StoneLion's Writings

It's Not Unusual

La mort is French for death.  It is pronounced lah mour. L'Amour is French for love.  It is pronounced luhmoor. Disclaimer: I do not own anything by William Shakespeare, Tom Jones, or any of the quotes from the Heart of Darkness.  I am merely borrowing various persons, characters, and quotes and no offense is intended.

Lamort adjusted her black scarf as she strode through the crowds in London's Hyde Park purposefully.  Most of the people around her talked excitedly and a few sang strange words which she could only assume went to equally strange songs.  All the songs she noticed were about love.  She did not understand the point of singing about love; after all, death lasted longer.

She needed only to turn to history as written by the Bard.  Romeo and Juliet had loved, but that had not saved them; death had.  Lamort had drawn them away from prying and incredulous family eyes.  Lamort had embraced them and hidden them - together - in a place only she could - eternity.  Ophelia had died; love had driven her mad and made her careless.  Love had led her innocently to death.  Cleopatra and Mark Antony had died; the list continued on and on.

Lamort liked that Shakespeare fellow; he could certainly write tragedies.  Of course, he could write comedies well enough too, but tragedies were more Lamort's style.  Something about the violence, the romance, the uncanny happening that at least one character tended to die - that attracted her.

As she shouldered her way through the crowd, she finally spotted the man she had come to see, a mysterious dark-haired man who simply went by the name L'Amour.

"L'Amour," Lamort called over the excited voices.  The man turned to her, perfect white teeth gleaming slightly as a light glanced off them.  As he smoothly strolled toward her, he held out a velvety, red rose.

"Ah, Lamort," he pulled her into a gentle embrace.  "Are you here on business or pleasure tonight?" L'Amour motioned to the crowd with an arm and grinned widely, a lock of his short curly hair draping over his forehead.  Lamort smiled mysteriously and opened her mouth to speak, but a sudden blast of music interrupted her.

"It's not unusual to be loved by anyone..." the man on the stage belted out enthusiastically.  In shock, Lamort and L'Amour stared at the stage about one hundred feet away momentarily before Lamort turned to her companion and smirked.

"Tom Jones," Lamort deadpanned, "The horror!  The horror!"

"People would say the same if the last word he pronounced was - your name." L'Amour said with a wink.  Lamort hid a tiny smile from her gentleman friend.

"Death lasts longer than love," Lamort began quietly, competitively.

"Does it?"

"Romeo and Juliet died."

"Yes, but are they remembered for their death, or for the love they shared?" L'Amour countered gently.

"We should ask someone who would be objective!" Lamort pulled a young man out of the dancing crowd.

"Who would you rather kiss?  Who would you rather be in a lasting relationship with?" L'Amour demanded as he tried his best to look gorgeous.  The young man, madly confused, pointed to Lamort and hurried back into the crowd before she could place a thankful kiss of death on his cheek.

"That counts for nothing!  You could have influenced him!" L'Amour plucked a dainty woman out of the undulating crowd.  "If the absolutely pure, uncalculating, unpractical spirit of adventure had ever ruled a human being, it ruled this be-patched youth," L'Amour exclaimed to Lamort.  She rolled her eyes but allowed the second test to continue.  "You, my dear, have a monumental decision to make!  Which of us would you rather spend eternity with?"

"....I have a boyfriend." the bewildered girl said.

"Which of us would you rather kiss?" L'Amour pressed.

"," the young woman pointed to L'Amour and, like the man before her, tried to disappear into the crowd before she could be rewarded with a kiss.

"That was inconclusive," Lamort said in an annoyed tone.

"As it has been since we began this lover's quarrel," L'Amour agreed.

"Our way to show affection, no, L'Amour?" Lamort waggled an eyebrow at him suggestively.  L'Amour laughed and wrapped his arms around the pale, dark-haired woman.

Looking over the entranced crowd, swaying to the butchered clusters of indistinguishable notes, enjoying the touch an immortal lover, L'Amour commented, "We live as we dream - alone."

"They?" Lamort asked referring to the crowd.

"Humanity," L'Amour responded sadly, "As we lived."

"Yes, we lived as we dreamt - alone," Lamort told him and kissed L'Amour's cheek in apology for their latest spat.  "But we loved as we died - together."