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We sat beneath a burning sky as our world collapsed. But everybody knew the ending; the sweet assassination of all we were meant to be. Blind, we ran across the surface of the moon.

“Remember.” She whispered. But that was so many years ago, and as the crimson cast endless shadows across the old park, its rusted swings swaying gently in the twilight, something stirs a memory.

A song on the radio?

The ghost of a scent?

No. It was the dry scrape of leaves on that black river which joined your house to mine. They found me somewhere between the forbidden land and the place we all knew as home, face smeared by heavenly tears and clutching the remains.

The blood in the school yard stained the headlines as hell came to earth. I can see it now; desperately clutching the sacred carnation as I saw your train pull away through rain drenched windows.

That insufferable schoolgirl we would eventually grow to love, her rivals holding counsel in their pornographic parliament.

I delved within the recesses of my jacket and caressed a trembling finger over the spine of the forbidden texts as I exhaled beneath the damp blur of street lights.

The world was so quiet.

But there was a winter even longer ago when stick men hung from trees in the woods which housed the witches' grave. Lights danced in the sky behind the white church. The rain left black tears streaming down her face with which we wrote our history.

9pm on a damp street corner.

Music came from an island on a lake, but we created our own music. Sometimes they still see us dancing to it.

Down abandoned streets we fought our way through hordes of the undead. At length we reached the last supper and danced the Danse Macabre beneath the blood stained pumpkins.

A burning television screen. A bugle call heralding the end of days.
We raced to balconies. To mountains. Hilltops.
We held hands and looked to the stars.


And then God put out the sun.


The world was so quiet. By candle light we twist that cruel knife, screams of perfect heaven mirrored in malevolent eyes.

The curtains rise one final time

We are but silhouettes tonight.