Love Me Dead

There's a book out there in the world called 642 Things to Write About.  I saw it at Barnes and Noble the other day, and because I'm a cheapskate and because I bought a bunch of Sharpie pens that I didn't need, I didn't get this book.  But I DID shamelessly Google it and find a bunch of Tumblr posts from it, which conveniently provided me with a couple ideas for things I could write about here.  Go figure, right?

Today's prompt:  Write a story based on the title of your favorite song.

My favorite song is currently Neon Trees' "Everybody Talks," but I wasn't really feeling it...so I'm using another one of my top favorite songs, Ludo's "Love Me Dead."

Thump.  Draaaaaag.  Thump.  Draaaaaag.  Thump.  Draaaaaaag.

This is the soundtrack of the afterlife.  When you're the only one wandering the burnt out streets of your hometown and you've suddenly lost all desire to speak more than a couple syllables, this is the sound you have to accompany your travel.

Thump.  Draaaaaag.

And that's because I twisted my ankle in some strange direction, and because the bone didn't heal right, or at all, I'm just dragging my sad left foot along through the dust and ash.  I feel like a weird cliche, but the shriveled remains of my brain can barely wrap itself around the concept of marbles let alone a cliche.

Westley whispered into my ear, "Death cannot stop true love, all it can do is delay it a little while."  And I believed him.  I believed that we would be together and we would love so much and so deeply it would embarrass the neighbors.  I believed that no matter how many times I received word that he had died, he would show up at the door that evening for dinner.

And I should have suspected somehow that his attachment was deeper than mine because he's gone off and died, and I'm stuck here.  He loved me just so much, his love isn't letting me die properly.  Which is great for me, I guess.  Prince Humperdinck doesn't really mind that I can't speak well or the limp I've got going on, and he's desperately wanted me for some time now.  Well, Westley, you had your chance, and now you screwed it up for all of us.  Thanks, thanks a lot.

"Kill me romantically, fill my soul with vomit, then ask me for a piece of gum.  Bitter and dumb, you're my sugarplum."

- Ludo, "Love Me Dead"