Morgan held the body of Jen Romita close for a while. Absorbing the moment into his skin. Letting the failure sink into his body.
There was a promise he had made to himself. A promise of making sure that the two of them would make it out alive. A promise to himself that when they made it out. He would tell her he loved her. Tell her all that he had held inside for so long.
But it was over now. He was now holding a corpse. A corpse that would never be able to reciprocate his affection. A corpse that was only now begining to chill in his hands.
Morgan gently placed her back down. There was still blood leaking from her head. Gently trickling onto what was once a bed of green. He couldn't stand here and continue to watch her bleeding. There had to be a way to stop it from bleeding.
His gaze slowly drifted down the log until he saw the bag. It was Jen's bag. There was a first aid kit in there. Perhaps there was something that could be done. Something to make the bleeding stop. That was all he wanted now. To make it stop.
He crawled to the backpack and gently pulled the zipper.
Morgan found himself choking up again. He began to sniff and he brushed the shot clinging above his lip away with his arm. His hands whiped the excess mosture under his eyes and he breathed in short, wavering breaths.
His hands gingerly dug inside, as if he was handling a family heirloom; Jen's heirlooms. Gently he pulled out item after item, and he placed them softly on the ground. Tubes of lipstick. A compact mirror. Rouge. Eyeliner. A small makeup brush. A comb. Pieces of Jen's life. The life she had lived back home. A life in which it wasn't just Morgan that was looking at her from a distance. The whole world looked at her. She was always happy when they looked at her.
Morgan pulled out clothing next. There were many different garments inside. More than would ever be needed for just a simple camping trip. But that was Jen, it was more to the puzzle that was her life. It was one outfit though that stayed his breath.
A red spagetti strap shirt and a simple white skirt with a flower on the side. It was something that he had picked for her, the day they had gone shopping. It was mostly for him. It was a moment in which they were going to improve his look. Make him feel more confident. Even so, they stopped at a few stores for Jen too. This was an outfit that when she tried it on. He loved it on her. It looked beautiful, and it was her. Jen had brought it for the trip. Whether he had brought it for him, he would never know.
Finally, there was a bottle. A tiny little bottle with a clear liquid in it. At first, Morgan was unsure as to what it was. It wasn't until he read the label. It was vodka.
Morgan's face curled into a grimace. His hands dropped to the ground and he began to shake again. He wasn't sure if he was laughing or crying now.
Of course Jen would bring vodka. She always found a way. Somehow, she would sneak it in. It was just the way she was.
Morgan's hands returned to the bag and inside, he found the first aid kit, as well as a long strip of plain white fabric. Yes, this would be perfect. This was all that he needed to stop the blood.
Returning to Jen's body, Morgan brushed away the stray hairs from her face. Placing a corner of the cloth on her forehead, he gently wrapped it around. He made sure to not touch the wound, as if touching it would cause it to bleed more. With a definative tug, he tied the ends of the makeshift bandage togeather.
I'm sorry Jen...I'm sorry I couldn't bring you home...
Morgan stared out into the distance. There was still a boat! There was still a way to escape! He brought Jen closer to him and gave her a gentle squeeze. There was still a way to bring the two of them home. All they had to do was get there! It was only a few days away. It would be done!
He gently placed Jen on the ground and rushed to his bag. He opened it up and placed all of Jen's items in his own bag. It was crammed tight, but there was no way that he would leave it all here. Nothing would be left behind. Nothing.
"Frankie...we're going to get going..." he said, his voice still wavering slightly, "All of us...there is still that boat...We're all going home."
Morgan stood up, and walked to his bag and gun. He draped the backpack over his shoulder and looped the gun over his body. He then turned back to Jen and knelt beside her.
He placed his arms under Jen's body and slowly lifted her up. His knees initally wobbled at the weight, but after a readjustment he was able to lift her, he stood on his own.
Morgan's first two steps were a struggle, but soon he retained his balance. It was difficult, but that didn't matter.
He had failed her, but he could still bring her home.
Maybe if he did...she would forgive him...
((Morgan Leftowitz continued elsewhere))
B054:Oscar Trig-Smoker, Artist, Film Buff
Please, message me if you have ideas, I sure don't!
Fall down seven times...
Stand up eight...