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he couldn't stand it anymore. the ticking noise that flooded the room was probably the ticking noise he heard until his last moments. he knew that he didn't like loud noises, a product of all the trauma they had been through. he tried to get the ticking noise to stop; turned the keys the opposite ways, held the pendulum to stop the momentum, even going as far as to cover the clock to stifle the noise. none of it worked, the clock wouldn't stop ticking. he had to take it out, burn it behind the house to keep him sane. that was probably the ticking noise the love of life heard in his final hours.
the phone kept ringing off the hook, friends and family calling in to check in on him. "i'm sorry for your loss," they said, "i can't imagine what you're going through," others phrased. he couldn't stand it, all the sympathy. nobody knew what he was going through, none of his friends, none of his family, nobody. so he took the phone, letting the handset hang low. he tested it from his friend's phone, the line was busy. no one could reach him, but he could still use the phone in an emergency. not that he would anyway, he would rather die than spend another day without his love.
he spent his days in the house, curtains drawn shut. the only time he went outside was to feed the dog, the dog his love was so fond of. he had never been a dog person himself, but his love had grown up with a dog and convinced him to get one. but now, keeping the dog alive was one of the few things that he enjoyed, his love had cherished the dog so much and he felt like he would let him down if he ignored the dog. just like the clock and the phone, the dog wouldn't stop barking. he constantly gave him bones, trying to keep the dog quiet. he thought the dog knew, knew his love was gone.
the instruments in the corner sat untouched. they used to play together all the time, his love on the guitar and him on the piano. they would sing at the top of their lungs, anything from love ballads to alt-rock hits. he couldn't bring himself to sing or play anymore, it was like he was betraying his love. the music was too loud anyway, too loud in a house that could never be loud again. as much as his love didn't like loud noises, he was constantly filling the house up with laughter and music and conversations. he couldn't bring himself to fill the house up with noise anymore, it was a disservice to his memory.
the funeral didn't happen until a week after he was gone. he planned it, his love's mom was too grief-stricken to be of much help. she had already lost him once and the pain of truly losing him again was too much for her. the funeral home was packed full, the people who were helped by him back in the days when the school was converted into a shelter filling the viewings. he could barely stand the crowds, people that his love would've never thought would come talking to him. it wasn't the first funeral for his love, but this time it was truly real. he couldn't stand seeing them bury his love, never seeing him again.
the town was still under heavy surveillance, with airplanes and helicopters still flying overhead. he thought about getting on one, flying away. away from the town, away from the memories. everything reminded him of his love. they grew up in this town, they survived everything in this town. but he couldn’t leave his love behind. he couldn’t leave the gravestone, the old second date sanded down and carved over, by itself with no one to check on it. his love's mother and brother would check in on it, but that was his responsibility. that was his duty to his love, to stay in the town that they fell in love in.
the birds that sat on their rooftop chirped at all hours of the day, it was like they knew he didn't want to be bothered. his love had never liked the birds either, they reminded him of the bats that fluttered above in the place that had taken so much from them. the place that broke him the first time and took his life the second. it was almost too much to bear, the white birds staining the rooftop with their feathers. the feathers floated down to the ground, filling the grass. their dog was little help, he was as scared of the birds as his love was.
he got called into the police station five days after the funeral. the curtains in the chief's office were black, as were all the officer's gloves. he wasn't surprised at this show of grief, his love's stepfather was the chief of police in their small town. the death certificate had to be picked up and the investigation into what had caused his love's death was still live. he felt uncomfortable in here, the place where so many bad memories had stemmed. he could remember his love riding by it, both of them on his own childhood bike, peering in the windows as they passed to see if his love's stepfather was inside.
"He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good."
he wrote in his journal every day, poetry a coping method for his grief. but his love was gone