Leviathan Love On
As the monster transformed, its grotesque features melted away to reveal something breathtakingly beautiful.
This is a rewrite of a story I wrote in high school. In it, I die. The story is first told from the perspective of a boy. Not just any boy. The boy I loved. Half way through, the narrative changes to my point of view from inside the coffin. The story concludes with the boy’s perspective of my transformation. What is so interesting about this story is how it shows the inner desire I had to be transformed through death. Christianity impacted me when I was a child. I connected the concepts of beauty and self-worth with death and rebirth. I hope you enjoy the story and the accompanying video that includes the excerpt from my personal journal.
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Him
… And there she was, dead. The changes in her face and her hair had been drastic since the eleventh grade. Of course, she was only in the ninth when I met her for the first time, and I, being years older, made her seem so young and unattractive. She was only my friend’s little sister, and always seem to follow in his footsteps as best as she could. Her hair was short and red, like that of a boy, and she always covered it with a handkerchief. The thick lenses of her glasses made her eyes disappear and doubled the size of her nose. Her half a circle smile shone electrifying braces, and her bulbous chin protruded from her jawline. Now, to my biggest regret, I walked past the wall she hung upon. Many an art show I had been where she had hung, but never took the time to study her hidden beauty. A quick glance was all I had ever taken. I was such a fool. For the day when I finally stopped, she was no longer there. Her absence stopped me flat in my tracks. I stood in awe at the white wall she left behind.
Her
The brilliant light that surrounded me transformed into darkness. Plentiful peace now burned with fear. Sin punched my heart to a beat, and I woke up. My body was swinging within wherever I was, and therefore, upon instinct, I wanted out. As I sat up, my face gently touched a soft ceiling above me, and the harder I pressed my face against it, the more the light poured in. The swinging stopped, and like a cradle where the bulb had just broken down, I fell still within.
Him
To my amazement. The lid arose, as did she. The coffin to the spook of those carrying it fell. She spilled out. Her red hair had no end, and shone like silk, as did her peaches and cream complexion. Naked, hazel brown eyes, surrounded by a plenitude of lashes, opened wide, and shed silver tears of compassion. Pure white teeth, each having a pair, gently bit down on a lip of perfect natural color and fullness. This the flower with the sweetest pollen, I walked past. This the flower with beautiful petals, God took yet never let die. This the flower with the purest honey, that God replaced for me to take and never again walk by.