Short Story: 'Dying Embers'

by Ayra Gowda 

A sharp inhalation shattered the eerie silence that shrouded the forest. Ivy knew that this was it. There was no return from this point on. She looked at the sinuous arch made of mahogany branches and the sporadic hint of crimson. She started to walk, a flutter of ivory trailing behind her, the inaudible footsteps of her late father accompanying her down to the aisle. Jasper held her in his arms. She gazed into his eyes, wondering how her life had come to this, the dichotomy of her demons from a bygone time standing desolate in the midst of her new life. 

She looked into his face, trying to find comfort in his soft brown eyes. But his body didn’t smell its usual scent of honey and citrus, instead replaced by a faint, bitter aura cloaking the warmth she once felt from him. His arms didn’t have their distinct delineation, but a softer, alien feel to it. It was… disturbing. Something had changed; Jasper’s allure was now a cold loveless stare, his visage assumed by a foreign identity. What stood before her was the inevitable ghost of a previous life catching up to her, something impossible to escape. The human nature to feel, the nature to attach, to settle and to love had made her slow, dimming her instincts and killing her fear, the fear that had kept her safe.

*

Darkness… She could not see past the thick veil that bound her eyes. She was like one of the dead, eyes bound in preparation for cremation. The darkness enveloped the small room in which she was held captive; the only light seeped under the door. There was an incessant flow of footsteps outside the door: familiar, but not quite human. 

Days passed. Ivy’s energy was depleted. Her cheekbones jutted out, casting long shadows on her once alluring face. Ivy had clawed at the doors until her fingers were sore and voice hoarse. Unavailing screams left her rasping, writhing in agony on the cold, stone floor. Her fiery red hair, matted with dried blood and sweat, was sprawled over the floor like the dying embers of a fierce flame.

She was alone. All that she had believed had shattered into small broken shards of glass. Ivy had lost track of time, her brain a disarray of forgotten memories and impossible hopes. She awaited the day that she would be delivered to the clutches of death. She had no one to live for. No one.

The sound of footsteps had died out over what felt like weeks. The desolate area had been erased of all kinds of activity. She had been abandoned, forgotten, soon to be erased from memory.

Ivy was on the verge of death, her emaciated body beyond the help of divine intervention, when the subtle sound of footsteps forced her to get up. She turned to look at the door open. The light permeated through the small crack. The silhouette of a tall man could be seen. Jasper. He slowly walked towards Ivy, each step showing more pain in his movement. A look of deep sorrow covered his face as he raised Ivy. He clasped her small body as he put her out of her earthly pain.

“Thank you,” whispered Ivy as the last tear rolled off her face.

Jasper cradled her limp body as he fell to his knees, deafened by the silence.