Heaven And Kisses Too
In the back of a closet in a long-abandoned hotel in LA, once home to a detective agency of sorts, lies an ancient box. In this box is an even older mantle clock with cracked glass which appears to have miraculously survived a fire of some sort - possibly an explosion. Beyond repair, it looks like just another piece of garbage left behind by its master.
If this clock could talk it would tell of a day it once witnessed.
It would speak of the indescribable joy of walking in the daylight as a human for the first time in over two centuries. Of staring out the window and feeling the warmth on your face and knowing that the coldest of colds will never haunt your flesh again.
It would weave a tale of desire and love, expressed as many ways as her body could bend. Of peanut butter and ice cream kisses; of nibbles and licks as cold as once was his flesh. Once was just a short time ago yet so very very long ago as tongue laid into flesh and she no longer blazed like an inferno against him, around him.
It would recount what happened next: talk of dreams and the deep slumber of satiated lovers. Anxiety and leaving twicefold; each too concerned about the other to worry about self.
It would tell of their return and subsequent celebration. All-consuming passion took them over and they made love 'til both were too sore to move.
It would relate the next morning's tears, her insistence for more time. Apparently his place in heaven hadn't been worth giving up for her kisses.
It might even cry, and articulate its refusal to keep time anymore. True, it had been knocked down in battle, but had it been able to, it would have leapt.
It cannot talk, for it is a clock and quite inanimate. Still it remains, the lone surviving witness to a day that never happened, its owner long ago having regained his humanity and died a mortal death.
For all that they sacrificed in life and undeath, they gained eternity together.
The clock, if it could, would be happy.