Steve And Guinevere: A Short Story

“That was a long time ago, but it’s wrong what they say about the past, I’ve learned, about how you can bury it. Because the past claws its way out.”

He slowly got on his knees as tears started to flow from his eyes. She was visibly disgusted at the sight of his crying, sending a powerful kick towards his stomach, causing him to cough up spit. He coughed violently as he held onto his stomach. She looked down at him shaking her head as she pulled him up by his head.

“Oh glory, my friend is dead.” I felt my lip quivering. Silence overcome us and I said again, “I don’t want to live.”

It was dark outside and the moon and the stars had already made their way up on the sky. Tonight was a night like any other: Bucky had gone to the bar to pick up a nice dame, only this time he went home a little earlier than intended. He fumbled with the keys once he had reached his and Steve's apartment, stumbling inside with a grin when he had finally managed to open the door, obviously very drunk. As usual, Steve was sitting on the couch with his sketchbook in his lap, concentrated on whatever he was drawing while listening to the radio. Bucky made his way to where Steve was seated and leaned over his shoulder, looking at the drawing.

“I don’t care,” you hissed, bristling like a cornered cat. “I’d rather leave than have to look at you, and I bet you want me gone, anyway!”

“Well did you ever think that maybe you just don’t try as hard to remember things as you did before, that maybe the order in which things happen don’t really matter as much to you as they have in the past?”

“I want her to be safe.” Nick whispered. It wasn’t a lie, but Nick just had a horrible way of going at it. “She’s my friend.”

The king lifted his head and spotted his drawers lying next to his feet. He grabbed up his undergarments and slid into them. He then pulled Guinevere toward him and kissed her. “Your turn now, my love,” he insisted, easing her down onto her back.

“No, get away from me! You’re crazy why did you hurt me?!” She yelled at him as tears kept falling from her cheeks.

“Nothing,” she whispers, using a different approach to convince him not to go back, “you’re not in the past anymore. Everything you experienced occurred a long time ago, and you can’t change that.”

In a literary world filled with romance, everything is supposed to be perfect, beautiful, and full of courtly love. Every girls dream is to find her knight in shining armour. A real heroic and brave man who will fight for her, love her and cherish her as any other great knight would. As for the beautiful maiden, she is perfect beyond anything a poet could write about. Any man is unworthy of her love. She is portrayed as untouchable, and unattainable, because of her physical beauty and good qualities. One of the greatest poets to have mastered the marvelous art of courtly love was known as Chrétien De Troyes. Chrétien is best known for, Erec and Enide, and The Knight and the Lion. The poem by Chrétien that stands out from the rest is his work

Freya just stared at her friend. "Gwen, you'll never forgive yourself if you don't at least make the attempt to fix what happened. You may never be able to get back what you once had, but at least take the chance. Please!"

That was a few days ago. I decided to follow you wherever you wandered, as I had while you were sill you. It seemed odd that the virus wasn’t affecting me, but I didn’t think much of it. I just stayed with you. You didn’t get tired anymore, but your body was breaking down quickly. It hurt so bad to watch the best friend I have ever had fall apart like this.

He sat up and scootched to the edge of his bed, sighing deeply as he considered the course of actions to come. To say the very least, he was excited, though nervous at the same time. It was a very unpleasant mixture of feelings that didn’t boil over well in his stomach, but he supposed he had to suck it up and muster what he’d been praying to do since the end of Summer, when school had started. Getting up now, he maneuvered to his closet and pulled out his jacket, putting it on when suddenly he had caught a folder of papers in his peripheral vision.

“I understand perfectly. You think if you just roll up on her, and demand she return to suburbia with you, she’ll freak out and run away screaming.”