Necklace Macabre

She was crying back then, and her tears reached all the way down to me, laying there on her neck. Even in her soft warmth I could feel the bite of the wind and hear the cars rushing by, as fast as the frightening rapids below. We must've been back to the bridge, yet this time she was alone, and her troubled breathing worried me beyond belief.

I may be but a necklace, yet her love gave me life. I fancied myself a good luck charm. So joyful I felt adorning her neck, her young visage reflecting on my golden surface. For a short time, she would whisper words of love and giggle to herself, alone in her room.

Yet now, her tears were incessant, her sobbing so distressing, and her steps uncertain. I hung from her neck and felt her hands reach for me, reach for my chain and pull strongly, to no avail. At last she removed me gently and, hanging there from the tip of her finger, I could see her face in all its horror; she was hurt, deformed, wounded on the cheeks, with a black eye and swollen lips! Her eyes, once shining of a fiery curiosity and love for life, were empty.

I saw in a fraction of a second her eyes catching her reflection on my dim polish and she let go of me, I fell down to the metal grid underneath, to the blue distance leading to the river below, stopping suddenly. I glanced at the glacial rapids underneath and wished to go back to her neck, her warmth, where I truly belonged.

I was stuck on the metal grid, barely holding on. Hanging there, perilously, from left to right, to the whim of the winds, I panicked and prayed all the more, for her to pick me back up, and regret her foolishness.

Yet all I heard, amidst the cacophony of the surroundings, was a terrible splashing far down below. Curious thing is, I didn't hear any footsteps, of her walking away, back to her home.

What to make of this?

Hanging there, I realized I knew exactly where I was. A sudden, repressed memory gushed forth in me, perhaps from the helplessness of my situation; it was there, at this very spot on the bridge, where I was gifted to her, where I embraced her neck for the first time.

I recall harsh hands, grabbing me from a glass box, I recall the same hands shoving me in his pocket, amidst the dirt and the cigarette butts and the debris, and I recall wondering if such a place was where I rightfuly belonged. Though I soon felt through the fabric the so very cold of the wind, and heard the now familiar flow of traffic and waters rushing down below. I remember her voice, crystaline and bright, and the distant whispers as he and she walked along the bridge, closer and closer.

There, right where I ended up stuck and helpless, the harsh hands grabbed me in his pocket, fiddling and fiddling with me, he whispered to her honey words, and at once he took me out to the bright spectacle of the scenery;

Beyond the railings of the bridge, Nature, in all its glory. The setting sun painting the world of one thousand shades of orange and red. The clouds were as pink as her naive love. And under the spectacle of the end of a day I was held up, high above her head, with anticipation and jubilation I slid down her warm, soft neck, into place, my rightful place, my eternal place.

To think this was only a few days ago, yet now in my precarious situation it all felt so distant, like a fading dream. The hours flowed by, as did the traffic and the river down below. My thoughts, as silly as a necklace's thoughts can be, were of longing. Of longing to get back to my rightful place, to her neck, to her warmth.

Hanging there in the twilight just before dawn I heard familiar footsteps approaching, their rhythmic crescendo sending rising waves of hope and anticipation through my golden metalic being, yet what reached for me were not her gentle hands, but these awfully familiar hands, these harsh hands.

Disgust and outrage radiated from my very being and I changed my longful wish to a hateful wish; wishing this man all the worst that can happen to a man in this world, for I suspected he was behind her wounded face, the source of her sobbing and moans of pain, the reason I didn't hear any footsteps, and rather a splashing down below.

A good luck charm became a cursed item. Reflected on my surface the carefree, laid-back face of a man, his uneven beard and his empty eyes, revolting to me. To think these harsh hands were tied to such a lowly being. And hanging there from his fingers, an all too familiar voice reached from behind.

He pushed me back in his dirty pocket and I almost lost all sanity, to be back in such a hellish place, yet I didn't stay there long. I heard, from down there through the fabrics, the feminine voice. Shy and reserved at first, quickly shifting and taking hues of pink and accents of giggles and laughters. Yet that voice, as familiar as it was, wasn't that of her, of my warm neck. It was the voice of another girl, and at that realization I changed my wish once more.

To fall through his fingers, to fall down to these so terrifying waters down below, and get back to her. Get back to her, reach her, find her wherever she went, wherever despair led her, and be with her, if no one else will.

Be her everything, lay in her neck and know that no matter what, my place is rightfuly here with her.

And so the harsh hands pulled me up one last time, to the frigid air and the rising sun, its bright blinding rays shining and sparkling on my golden surface. Shining even more, the eyes of that even younger girl in a red scarf, looking at me with all the attention in the world. And seeing her youthful, yearning, joyful face I repeated my wish, to whatever governs this absurd world, to make me slip, make me fall down below, and avoid the curse to go on, for I now believe I am a truly cursed object; bound to inspire such hope and love to someone only to bring them to suffering, despair and a fatal action.

She said something along the lines of ''It's not even real gold'' and the harsh hands shook in panic, as - thankfuly - my chain snapped, and bless the heavens my wish came true!

I fell down from his harsh hands and made my way through the metal grid, down, down far below through the cold air and the splashing water droplets and as I reached the white, rushing rapids of the river I pictured myself searching, searching and finding her at last, reunited in death, and as she flows with the unrelenting current her hands would reach for me, in the warmth of her neck, and at once the cursed object I am would become a good luck charm, my only remaning hope to get her back to shore, and live along her laughters and her tears forever more, back in my rightful place, such naive hope.