𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗔𝗥𝗬: "I Wish You Saw The Stars That Night" by Mary Elizabeth D. Luzon

Cartoon by: Rio Llamido Traje

Published by: Hannah Rondaris

Date Published: March 8, 2024

Time Published: 3:26 PM

Category: Prose

Theme: Flashbacks before death

On the fourth of July, you held fireworks and told him, ”Dad would never let me do this,” with a grin. You smiled at him because it was only the two of you that night. He ran through the grass and held onto your body with all the love he could muster. He held your lithe arms in his own, your head tucking into his as you leaned to him for support. He was your anchor. He held you by the neck and screamed your name.

Enemies went and came. He was sure you never truly had enemies. He taught you to fight before he taught you to write. He told you to throw a punch and dodge the knife. 𝘏𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘰𝘥𝘨𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘪𝘧𝘦. That day, he stole a prop knife used for your theater class. For practice, he said, as he stabbed you by your spine. The wound, he said, was fatal. You said no. He laughed and disagreed, knowing death came after a knife. You said no.

And the rain came that night. Your father didn’t come home and he came by your side for company. On days when you felt alone, it was as if he knew just what to bring. He, himself, and him. He was always there, wasn’t he? Like a bug to your side but a comrade to your daily life. He smiled at you with a promise that he would never leave. It was annoying, you thought then. But then there was loneliness without him.

So you told him, “There was someone after me today.”

He asked if you were hurt.

“No, I’m not.” You looked at him with the only love you learned from him. “Can you stay the night? They might come after me.”

You made him laugh and call you paranoid. But you were right halfway. He would have protected you. He made sure the night skies were pretty, that the knife wouldn’t hurt, and that he would protect you. That was the promise, wasn’t it? So he held onto you, held the handle in place so you wouldn’t bleed, and asked you to stay.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright,” he whispered, the rain pouring over the both of you. “It’s not even that bad—it’s not even that bad.”

The blood poured from his hands and you were limp. You tucked your head onto his shoulder and he shook you awake. “We’ll patch you right up, hm? Take care of you like a—always.”

He took your head in his hands. You always thought his eyes were a pretty shade of green. It reminded you of grass. You kneeled on mud under the rain that would never end. He promised you he would protect you, you believed him. You wished you could have said those words. You wished that he didn’t cry. But you lay in his arms, waiting for the pain to stop. He called your name like a worried man. A man worried that he would lose you.

He wouldn’t. You believed him too much to think that. You would be alright once the heavy rain stopped—though, you couldn’t even look at the stars.