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I stare up looking at the pale pink atmosphere. I look at the way the white clouds swirl and mix against the warm colours of the lowering sun. It pains me as I remember us. The way we sat on the dim windowsill until 5 in the morning, curled up in each other's arms, warm, safe and happy, watching the sunrise and praying that we wouldn’t have to give each other up. A tear rolls down my cheek at the memory. What a bittersweet memory. It is all in vain now.
I walk up a set of steep stone stairs with heavy strides. I can feel the sweat forming on my head underneath the Geneva sunset. I clutch onto the flowers I have in my hands, squeezing them just a little too tightly.
I reach the top of the steps, the place where the stone meets the grass. The grass is overgrown, tangled and yet so bright, full of life and nutrients. I look around and feel a sense of foreboding. A chill tingles my spine as I continue to cross the grass, careful of my step. It looks different in the light.
I can see each stone clearly, every single one laid out meticulously and perfectly. I can read all of the names, even under the growth of moss, as if they’re people calling me. Each stone has a pretty facade, a gleaming complexion full of artistic design to perfectly commemorate the poor soul lying beneath.
I scan all around me. All of these people. All of these lives. They’re not just bodies. They had a life, people they cared about, ambitions, hobbies, they were people. A flash covers my eyes and for just a split second I see all the stones unearthed, the ground below broken and bodies pulled to the surface. Some missing faces, others limbs and the rest just plain deformed, unusable. I shake the memory out of my mind. I have an apology to make.
I continue to walk through the somehow eerie pink fog towards the most modern stone. It still glistens as brand new. My body begins to shake as I read the engraved words. My knees give out from beneath me and I find myself on the small patch on earth that means the most to me now. I look up at the stone with teary eyes.
“Henry Clerval. 1771-1796.
A beloved son, aspiring poet and dearest friend.
May you rest in peace.”
“I’m sorry my friend.” I look at the flowers still stuck to my hand. I let go of them, staring at the bruised stems. Marks of a larger beast that has broken them and left fingerprints upon their delicate vessels of life. How cruel. Even I have let my emotions destroy life. Perhaps we were not so dissimilar afterall.
I look up at the grave again and gather the courage to stand on one knee, the other resting on the very earth binding me to him. I trace my hand along the edges of the stone, the cold chiselled frame reminds me of him. The way I held that perfect jawline in my hand once and then the way I touched it last, it’s coldness burning through me.
“Clerval, my friend, my benefactor-” I feel my voice stick to my throat like spiders caught in honey. The tears are pouring out my eyes, soiling the grass below. I grip onto the headstone as if reaching for his hand. Oh what I would give to hold his hand for one last time.
Holding onto the stone I stand up. I stare at it through watery eyes and place the purest whitest roses at the base of the stone.
“I was never one for poetry but I always listened; You taught me a white rose meant loyalty.” My voice begins to crack. “You were always here for me and my dear, I am so sorry for pushing you away all these years. I should have-'' The tears are flowing again. “I should have told you. Forgive me Clearval.”
As my body begins to quiver again the wind picks up and the delicate petals of the pristine flowers are swooped up by the wind. I cry and try to catch them but I only end up pinching one. One pretty petal left.
I stare at the cracking bloody stems, the unprotected bulb and the free flowing petals in the wind. I hold onto the ruffle of my shirt tightly, it was yours afterall Henry, as I watch them float away from me.
I’d like to imagine that I’d come back here in 10 years' time, with a brighter face as the area around his stone blossomed and flourished with bushes full of white roses. I’d stare at them and think about how even in death your unwavering loyalty touches me.
But I know that is foolish thinking. I won’t make it another 10 years; not if I want vengeance for you my dearest.
“Henry Clerval, I say this to you now from the absolute bottom of my heart: I will find that monster, I will tear him apart and I will take his life, as he did yours, and I will pray that it is enough for you to forgive me. If I could do more, if I could bring you back, I would! But I won’t risk you turning into him.”
My body quivers and falls again onto the earth. I press my hand onto the dirt, letting it’s natural brown and green stick to my fingers. I should have been better. I should have been a better scientist so I could bring you back. More importantly I should have been a better friend so that we could have thoroughly enjoyed each other more.
“Clerval, I miss you. I miss you. I miss you!” My hand clenches the ground until my knuckles turn white and I leave an imprint in the grass. I stay there as if waiting for his comforting arms to wrap themselves around me, waiting for him to come and look after me as if we’re in one of his romantic plays but he’s the saviour and I’m the hopeless protagonist. I wait for his warmth but it doesn’t come to me.
I must carry on, if not for myself then for Clerval. I must avenge him. He didn’t deserve any of this. That fiend will pay for the death of the most courageous, creative and loyal man I have ever met.
I stand up tall, looking down on the headstone, my eyes alight with a fire that will burn even the most dangerous of creatures. I must allow Henry’s passion to flow through me now, as it once did, and let him guide me to defeat this villain. It is the least I owe him.
“Goodbye my dearest. I hope to see you soon, however, if you do not hear from me, know that it is not out of despise for if I could I would spend all of my time with you, but rather I have been defeated trying and if that be so, I hope to see you again in heaven though the chance of me being sent up there to an angel like you is unlikely.”
I clench the last rose petal in my hand and touch the ruffled sleeve of his shirt with my fingertips. “This might be the final goodbye. I wish I could have said a proper goodbye before but alas, this is the very best I am capable of. So Henry, my dear, goodbye. I hope our souls meet in another future; A more hopeful future for the both of us. A future where we can spend every moment together. Goodbye my dearest friend and benefactor.”
I let the last tear slip from my eye and stain the stone. I turn my back to my close friend and begin my journey. My eyes are aflame, my blood is boiling, I am ready to take on this beast as pure revenge for the person I cared about most in the world.