What Becomes of Darkness (Original Story) 1

She stared through the empty frame, her eyes glazed with sorrow. She had no tears left to shed, no thoughts to articulate. The glass that once separated her countenance from the elements lay strewn about the floor around her. Her movement was limited to an occasional involuntary twitch. Her pallid complexion and quivering limbs caused her to appear grotesquely morose. The once vibrant linoleum floor she had known since childhood had been covered by a substantial layer of debris. She turned her head away from the window languidly. She had all the time in the world, but what good did time do her now? Memories flashed through her bewildered mind. The joyous times, the melancholy experiences, she remembered all as her eyes fell upon the various objects beneath the rubble.
"Why?" she breathed, her voice tremulous.
She wanted to cry, to scream, to curse the deity that would have allowed such a tragedy to occur.
"Why?" she repeated softly, rage building within her as images of her past flashed through her startled mind.
"Why!" she screeched while lobbing an old picture frame across the room.
She did not rise to retrieve her possession; rather, she turned her attention back to the dilapidated window frame.
She inhaled deeply as she studied the outside world. Trees that had once grown with amazing vigor lay scattered about her home. All of the creatures that her eyes fell upon were bereft of life. She stood suddenly, her eyes clouded with grief, remorse, and hatred.
She remembered the blanket of smoke that once engulfed her comparatively petite home. She recalled the screams that could be heard amidst the sound of the explosions. She herself had shouted out that day, had begged for mercy, had prayed for salvation. She could only watch with frightened eyes as her beloved city was transformed from a bustling metropolis into a veritable wasteland. She had lost more than one family member to that cataclysmic occurrence. She stifled a gasp as she fell to her knees in pain that was both emotional and physical. She sobbed quietly as crimson droplets stained the wreckage beneath her. Her mother had been so terrified, her father so resolute.
"We're going to get through this!" he told his frenetic family as their home crumbled to the ground.
The girl released a sardonic chuckle as she rose to her feet.
"Sure, Dad," she whispered bitterly, "We're all going to be just fine."
She took a few unsteady steps before her bloodstained sandals came in contact with an object made of glass. The item shattered as she applied pressure to the sensitive material it was composed of. With a trembling hand, she lifted the destroyed object from the ground. She stared at her younger sibling's familiar countenance while dispelling the shards of glass that remained in the broken picture frame. She murmured his name quietly as she held the picture to her chest.
"I'm so sorry," she apologized in a hoarse whisper. She ran her thumb over the tattered photo, her eyes fixated on her deceased brother's pale blue orbs. She shook her head suddenly, allowing the bloodied picture to fall from her soiled hands.
"It's my fault," she sobbed while sinking to the ground, "My fault."
Again the depressed girl surveyed her surroundings. "Perhaps someone else survived, also!" she exclaimed abruptly, a hopeful gleam in her glassy eyes.
She rushed out of her damaged home with a ghost of a smile beginning to form on her once ruddy lips. This cheerful expression soon faded as the girl gazed at the countless cadavers that littered the street. She let out a faint whimper as she examined the faces of her dead comrades. The true magnitude of the situation did not register in mind of the disorientated youth until she viewed the many corpses that were buried among the rubble.
She violently shook her throbbing head.
"No!" she shouted, "No!"
She recognized the faces of her once thriving friends among the many bodies. Looks of horror adorned the countenances of the cadavers that had died before their time. Why had the girl lived when all others had perished? The girl wondered if she herself was not the most unfortunate of them all. She had lost everyone she had ever cared about in one brief instant. And now she was forced to roam the desolate planet of her birth alone, without a single soul to accompany her. The girls eyes fell upon a familiar object as she searched through the debris. She eyed the weapon covetously as she brushed away the soot that tarnished its metallic frame. She ran a trembling hand down the length of the revolver, her eyes darting from the barrel to the trigger. She stared down at the firearm for what seemed to her an interminable amount of time. Finally the girl loosed her grip on the gun and allowed it fall to the ground with a soft clank. "I cannot commit suicide," she thought silently, "I must accept my fate. There is surely a reason why I lived and all others expired. Perhaps I have a purpose, or perhaps I was meant to spend years wasting away. Whatever the case, I have no right to destroy what little life is left on this planet."
And so, with a heavy heart, the girl rose from her seat and began examining the bodies of each of her dead friends. She gave each corpse a gentle nudge, hoping that perhaps one of the contorted forms would respond. It pained the girl to look upon the grotesque cadavers of her once vigorous companions.
She placed a gentle hand on an old friend's face. "Rebecca." The girl murmured the name of her departed companion.
The late Rebecca's brilliant cerulean eyes were wide with fear. The girl brought a trembling hand to her deceased companion's face; she couldn't bear to look into Rebecca's terrified orbs. She applied gentle pressure to the girl's ash laden eyelids. The girl then released a breath that she hadn't realized she'd been holding. A new and agonizing pain attacked the girl's heart every time she recognized the countenance of one of the corpses. The ache continued to grow as the forlorn girl's eyes fell upon her dearest former friend. The late girl's face was soon moistened by the tears of her living counterpart.
"Meghan?" a bewildered voice called. The girl's eyes glittered with excitement as she heard the voice of another living being. Her smile wilted, however, when she recognized the owner of the mysterious voice.
"I have always been dissatisfied; I know that. But lately I find that I reek of discontentment. It fills my throat, and it floods my brain. Sometimes I fear there is no longer a dream but only the discontentment."
So what did you think? The title is tentative; if you have any suggestions for a title please message me. I'd really appreciate feedback on this story. Banners, rates, and such would be nice also, but I'd really love to receive messages.