it died... and of how it shined for me... and how it died because of me. If only we hadn't gone out... but it's too late for "If only's".

The motel again. The analog clock reads midnight. I drift back into sleep... praying for a rest of these dreams... but not believing it will come.

My life flashes past.

I mope for years. I eat little. No shrink could help me. She was my life... my love... my dream... my angel. I cry... yet I cannot write... I sing... but barely speak.

I run away... join a band... buy a motorcycle... my life passes quickly... but never do I throw away my chain with the black heart... nor does my love die.

I quit the band... and take off for home.

I wake again. Now the clock reads six. I strap on my helmet and start riding hard, for today is the last of my journey. No tears come... for today, I have my purpose. My blue eyes are hard as I stide purposefully for the door, as I mount my bike and take off for home. No more flashbacks. No more pain. Only purpose.

Many hours later, near dusk, I see a sign...

My journey is nearly over.

I stop in front of an apartment that I own. I enter... nothing has changed. Dragons chase dragons... an old grey sofa... covered with dust... same tiny, black TV. I look around and, as a single tear falls down my cheek, nod and walk out.

Driving... my vision blurs... no longer sure whats real and whats not... I see my angel... I see blood... But... with a purpose... I continue.

Minutes later, I stop in front of a house. Entering through a window, I see his face, which I last saw on T.V. and first saw dimly in a park so many nights ago. I pull from my pocket, my only possesion, asides from clothes and a motorbike. It clicks in a distinctive manner... and he wakes... and looks at me with terror on his face.

I speak. "You took my love... my angel. Now... in return... I take your life."

I aim and pull.

It's over... my love revenged... I take her lipstick, the same one that she wore on that fateful day, and write on the wall...

I leave the chain upon the table... knowing her love can help me no furthur.