It never ends. The darkness bends, covering every corner. Nothing more than a foreigner to the late of day in the spring of may.

I have held many things in my hands, and I have lost them all. Maybe if I was less selfish? Perhaps if I only showed her how much I loved her? Maybe she would still be here. But I will never know. I will never see her smile again. Or hear her laugh. I had the entire world.
I had her.
But now, as I sit here on the harsh soil, a slab of worn marble in front of me, I realize it was her hand, the one I used to hold in my own, feeling the warmth of her body, that I miss the most.

My grandmother’s old chest was her staple piece. The worn burgundy leather had begun to crack over the years, while the thin line of gold metal that framed the leather whispered its old age in a plea. Two solid and rusted locks held shut the massive lid in defiance to my incessant yanking and pulling as I tried to break open the chest with pure strength I had most definitely lacked as a child. As I sat alone, smelling the leather in front of the antique chest, I started to catch the faint cigarette smoke that always seemed to follow my grandmother around. Even after years of stopping the intolerable habit, the odor still persisted, filling my nose with a wince. If I closed my eyes, I could even hear her gruff and harsh voice filling the once lively room. “Get your grimy little hands off my chest, Grace,” she would tell me, always throwing me her infamous glare. But now, as I sit here, nestled into the small wooden chair, the seat cushions cracked and spilling stuffing out, that chest I had once been forbidden to touch was mine.
There was something eerie about the experience. So long, I had wondered what could possibly be so important, and now that I had it in arms reach, I didn’t know how to feel about it. Resting in the palm of my fist was a small rusted key. There was nothing special about it. Nothing was carved into it. It wasn’t glowing. It was just an old key. Taking a deep breath, holding in the puff of air for a few seconds too many, I released it. Sitting on my knees in front of the chest, I brought the key to the opening. It slid in with ease. Squeezing my stomach tight, I turned it with a flick of my writs. The click of the lock was so loud within the silent room as the tight lid of the chest slowly loosened. It was disappointing, to say the least. Something inside me was expecting fireworks or even a monster to come flying out, but the only thing I received was a cloud of thick dust itching my inner nose. With a sneeze, I grabbed the bottom of the lid before lifting it up with a slight tug. The hinges of the chest groaned in retaliation, angry at the disturbance. With one last deep breath, I looked down into the chest I had waited my entire life to see, my shoulders tight in anticipation. Only that wow factor never came as I stared into an almost empty box.
Slightly off-centered laid a photograph. Covered in a layer of dust, I internally winced as I reached down to grab it, my fingers turning an unattractive shade of grey as I did. In between my forefinger and thumb was a black and white photograph that seemed worn and tired, as if it had been through too much. The colors had begun to merge together, the picture faded and exhausted. The fragile paper in my fingers felt as if one wrong move would turn the photograph to ash, like soot from a fire, slowly falling through the air onto its final resting spot. Taking the time to analyze the image, my eyes fell upon a beautiful woman. Her hair rested beautifully on her shoulders, her curls sitting on her forehead in a display of perfection. A smile took over most of her face, straight teeth resting under plush lips that seemed a vibrant red, even in the grey photo. But it was her eyes that captivated me. The wide orbs stuck like a deer in headlights rested in the middle of her face. They were symmetrical by any means, but something about the peculiar look of them enchanted anyone who saw. She was beautiful. And that’s when I noticed it was her: my grandmother. This rare beauty was the same person as my harsh and rude grandmother, who used to smack my pointed elbows when they rested on top of her table. That bright smile was the same as the grim frown she gave everyone who passed. I snickered to myself in disbelief. That old bat didn’t want anyone to know she could smile.

Fear gripped my bones, pulling them towards the dark and stiff soil below me. I felt heavy, the mere thought of trying to run bringing hot sweat to my hairline. Blood was pounding against my skull, a steady rhythm like raindrops from a shutter after a heavy pour.
Bam. Bam. Bam. He strode forward, the wolf in a pack of sheep, walking with solid and dominant strides. His eyes tracked the movement of the fire warming my left side against the harsh wind that seemed to roar in anger. Those wide orbs glowed against the orange flame with a look of curiosity. Big paws dug into the torched ground as the fire flicked its scorched remnants towards the beautiful beast; the gorging fire turning the evening sky red.
Panic clutched my throat in its tight claws as they dug their way through the dry skin. My throat bobbed against the palm, but it was useless. I was a puppet to the monster known as fear.
Bam. Bam. Bam. The large, wet nose of the furry beast raised, the fumes around us a mixture of the suffocating smoke and thick fear emitting off of my shaking form. The trees lurching over the forest ceiling blocked the sun I had begun to forget. Anything could happen, and the thick forest would conceal and hide the horrors, leaving the sheep alone with the wolf.
His head tilts questioningly, but his eyes remain unmoving, the same glassy orange color that would haunt my thoughts. I begged my feet to move, even an inch, but they refused, staying pointed at the grey creature merely feet from me. The brutal pounding of blood in my ears never ceased, only growings stronger and stronger. Bam. Bam. Bam. But then those eyes lost their orange glow, that snout tucked its way back towards the beast and a thin tail was all that was left of him. His paws retreated, and eventually, so did his form until I was once again all alone.

"No matter what I do, it’s not going to be enough, is it?" I touch a strand of her hair, tucking it behind her ear. “You’ll still have him inside your heart.” A hole tore through my chest, my knees shaking as my entire world tips the other way. We stare at each other for the longest time, our eyes never pulling away. It was then, in that moment, that I realize this wasn’t all just a cruel nightmare. That I wasn’t going to wake up. Because when I saw the look on her face, it wasn’t sadness, or anger. It was guilt.
In her fists she’s held my heart time and time again, but I’ve finally realized I have never held hers.
A crack sliced it’s way through my battered heart. "But I love you, Luke." How are words meant for so much love, so full of regret? "At some point, you’ve got to realize that some things aren’t meant to work out. Some people are meant for you, and sometimes you have to let things go. I know I’m not the one for you. I don’t want to be with someone who could be happier with someone else and I would never want to take that from you. And I want to be someone who actually wants me. And I know that’s not you." I watch as her eyes close, a single tear falling off the cliff of her nose. "I’m so sorry. I never wanted to hurt you." I want to touch her. To tell her it’s okay. To say I forgive her. My head is shouting at me, making it hard to make sense of anything but that single tear.
But I don’t. "I know.” She stood there with tormented eyes, not knowing to say anything else. So I made the decision for her her. "Goodbye."

She looked so familiar, yet so, so different.
The look of defeat in those cold, dead eyes gripped at the cage her heart had grown so accustomed to. But it was the smile that had often strained her own face that pulled. It gripped the bars that had no doubt turned to rust, and pulled away the protection she had relied on for so long. Pain.
Fiery hot agony tore through her. It exploded in her head with a blinding whiteness. Writhing it’s way through her, she wailed. The pain like ice hot needles tore it’s way through her skin, scorching the walls she had put up so long ago, turning them to ash. The beauty she had tried to protect for so long fell apart.
But just when the pain was it it’s worse, it dissipated, like fog clearing off of a lake. And when her eyes focused, she realized where she recognized the cold, lifeless eyes, and the strained smile. It was the same person she saw every time she looked in the mirror.

It came to me like snails come to gardens: ready to consume. I wanted to submit; to assume my tomb. But it was hungry. So I laid there numbly. I was tired; I wanted no more. But it wanted war. I pleaded. But it needed. It needed more. And more. And more. And more.