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I woke up early this morning. Or evening. A younger Sherlock Holmes could have found a way to tell the time, even without the sunlight that was stolen from us long ago by the eternal winter that’s enveloped the whole world. I just pulled you closer to my chest, buried my nose in your hair, and inhaled. You might remember it, John; you did vaguely swat at my sides and tell me to bugger off, but I heard the smile. I sighed and kissed the back of your neck before I gently disentangled myself from your sleeping body.
I always check the fireplace first. Still soldiering on. Relieved, I went to the kitchen and tried turning on the tap. It hasn't worked in months. I don’t know why I check every morning anyways. Procedural memory has deeper roots than declarative memory. Even I am a creature of habit, I suppose.
There wasn't much time left. I got out your favorite mug, but my hand shook when I reached on instinct for mine. Blinking away the tears, I withdrew my hand and closed the cabinet. We didn't have too much water left, and I didn't fancy making you gather more snow later on a particularly wretched day like today. Minimal visibility, rapid snow accumulation, quick hypothermia and death without extreme weather clothing.
Right now, I’m somewhere out in the middle of it. It’s getting harder to keep my already narrowed eyes open against the harsh wind whipping in my face. I lost feeling in my hands and feet a minute ago.
You know that I never intended to be cruel. I checked everything before I decided. As little sustenance as I require, I do eat, drink, and use our supplies. We wouldn't have lasted another week. I saw your ribs jutting out and your worn, loving face, and I knew that this was the only way left that I could take care of you.
The storm stings my eyes, and I think it fitting that the wasteland should snatch my tears up, too, after everything else it stole from us.
Actually, John, I was a coward. An immense void yawns in a future without you. If you were my universe, then I was time, and if you end, I end. There is nothing after that. By now, I imagine that you’ll have come downstairs, found your tea ready and my Belstaff gone, replaced by a chill. I imagine that you’re beating at the door, trying to get it open, but I jammed the lock before I left. Even then, the snow is starting to sag against the door. I made sure you couldn't follow me.
It’s so fast, John. I never expected it to be so fast.
You’re probably so tired, John. I am too. I stumble and almost fall. No. Just a little more. Keep walking. Now, I am just a dark smudge on the windowpane.
I cannot find it within me to stop, and you can’t seem to get the door open.