The petrichor was promulgated, there was no rainbow, nor a clear sky, it was greeted with another wave of eerie sombre clouds wafted above us, mantling the day with a unwelcoming shadow of death itself.
She was heaving heavily on the bed, hanging onto the gossamer of hope, the warmth his hands was the only thing securing her silver cord from being trimmed off.
He was tired of sobbing through the nights, knowing that worrying, grieving was an avail to save her from the palms of death itself. She was semi-conscious, darting back and forth from dead to life, attached by the very hope that was ignited in her.
The cold atmosphere turned frigid, the dark clouds swirled above them, lightning came first, followed by the claps of thunder which nudged him up. He scrutinised her to search for signs of life, feeble, but distinct. She was doing her best to combat the arsenal of viruses sent by Providence to terminate her. Hope was the only thing that kept her heart beating, and also the waning life source for both worlds, one.
zeep. zeep. zeep. His phone was vibrating against his trousers, zeep. zeep. zeep. He was too wearied to pick up the phone, zeep. zeep. zeep. He wanted to spent the very last moments in staring right into her. pick it up. Her face notioned him, there was a mere jolt that was sent down his spine.
Hello. He said nonchalantly.
I love you. Take care. It was her voice.
The next second was chaos. A blinding lightning, a roar of thunder, his heart sinking into the Davy Jones’ locker, her pulse stopped, two worlds destroyed simultaneously, hope dissipated, the silver cord snapped. He snapped, shattered into million pieces that was impossible to piece together, he dropped his phone, embraced her soulless shell, wanting her to come back, but he knew she was gone, forever.