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For those of you who've been around long enough to remember, some time last year, I posted a piece called "Damien." It may still be wandering around somewhere, I don't know. I received a lot of helpful comments on how I could improve it and finally sat down and rewrote it. And, with that, here it is.


LIGHTNING FLASHED

Lightning flashed; in that brief instant, she could see that he'd been crying. Another flash; the changes in him were apparent. He seemed to have aged twenty years in the past four months. His face was drawn, and the fine lines around his eyes and mouth had grown deeper.

Pity for him coursing through her, she leaned forward. "You can't keep her here, Damien. It's against the law."

He looked up, and in another flicker of lightning, his dark eyes bored into her. "So let them arrest me, throw me in jail. It doesn't matter anymore. Nothing does." His voice sounded old and tired.

She sighed. "I can't order you to move her, but it would be in your best interests to do so." Gathering her things, she rose and left the room. He gazed after her expressionlessly. After he heard the front door close, he turned his attention to the front window and watched her disappear down the drive.

Lightning flashed, illuminating the dreary room. Most of the furniture was shrouded in sheets and the walls were bare. Tears came to his eyes as he thought about how they had planned to brighten it up. Memories overwhelmed him and he felt he had to get out.

And so, he headed for the only room in the house in which she had not been allowed: his study. He felt his way down the hall, opened the door, and groped briefly for the light switch before he remembered the power lines were down. Once inside, he sank into an armchair that had its back to the windows.

Outside, the storm raged as it had been doing for several days. He laughed mirthlessly. Here he was, a man who hated the rain, in one of the wettest countries in the world. And for what? A woman he had thought loved him. Resting his head on the back of the chair, he alternately laughed and cried.

When the emotional flood had subsided, he rose and started to walk around the chair to the window, forgetting about the small table beside it. He fell over it and swore loudly. After picking himself up, he turned and pushed the table away. There was a loud crash and the thought crossed his mind that he had just broken his grandmother's lamp. And he realized he didn't care.

Damien ran a hand through his dark hair, which was even now shot with silver. He took a deep breath and looked out the window at a rain-washed, wind-torn garden. It had gone to weeds, all except the circle of roses in the center; he took care of them, for they were her favorite. A single tear slid down his face.

Lightning flashed; he cried out and slammed his fist into the window. The glass shattered and the rain came pouring in. He didn't notice. Stumbling in the wind that came through the hole he had made in the pane, he made his way to the bookcase and felt around until he touched cold metal.

He clutched the frame to his chest, and even in the dark, he could see her face. Her beautiful face, with those large, expressive, green eyes, framed by luxurious waves of auburn hair. His fingers traced the patterns etched into the metal frame, leaving drops of blood behind, as the tears began to fall again. "I'm so sorry, love," he whispered to the photograph.

Finally aware of the rain coming through the broken window, he let the picture slip to the floor and, ignoring his bleeding hand, felt his way to the door, closing it behind him. He leaned against it for a moment, not sure what he should do or where he should go. But deep within him, he knew the answers to both questions.

Lightning flashed through a window somewhere at the back of the house, and like a sleepwalker, he followed it to the kitchen. He lowered himself into a chair at the table they'd placed there so they could eat somewhere besides the formal dining room, and recalled that last night.

It had been raining then, too. She'd told him she was leaving. He'd asked why. Head down, she'd answered that she was pregnant. He'd laughed and embraced her. "That's great!" he'd cried. And that was when she'd pushed him away and told him that it wasn't his.

His smile had faded; he couldn't believe it. "Whose?" he'd asked, unwilling to consider she had another boyfriend . She'd looked him straight in the eye and said, "My husband's." And then she had picked up her bags and walked out.

Anger rose within him; he stood and swept everything off of the table. Dishes hit the ground and broke into millions of tiny shards, spilling uneaten food across the tiles.

Damien ran across the room, unaware of the dish fragments slicing into his bare feet. He flung the kitchen door open, and lightning flashed as he headed out into the storm. Thunder boomed overhead, but he didn't care. Trampling weeds and grass, he made his way to the circle of rosebushes that was all that remained of the once lovely garden.

He pushed though the thorny branches and fell to his knees by the mound that marked where her body lay. Sobbing uncontrollably, he stared at the simple cross at the head of the grave, and at the letters painstakingly carved into it. "I'm so sorry, Rosemarie..."

He knelt there and he thought about the rest of that night. She had walked out on him; he had called after her, told her to go ahead, he didn't care. But he did care. She had stood there at the end of the drive, water streaming from the ends of her hair. And then she had turned and started across the street.

She hadn't seen the cab coming, but he had. He cried out for her to stop, but she hadn't listened. The cabbie had been unable to stop in time to avoid her. Even now, he could hear the sickening thud her body had made as it landed on the ground.

Damien had run back to the house and phoned the paramedics, but they couldn't save her. He blamed them, he blamed the cabbie, but most of all, he blamed himself. If he hadn't yelled at her, she would not have stopped to look at him and would have made it across the street in time.

His mind back in the present, he turned his attention to the smaller cross that stood beside hers, the one that stood in memory of her unborn child. He found himself wondering what it would have looked like had Rosemarie lived. Would it have been a boy or a girl? Would it have looked like her or its father, that cursed man whose name Rosemarie had held at the time of her death?

Lightning flashed above him. Reaching forward, he pried the smaller cross out of the ground and fingered its pointed end thoughtfully. He wanted to be with his Rosemarie again, and he knew what he had to do.

He was found the next evening by his neighbors who had gone out looking for him when he didn't answer the door. They had heard the screaming and the shattering sounds and had been worried. The storm was still going strong, and lightning flashed, illuminating his face, contorted in a silent scream. His fingers were still curled around the top of the cross, which he had used as a dagger, plunging it into his heart.

His body was buried quietly. There was no funeral, and Damien exited the world as he had lived most of his life. Alone.

Wow, that was great, though I probably wasn't around when the 1st version was posted. I liked how nothing was really told towards the end. Like you pick it up thinking "what is going on?", and want to finish it just to find out. Good job, and keep it up.

As odd as it may seem I to others I realyl liked how you jumped around in the beginning. The beginning is what I really liked about this short story I really did grab my attention. Hmm the ending was okay I guess. Would of liked if you had more of a twist to the end. Grammer was pretty good from as far as I can see. And Damien's charterization was very well though out. Good work!

I thought it was nice... Well, not NICE, exactly, you know. Heh... You get the idea.