His life was a battle against quicksand; the more he tried to dig his way out, the further he sank until he was so deep into the darkness, he despaired of ever finding a way back into the light.
His was a joyous life. Then came the dark day when Diana was taken from him. In most instances, he would have accepted acts beyond his control for what they were: beyond his control. In this case he could not. Diana was an innocent. She was pure. Beautiful. She was the white light covering the dark memory of his past.
In an instant, he struck. Lashing out against all that was unjust in his world. He created a path of wreckage that became his life.
As he fell further into darkness, the memory of her light diminished. He clutched her closer in tighter fists. In every action, he tried to bring her back in his mind – he knew he could not bring her back in person – but with every twisting movement he felt himself drifting further from whom she would have wanted him to be.
It stoked the flames of his rage, and he tore at himself with more ferocity. His attacks left him an empty heap upon the floor until he could muster the energy to re-launch himself against his tormentors.
They remained out of sight; invisible assailants never venturing within his grasp. He refused to eat fearing they would take him while he was distracted. He stayed awake all hours waiting for sight of them. They never materialized.
He screamed at them for being cowards, demanding they face him. He saw their shadows on the edges of his vision. They were cautious.
An alarm blared.
He shot up.
Her side of the bed remained empty.
The tears came again.
