Psychotic Love & Death

A tuneless humming wove itself into her sleeping brain.

Accompanying the non-tune was an irritation that was crawling in jagged bursts up her spine. An irritation which was quickly growing into pain, and bringing her fully to a reluctant consciousness.

Death lay on her stomach with her hands tucked under her pillow. She could feel that the blanket had been drawn down around her hips so that her entire bare back was exposed to the attention of her lover, who was currently, it seemed, carving something into her flesh.

"What are you doing, Love?" she murmured into the pillow, without opening her eyes.

"Carving my name into you so you don’t forget me." Love replied.

Death sighed. "Why would I forget you?" Especially since you’ve carved your name into me about a thousand times already? She didn’t add. Love said nothing.

Death opened her eyes and gently turned over to face her lover. Psychotic Love’s eyes were pulsing, the pupils dilating and contracting rapidly and continuously. A disconcerting phenomenon, to be sure, but also beautiful. The irises shown with rainbow colors that changed with Love’s mood. Just now they were swirling with grays and blues, shot through with gold sparks.

Death sat up, reaching for Love’s hands and carefully extracting the X-acto knife from her left fist. Tears gathered slowly in the corners of Love’s extraordinary eyes, rolling down her round cheek, traveling the curve of her jaw to drop off her pointed chin onto the top swell of her full breasts. Holding Psychotic Love’s hands, Death leaned forward and kissed the tears away.

"Why are you sad, Love?" she asked.

"Because you were dreaming." Love said. "I could hear your dreams and you were dreaming about you and you were dreaming about you with the people and you love them and you were dreaming about being them and I don’t want you to forget me when you go away…" Love’s voice trailed off into silence, which she ended by loudly snuffling back her tears.

"Love," Death sighed. "You know you don’t have to worry about that. I’m not going back to them. I can’t go back. I have my job to do and my world to oversee. My dreams are just sleeping thoughts and memories. That’s all."

"What if your thoughts and memories wake up and want to take you back for real?" Love said.

"They can’t. You know this." Suddenly Death was tired of the game. "Okay, no more carving on me when I’m sleeping. I’m not going anywhere and even if I were…" Love whimpered at that, but Death ignored it and continued. "…Even if I were going to leave this level I would take you with me."

Psychotic Love’s eyes widened and shifted into a medley of oranges and yellows.

"You would? I’d come with you?" She asked, hands clasped childlike under her chin.

Death looked at her and sighed again, but not without humor.

"Of course you would come with me. We are inextricably intertwined, you and I."

Deciding that she would be getting no more sleep this night, Death hugged Psychotic Love, then moved to the edge of the large bed. Standing up she stretched her long body, her back arching until her bones creaked, and indulged in a jaw cracking yawn. She walked across the shadow drenched room and examined her body in the looking-glass. Twisting around she was able to see the bloodless wound left by Psychotic Love’s ministrations at the base of her spine, just above the swell of her buttocks. With her left hand, Death awkwardly reached around and smoothed the cuts away until nothing but a faint scar was left on her dark, luminous skin. Psychotic Love’s reflection appeared beside her in the mirror.

Love’s head came barely to Death’s chin, her long pale hair floating up, seeming to give her more height, and reaching down almost to the floor so that she was surrounded by a nimbus of silver. Her translucent skin was glowing slightly; the beat of her heart visible in the waxing and waning phosphorescence of her blood as it moved through her veins.

Death’s own midnight skin seemed to throb with vital, solid texture next to Psychotic Love’s ethereal presence. Her hair was long, but straight and close to her head, shining blue-black as it flowed down her shoulders. Her skin was etched with swirls and constellations; patterns of life and dreams shining darkly in the night. Only her glowing, pupil-less eyes shown whitely; eyes which searched out and found all pain and sorrow and despair, and gifted it with death, bringing ease and comfort to the souls of all beings as they moved on to their next worlds.

Love’s eyes pulsed slowly through the reds of contentment, the greens of longing, the purple of rage, and the browns of hate. Her thoughts sprang out from her twisted mind like static electricity, reaching into the physical worlds and entering the minds of those who were open to receiving and acting on her emotions. Standing still she infected thousands with her unquenchable desires and selfish loves, she erupted tempers and tantrums, murder and helpless sobbing, unendurable pain and jealous rages. Unvocalized shrieks whipped the air around her and blood-soaked throats voiced the madness she incubated and birthed into the worlds.
Psychotic Love stared without seeing and spewed out emotions without feeling a thing.

Gazing at their reflections, marveling as always that the contrast of their bodies complimented each other so perfectly, Death took Psychotic Love’s hand and squeezed cruelly, bringing Love’s eyes to her own, ending the scattering of insanity into the world for that moment.

Psychotic Love sighed as she looked at her lover.

"We are meant to be together, are we not?" Love whispered.

"Always and to the end of time, I will follow you, and I will ease the suffering that you bring." Death whispered back.