The next part. Writen today, July 21st, 2006, 3:49 a.m. - 5:42 a.m.
He was depressed. Depressed as he could possibly be. Sure, there was an upside, but other than that, there really wasn't anything that could possibly save him from himself.
The night that Aurora had vanished, John cried; cried like no other man had cried before. So much so, in fact, that he managed to suffocate himself, hyperventilate, have a seizure, and black out. The sound of a heavenly harp being played was the cause of his awakening the next morn, and once he came to, he found Aurora standing beside him in the living room, right next to where he had blacked out the night before.
The very sight of her caused John to burst into tears, and he threw himself at her feet, grabbing hold of her silkly, pearly robes, and he began throwing out his question in a babble of sorts:
"D-do you r-r-really l-l-love him?" he managed to spew out, his eyes glued to hers, despite the tears that were pouring from them. With a sigh, she knelt down to his lowly level and ran a hand over the top of his head.
"No; I don't..." she replied. Her voice wasn't as emotionless as the night before. In fact, it held a more depressed tone to it, as if her words weren't true. John, however, failed to notice.
"Wh-who do you l-love th-th-then?" he spat out, tears still streaming down his cheeks to land on the carpet below. With a tone of sadness and almost resent, Aurora replied:
"Well, you, of course..."
Completely oblivious to the tone of her voice, John began crying even more so as he began to kiss from her feet to her forehead, his tears being made out of pure joy and happiness, thanking her for her mercy.
For about a week, John and Aurora seemed to be back together as a healthy, happy couple. They would talk, hug, cuddle, kiss, and just generally be joyous and happy. And outsider would look on at the duo and smile as a form of a congratulations to them. It seemed like all was well and back to how things were. Or, at least they seemed, for a time...
It was in a verbal conversation with Aurora that John began to feel that something was wrong. Whenever Aurora said "I love you", there was a tone in her voice; a tone that suggested that something was a miss. John had noted it many a time before, but paid it no heed prior to this point. Summoning Aurora to another, non-verbal means of communication, John let his question fly; a question that to this day, he wished he never asked.
"Aurora; do you really love me?"
There was a pause; a long, ominous pause that caused John's flesh to crawl and his heart to race. Her response stopped his heart and his flesh froze:
"I don't know..."
Where did the oxygen go? It was there a second ago, but in the blink of an eye it had vanished. He started to hyperventilate again, trying his hardest to get it under control so that he could proceed to converse. It did nothing. It was getting harder and harder to breathe. Then, Aurora made the request that sentenced John to what seemed like an eternity of solitude:
"I just need some time alone..."
Now here he was; depressed, alone, and doing anything he possibly could to make the time go by; movies, games, solitare, net surfing, even booze, but none of them proved affective to assist his situation. He was alone, forgotten, forsaken, a lost cause.
Every day he would attempt to contact Aurora, being successful each time, but recieving a scold as a response, leaving John in an even deeper state of depression and pain.
He didn't think he could sink any lower. He didn't think he could feel a more intense pain that the one which had enveloped his heart and consumed his soul. He thought wrong.
On Tuesday the 27th of June, John recieved a letter. It was from Aurora. The subject puzzled and distrubed him: Goodbye. Goodbye? How does she mean? Is this some sort of a code? As John opened the letter, he realized that it wasn't a code. It was his worst fear come true. A nightmare had been born.
Within the letter, Aurora stated that she hated him. That he was a liar. That he abused her. That all of the pain she felt was 100% his fault. That she was guiding another mortal.
That was it. His life was over. He had nothing left to live for. He had no excuss to wake up every morn. He had no reason to live. He had no purpose on the earth. He had no right to exist. He had nothing.
This realization caused John to completely lose it. He lost control over himself. His body shut down. He no longer had control over himself. He dropped the letter and fell to the ground, smashing his head against the hard wood floor. As the blood began to flow from the gash in his scalp, John proceeded to destroy himself; he arched his back and used his head as a balance, propelling himself into objects via his legs, causing even more head trama along with severe damage to his limbs and torso. As he carried on mutilating himself, he screamed; he screamed at the top of his lungs, screaming loudly enough to deafen even himself.
Within a matter of minutes, the front door to John's humble abode burst open with an astonishing force; there, standing before him, were the police. His screaming must have surely caused one of his neighbors to panic and contact them; he was screaming so loudly that he managed to scare himself at some points. The men in blue swooped down on the bloody, screaching John and forced his hands behind his back to cuff him.
"Just relax, son. It's going to be okay." one of the officers said, trying to get John to calm down. It didn't matter; it didn't matter what any of them said. It didn't matter how many of them their were. It didn't matter how many of them really cared. John was dying before their very eyes, and the only one who could truly save him was the one who had damned him.
killed: put to death.
killed: to have been placed in a state of depression so severe that insanity is (almost) attained. / to have placed one in a state of depression so sever that they either attain or come close to attaining insanity.
Via a letter entitled "Goodbye.", Aurora, killed, Johh...