Darkened Sun; Love's Survivors

I woke from reverie,

    There in the window sill of our tenth floor apartment, sat the form of my lover. We hadn't bothered to leave like so many others when the bombing began, both of us had long ago given over fear to the moment of being alive, though now not even that could be said to be true of either of us.

     She was but a mannequin of her former glory, her soul fleeted in and out of the skeletal form that sat motionless in the sun as it streamed in through the shattered glass of a rain stained brick frame, in a building overlooking the ancient hill top Necropolis, from the highest point one could see the entire city and the surrounds down to the distant hills of the Green Belt. Every day she sat there, waiting for the return of something she never wanted in life, but in death the desire had become overwhelming.

   We hadn't been able to have a child, we both saw this as a good thing since neither of us had ever really wanted a kid, but when the world began to change, mending occurred across the earth for those infirm, the deaf, those stricken by cancer and a myriad of other genetic illnesses. So it was that near the end, just before the war began, as if to bind ourselves to the dying planet, we conceived and it was to be a girl.

    Four months along and none of the check ups had shown any signs of complication, save the ones the whole world was dealing with outside our apartment where my office had been transformed into a beautiful white baby's room. I had to move all our creative production tools and bins of random yet useful digital tech chords along with the writing desk and all our other geek quirky imagination inspiring helpful inventions into the living room where my wife, the beautiful maiden of mine, sat face to face, our laptops and the worlds we had together created the only thing between us as something  began to stir deep underneath the earth and in the oceans that flooded so many cities as the polar ice caps magically melted away.

     It was then when the war began and mankind lost it's marbles to vengeance that the mending stopped and darkness reigned. Penumbra spread over the land like a plague, even before the clouds of ash and destruction accumulated as the bombardment of the city took place, it only lasted a few days, then, the whole world went silent.

    The television had no channels, the radio lost all its air waves, the streets were littered with silent people, would be corpses, though we I never checked, it didn't matter anyhow, I was a corpse and yet I am still able to write and survive via my ghost of a soul being trapped in this husk that was my body.

     I don't know where my maiden goes when she leaves her body there in the window sill, but I imagine that she has trained her soul to truly act as a ghost, an ethereal being to the eyes of long lost mankind, searching the streets of our city, even to the top of the hill for the spirit of our lost child. Often she doesn't come back for weeks at a time, it is then, I think, that she delves into the darkness below the hill, into the Necropolis. Risking her own soul for a rifted love, fighting and fleeing from banshee, valkyrie and all manner of undead from wraith to wight and every sort of zombie in between vampire and lich, the last we both had become.

    If only I could remove myself from this hollow unbeating chest, then I too would fly along side my maiden, hand in hand we'd seek unto the ends of the world. But, I believe she needs me here to protect her body as we both slowly decay, a reason  for her to come back.

In earnest anticipation of,