Dark Black Heart
“Give me back my blood.”
She whimpered, except the tone resembled a command.
Her eyes reflected the blaze where he stood upon unscathed.
Everything else was dark, pitch-black like her request.
Everyone else was in wait, extinction made them jittery.
His hands gently wrapped around a beating heart, resting it on the shore.
He offered some sort of strange sympathy, contemplating the inky heart.
“‘Twas never yours to begin with.”
There went into the fire, he let go and so the beat heightened.
Screeches followed shattered the existence; unforgiving, unforgiven.
Every drop was darkened as night, every drip disburdened her blood.
Yet it was unknown to her, and she flung him in a blast.
Yet it was unsung: the peace, the love, the promise to reunite.
Every bit of him condemned humanity, to oblivion they would go.
Screaming, she chanted, “I will protect her with my life.”
There the night murmured, “I have protected you with my death.”
“I never said I was the hero, my hell child.”
Her feet roam around their earth, along with some others’ feet.
Walking along the passage, living until they are no more.
“Because the hero is never the one left standing.”
(Inspired by The 100’s Clarke and Madi Griffin.)
