She looks so peaceful her face emotionless, no smirk on it anymore. I crouch down and brush the strand of hair that has fallen across her face away and push it behind her ear. I cradle her in my arms and a tear slides down my face- so this must be what heartache feels like. It feels as though I'm broken, as though a part of me is missing and that part is Meg. She's still warm and I imagine her smirking at me, can hear her sarcastic voice, "No flick chicks Clarence". I wonder who that Clarence she always spoke of was, maybe I should read as she suggested. I will bury her, I know this was only her vessel but I feel as though it's a part of her, it's the only way I can pay my last respects to her. I gently kiss her forehead, breathing in her scent; imagine her breath tickling my neck. Those intimate nights we spent together play over and over in my mind, her sarcastic slur and sly smirk linger in my head. The way she pushed her body against mine, the way they moulded together as though they were meant to be, like God had intended for us to be together. But if God has intended for us to be together why would he rip her away from me like this? Why bring me this torment and pain, is it a punishment for what I have done, a new form of torture, worse than anything I have ever experienced. "Kill me", I scream, "You son of a bitch kill me now, I have nothing left to live for". Nothing left, not anymore. I fall to the ground and pound my fist against the floor until it is a bloody, crippled mess. "Nothing, nothing, not anymore…" I repeat until my throat is too raw to make a sound.