The sound of rain tapping hard on the roof and the howling wind against the window pane sound like a classical music to her nerves that stimulate all her dying senses. She looked up at him as he drifted off silently. How peaceful you are, she thought, like a sweet child unknown of the harsh blanket clouting your little playground. His shallow breathing formed a light moist against her forehead; sweet and tender with a tinge of grapes. She closed her eyes as she reminisced about how she loved it; nights spent in a cold and dark room as the two of them seek fire from each other’s touch. As though their skins are of great combination to ignite flames through a delicious friction only them could make. She gently skimmed his bare chest with her candle-like fingers, savored every inch of his flesh, every chest hair that seemed like unstrummed guitar strings. She left butterfly kisses on and felt the warmth of his soft lips.
But like any other forest animal kept for amusement, she can no longer put up with it nor will she walk on the same blind shore she had strolled with him. If I wouldn’t do it, she thought, I have let myself die in vain. And so she sat up, facing her back at him, as her long hair glided down her smooth shoulders and caressed them like how she used to caress his. Careful about not making any sound at all, she turned off the lamp, opened the box she hid under the bed, hours before he undressed her, and pulled out a white cloth loosely wrapped around a thin, metal object.
Rain outside had evidently stopped pouring, so did the weeping of wind. It was all the void and complete darkness that kept her burning, enveloping her into the bravest flight she would ever achieve. She smiled at him with luxurious eyes, thinking all would be in perfect harmony. As she, and all the heavens, will have the orchestra seats to hearing a heartbeat cease.