Luke stood in front of the large iron gate. He sighed and then opened it. The sun rose on his face. It was early in the morning and the air was still chill and heavy from the previous night. He walked among the graves and, as he advanced, the sun glinted through the green leaves of the trees. The grass was still wet but it smelled fresh, even there, in a graveyard. As Luke reached a massive tombstone, he took a deep breath, closed and then opened his eyes. He often did that - closed his eyes just before he arrived at the grave, and then opened them in front of it, hoping to see a different name carved in the stone, or no grave at all. But every time he did it, the tombstone had the same thing written on: “Allison Diana Evans, b 1980, d 2015. Beloved wife and friend.” A black and white photograph with Allison’s face adorned the grave and that made everything clear for whoever felt the need to deny the truth: it was Allison, his wife, who lay beneath. She was dead, and there was no way of denying it. She was gone. Luke noisily let out some air through his nose. He kept his lips and his teeth clenched tight. His heart, tiny and shy, beat slowly in his chest. He knelt down on the wet grass, by the angel stone statue with a book in hand. He laid on the stone carving the bouquet of fresh wild flowers he brought with him, and wept. The stone carving that was above Allison’s tomb was of a woman sleeping in her bed. Her hair was loose and wavy on her shoulders, her right hand holding an open book, her face a clear picture of peace and serenity in her sleep. A cover made of stone protected her sleeping body. Her left hand rested on her right breast, gentle as a feather. The entire carving was made of stone. The carved woman was beautiful, still, and cold, just like his wife. Luke reached a hand on the stone carved bed the woman was lying on. He seemed lost in a prayer as tears fell down his cheeks, wetting the stone. Luke toyed with the yellow and blue wild flowers, attempting to arrange them in some sort of way that looked nicer and made the place lively. He closed his eyes and pursed his lips tighter.
“When I die, I want you to make a new life for yourself. I want you to live a happy life,” Luke remembered Allison telling him. "You’re not going to die,” he said back, jokingly, with a smile on his face, not even considering the possibility. “We all die, Luke,” she said, serious and focused on his eyes. “At some point, each one of us has to deal with the feeble characteristic of life. And when-” “Not when, but if,” he corrected. “Fine. If that happens to me first, I want you to move on. I want you to be happy, like you are now. I want you to keep being happy. I want you to fulfill your goals, and make new ones. I want you to cry a little if you must - in fact, I won’t be mad if you do; it will show you loved me - but cry a little, only for a short while, not for your whole life, like other people do. Life was made to be lived. “Make the world a better place, like you always tried to, not a sadder place. Promise me.” “Ok. I promise you. I will make the world a better place,” he said, smiling at her. “I’m serious,” she said, frowning her eyebrows at him. “Ok. I promise you. I will try to move on. But you won’t die before me. If it will be someone’s time to die sooner, it will be mine, for sure, if you put me through thinking that I will someday lose you. I don’t want to think about that now. It could give me a heart attack. If that time comes, I will deal with it. But now, now I want to make love to you, my cute, frowning, wild flower. I want to run my fingers through your curly hair and kiss your soft lips, and neck, and bosom, and…” Luke seemed lost in a daze. “And…?” Allison whispered, searching to know more of his intentions. Her skin was soft as he caressed it with his fingers. He leaned in closer to her, breathing in her fresh perfume. He touched her ear with his lips and whispered slowly and gently into it. The corners of his mouth went up as he talked, and Allison’s cheeks flustered, red and hot. She was hot with desire, stirred by his words. She no longer frowned, pondering the feeble life. Instead, she grabbed him tightly and kissed him. Her lips sank into his, her tongue searching and finding his. It was early in the morning, and through the thin, white curtains the room was flooded with a warm glow. They lay completely naked on the bed, their bodies tangled and ruffling the white sheets, searching each other for more. More to touch, more to kiss, more to pleasure, more to love.
Luke opened his eyes. His cheeks were wet with hot tears, his eyes instantly painting the world a blurred vision of what it was. He wiped them with the back of his hand and breathed out. His knees were weak, but he sighed and slowly stood up. He grabbed the tools from the basket and pruned the white rose that climbed on the small angel carving, then the rose that climbed on the woman stone carving, and then he gathered the small branches that fell on the ground. As he picked them up and put them in the basket, a few spikes stung him and he bled. He sucked on his finger until the bleeding stopped. He looked once more at Allison’s black and white face, and at the small angel carving, and then, wiping new hot tears from his eyes, he moved away and left the graveyard. The sun was higher in the sky now, and the grass was less and less wet with morning dew. Luke closed the gate behind him and walked back to his house by the lake.
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/36201859-velvet-touch
