It's better now. You get up everyday, every morning, stumbling across the cold floor to the kitchen to fix breakfast. You consider moving out of this house since it's only you now. There's no one else. Your family and your friends call you, automatically every morning. For whatever reason it may be, you are glad. They are the only constant thing left in this world of silence.

The backyard needs tending to. But you can't bring yourself to do it. You just can't. The coffee you make is atrocious. It tastes like water remaining after you boiled socks. The closets are still a pile. Everything was the way it was before. You get calls to leave the house. Take a walk. A vacation maybe? No. You can't leave. You can't let go. Not yet.

You go to work. Everyone treads on eggshells around you. Like you are something fragile. Breakable. It's been a month and you are still wearing black.

Home is nothing but an empty block of metal, brick and concrete. It holds no meaning for you. They stop by, now and then. Dropping meals, flowers and groceries. In a way, you are thankful for them. but you just wish that they'd leave you alone. The pictures adorning the shelves, fireplace, fridge door and walls are all unwanted reminders. But you don't have the heart to take them down. Because if you do, you might forget. And you don't want to forget.

Last night, when you were scavenging through the freezer for some microwavable dinner, you saw it on the corner of your eye. A grainy picture of the baby that was in your womb. You swallowed down the bile. You lost it too. Just as you'd lost him. A wave of pain washes over you and claims your entire being. It's like liquid fire coursing through your veins, burning through everything. You feel like every breath is a arduous labour. You curl up on the kitchen floor and cry.

Later, when the bout is over, another begins when you watch old videos of him and you. You hold onto the pillow and begin again. As you succumb to the darkness of sleep when your tears have exhausted you, you could almost hear his voice.

"It'll be better."

Labels: Mourning, Short stories

I've been crying for two -bleeping- days straight now. I'm in mourning and I plan to exhaust my entire black wardrobe by the end of the week. I havn't had a spare moment to think about anything else but It. I havn't felt this empty since that moment as I stood outside the clinic after being confirmed a diabetic. The world should stop now. But why should it? Just because Ianto Jones died, doesn't mean the world should take notice?

Wrong.

We notice it. We, Ianto's fangirls, notice it. And we don't like it. My friends have officially said that I'm weird. Why shouldn't I be? Here's how everything changes.

Sunday,19 July
Checking mail, checking facebook, realised that CoE should be out soon. Googles CoE. Clicks on Wikipedia. Gasps when reading about Ianto dying. (It was so -bleep- brief! Like the person writing it was just trying to get to the end) Searches the web for more news. Starts to cry. Alarms roomie. Still in shock. Tells cauliflower (my friend) about this. She says I'm whacked for crying over Yan. I says that I'm not. Couldn't sleep till 4 a.m. Cried self to sleep.

Monday, 20 July
First day of mourning. Wears black shirt to class. Announces in Facebook profile and everywhere else that is mine that am in mourning. Didn't really talk much. Kept mostly to to my friends. They're in disbelief that someone would actually weep over a dead TV character. They says that at least Gareth isn't the one dead. Comes back to room and opens the web. Does the same thing yesterday and racks the web for answers. Starts writing 'Time'-fic (Message for link) but stops halfway, bursting to tears. Sleeps earlier today because of exhaustion. Still cried self to sleep.

Tuesday, 21 July
Begins to write about feelings. (Refer to other blog) Continues writing Time-fic. Begings to read other blogs and fanfics regarding matter. Stops when things get too heavy. Begins posting on blog.

I havn't cried today. I'm hoping I can sleep without the tears, but after reading ~*Sherry*~'s livejournal entry, I'm not too sure about it anymore. I feel like my heart is about to burst. I havn't felt this way in a long time and the last time I did, I prayed that I'd never feel soo bloody helpless and empty again. I know it's irrational to feel this way about a character from a television series, but you don't understand. You never do, do you?

Living in Malaysia is somewhat of a information block-out. I didn't get the news till almost a week after the last ep was aired. I could've grieved a long time ago. I don't know how to cope. As I'm writing this, I'm listening to Ianto's speech from Deadline. Probably not doing any good for my not-crying mission. I really miss him. I really do. Eventhough I havn't seen the episode myself, just the news of it... It's enough to drive me to tears. Right now, for therapy I'm ggoing to keep on writing. Because at least there, I can still have him. I can still dream.

To all those Torchwood fans out there, know this; You Are Not Alone. Only a fan knows another fan. We're not crazy. We're coping. Fanfickers, a super thank you. It's through your stories that we find some sort of solace in this pain. There, at least, we can still have him. Even if it's just for a little while longer. To those that read til here, thank you. Even if you don't understand.

Labels: Death, Favourite shows, Ianto Jones, Mourning, Torchwood

You are quiet all day. Your friends know what's wrong, but they don't know what to do. Your eyes are rather puffy and red from all the crying. You've been wearing black for almost the entire week already, and you'd never thought that black could bring some solace to what you are feeling now. It seems to amaze you that you find yourself wearing so much of that colour, the colour that used to depress you slightly in the past. The emptiness in you seems to well up and drag you in.

You don't feel like you don't know anything anymore. The world should've stopped. It should've stopped the moment.... Tears are welling up now. You're willing everything within you now to let them show. You've dried up all your prayers. You don't know what to say to Him anymore. You know that it's in times like these, you should trust Him more. But you don't want to feel. Or rather, you can't be bothered anymore.

You feel her sit down next to you. Brushing her long hair aside, she clasps her hands on her lap. "Hey hun." She offers you a small smile. "How are you holding up?" You don't trust your voice, opting to shrug your shoulders instead. She's another mourner. Another person left behind to sort this shit out. Another widower. you have never seen her tears, but you can sense them somewhere behind her worldwise eyes. Together, you sit together under the shade of the trees. It's not like you didn't see it coming. In fact, you expected it even. It's just that....

You hadn't heard the news. You were too busy being you. Until that night, that warm summer night, you finally heard. He's gone! He's gone! They all screamed in unison. You don't believe it. You look at the other news, they all say the same thing. And you can't believe you had let it slipped you by.

All over, the widows mourn. She slips her hand over your smaller ones. It's a warm summers' day, but you feel nothing but a biting cold that gnaws at your bones. You feel weary, drained of everything. "It gets better, hun. It always does." You hear her say softly as the wind brushes against the trees. You let the tear fall. It's nothing but a small whisper, but you hope that the wind carries it to the heavens above where you know he is. "Does it? Does it really get better?"

Labels: Mourning, Short stories