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White lilies against a black background

Phantom love

Our creative writing brief for last term was “Re-write a scene or story from the point of view of someone or something that none of the characters knew was watching.” Here is one of our entries from The Lady Byron School.

It has been a mere three years, yet I think she is moving on and I’m fading away. 

She was always sweet, doting and happy. I don’t think I ever witnessed her cry. Even at the funeral, I saw no tears spill. 

I lived a quiet life, I didn’t really care for anyone but her. My best friend was my psyche, and I lived in my head. The funeral was small, nobody but her, my brother and a few acquaintances of mine whom I talked to every now and again at work, but never truly developed a connection with. She wore her long, purple satin dress that I thought made her look beautiful. She thought it showed her stomach too much, but I always told her that if I were to die before her that she would wear that dress at my funeral. 

I was buried wearing the same outfit I had worn at our wedding, a gesture to replicate the happiest day of my life. To show that even in death, that day will be forever cemented in my mind.

She said she wouldn’t either. 

But that is getting harder and harder to believe. 

The more time she spends with him, the more I fade. I am conditioned to remain here until the very last time someone remembers me. 

With every passing compliment she gives him, every time the tips of their fingers brush in synchronicity, and every time they go to the coffee shop downtown, the place we first met, I feel myself fading away. 

She took off our wedding ring last week and she hasn’t put it back on since. 

I didn’t want to stay here long. I lived an uneventful, unfruitful life that made no impact on the world nor the people in it. I only lived for her, and she was all I cared for. I wanted to be forgotten as soon as possible so that I could drift away and see whatever my next life had in store for me. 

I didn’t expect to go this quickly. I expected to stay here for the rest of her life. 

But the more she talks with him, the more I feel myself slipping out of reality’s clutches and into the hands of the underworld. 

By student from The Lady Byron School

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