Lament of the Damned

“Darling?”

That familiar voice echoes in my skull. I can feel my eyes glazing over, a cesspool of cheap, tasteless liquor churning around in my stomach. My calloused fingers trace over the dirty floor, searching blindly for my one and only memento. Skin making contact with the familiar material, I slip the chain into my grasp and lift it into the air, dingy light reflecting off the object.

“Darling, what are you still doing up? It’s late!”

A small, golden locket, with little flowers engraved on the surface.

I remember giving it to him that day.

“Oh, work this, work that! This rebellion won’t go anywhere if you collapse in the middle of the street!”

It was our fifth anniversary. Happily married for five years, no matter how illegitimate that marriage had been. Being gay was a crime after all, according to our “infallable leader.” No matter the legality of the whole affair, the two of us still chose to celebrate every year.

His gift to me had been fairly simple in nature, though it had still meant so much. A home cooked meal, something so incredibly rare these days. I wasn’t even sure where he got the ingredients, stores stopped selling whole foods ages ago.

It wasn't perfect, neither of us had cooked in so long. The meat was somewhat burnt, the veggies soggy, and the pudding oddly… crunchy in a few places.

But the flavor, it was so much more than the insipid gruel and chalk like bars those monsters at the top fed us. I nearly cried when I tasted steak for the first time in decades.

“...I know, I know. It's important to me too."

My gift to him, this locket. An old hand-me-down from my mother, bless her soul. She had told me once when I was young that it had been a gift from my father, whose mother had given it to him in turn. I doubted I would ever have any kids to pass it onto though, so I had decided to give it to him. That was the entire reason being gay was illegal after all. Marriage was strictly for producing children.

It had been an important symbol of our love, for both me and him. Maybe that’s why it was the only thing I thought to grab when we all fled from the enforcers when they raided our hideout.

I should’ve thought to look for my husband instead.

“But I can’t allow you to neglect your own basic needs like this.”

I only realized that he wasn’t with us by the time we had reached the old subway ruins. By then, it was too late. That’s not to say I didn’t try to save him. God, I tried!

The public execution for him was like a national event. It was broadcast on every sickly neon screen. Jeering crowds throwing stones at the stage, trying desperately to strike my defenseless lover, who they’d strung up like a carnival prize. An announcer, listing off his crimes, laughing and cheering with every cracked bone and blood spill.

I tried my damndest to fight my way through the crowd, every cry from his normally soothing voice chilling me to the core.

But the sea of people was thick, densely packed into one square. By the time I got to the front, he was nothing more than a bloody, gorey husk, dangling by his misshapen arms a few feet off the ground. The inimical crowd around me celebrated, singing songs of their glorious leader and dancing through the streets.

And soon, it would be my turn.

“I don’t like being stubborn, but I’m not budging on this! You need sleep!”

I could hear the enforcers heavy-set footsteps racing towards my location. My head hung low as I let the locket fall from my grasp. The old metal clattered to the ground, dust coating it and stifling it’s gleam.

Fists banging on wood, shouting, screaming for me to give myself up. Not that there was much left to give.

“Rest now, darling.”

As the din grew in volume, my eyes slid shut. I didn’t need to see them break down that final door to know it was the end.

“There’s always tomorrow.”