Skin assuming a glacial chill and pallor, her pulse collapsed again and again despite my resistance. Death needs no invitation for there is no one who could deny, for long, his occupancy. I knew that he would come, for he has stripped my heart of every possibility. Yet even as I kneel upon this granite altar, an ancient man, he does not claim me. I, as Methuselah, am tied to the earth and shall within her womb remain unfinished. When she is gone the universe will turn my ashes into tempestuous stars that I may be birthed, a hostage, again.
She fell upon the wind like a carrion. Her soul so deeply entrenched that on him she unwittingly preyed. He could find no diversion, for her absence possessed such an abiding presence. In every stranger he discerned an inferior semblance and in every sunset the promise of eternal sleep.
So devoted were his hands to grief that he could find no reason to persevere.
In the shadow of an obelisk, he composed the final verse of a joint requiem. Suicide was but a formality for in truth he was already dead and beside her coffin, his was sympathetically placed.
My first attempt at a 100 word story not an easy task as I tend toward excess