This is a piece that was working on for quite a while. It was intended for Picture it & Write, but this item has been long gone. I will still upload the picture. Have a read.
Being Happy is ideally the most important thing to most. Well, to some it’s simply just making it by, that keeps them ‘happy’. What really is true happiness? One may never know, unless one accepts that the beacon of true happiness lies within oneself. It has been a long haul over the past months. Many challenges, struggles, tears, misunderstandings and too much more to mention. What is the true meaning of life? How should our life be? Does it mean that we are to pursue our dreams and happiness to the very extent where we lose a part of us that has been keeping us happy through the past? Should it be a dedication to fulfil promises and dead deals made with the devil? Can those deals and promises be broken to correct the wrong?
Her screams said it all; shattering colored memories, there was no need for words anymore. I slammed the door behind me, hoping to conceal her anger within the four walls that was once our home. She cared no more about home; all that lingered in there was the mere shudder of ‘nothingness’. Time washed us away; now a faded piece of art. I was scared, but what on earth should scare a man? A man should never be scared of anything, to be a man, is to be brave. For some reason I was scared of losing her, I ran. A scared man, running. A poor excuse. Life never makes decisions for us, everyone is given a fair turn to be as great as he pleases, and to make anything that matters to him, great as he wants it to be. It is all in the power of one’s self to make those great dreams realities, to take life by the head and soar. But at times, we experience sour days, where we fall flat on our faces, thus making those great dreams nothing more than great heights. I continue to run.
‘Where am I running to?’
‘What is going to be the bottom line to this?’
There was no time to figure out that now, all I wanted to do is run. Far away. There is this simple hope within, that maybe if I run long enough I’d be able to shed every pain step after step. So I picked up pace, the faster my legs move, the faster the pain will shed. I can still hear her voice resounding in my head, all her words, they’re like knives. All of the sour days are now supposed to be lemonade? I can surely do with a good jug of lemonade right now. Most things are easier said than done. Is it that everything turns sour because of just one act? No, to every action, they will be a reaction. It takes thousands of dust particles to make a window dirty. After a while, day after day, without being cleaned daily, dust builds up. And there you see a dirty window. It’s the same with life, after a while words are exchanged, deeds are done, and no one takes the time to look back and say sorry. We all hold some grudges, remember some unforgiven action, and then throw it back like ninja darts at one another. It doesn’t take one day, nor one action, nor one word. It takes more.
This feeling is beginning to eat my soul, all this running was doing nothing but shedding my energy. I needed to rest. I throw myself in the rich green meadow engulfing my path, slowing making sense of the gloomy blue blanket covering the sky. It has this hopeful look about it, despite the distant sighting of black demon like birds hovering above. Reminded me a lot of my past, those days after school where I’ll sit on the steps and wait until someone comes home to open the front door. Alone, with the neighbors watching, etching in their minds thoughts that were malicious about my parents. ‘Poor boy have to sit there waiting, waiting on what? Can’t even do anything right’. All I could have done was stare into a blue blanket up above, thinking of the future. A hopeful sky, fumes of the present burning blue flames as the sun sets. My eyes would grow weary and nestle slowly in its home. The sound of a car door closing would scamper them open, and my legs would pull my body up and run towards my mum, with my bag-pack strapped to my waist. She would greet me with a smile, and a slight look of confusion. We would never exchange dialogues of my ‘waits’, even though I would give a disgruntled grin from time to time.
I can hear them now, screeches so loud it was nerve wrecking. My eyes red, all I can see now, is red. I feel myself drifting away, in a vision dark enough to throw me off a cliff. All the memories, I wish I could have leave them there with her. I couldn’t, but I now began to run again. I picked myself up and grazed through the dirt, splinters tearing away my flesh leaving droplets of the fresh red on rich green. These demon like birds were getting closer, they were ready to take everything from me. They were everywhere, dashing through the field, aiming right at my precious memories. My heart races through the meadow, they can sense fear, and boy were they preparing to feast. I run, and run and continue to keep pushing. I was out of the field now; there, they were distracted by something yellow.
My tired legs dragged me towards a small stump by the small river stream beside the field, overlooking the sunset. I took a deep breath and close my eyes for just one second. As I opened them slowly I saw her image once more. She was there, standing in her favorite jeans. It fits her just the way she liked, curved and skin tight. She whispered something to me, a sound that I couldn’t make sense of. It was too loud to hear her. In this vast solitude, it was too loud to hear her. The nearby fog was getting to my eyes. She just disappeared within a blink. It was time to head back home. I was infected with thoughts that kept hovering in my mind like spaceships. Speech conceived from anger adds ignition to the fire; such desires gets so intense, consuming everything in its path leaving nothing but regret and molten truth. It is with this that we experience a drop of confidence and start to question everything we do and don’t do. Life which was once built on a rock now splits into a landslide full of mudslinging, bruises and shame. There is hardly anything left which you can reconstruct into something meaningful, all that’s left is mere nothingness.
<to be continued>
She’s scared. She needs a new lease on life. She didn’t have the strength to actually pass the knife through her chest. Perhaps her swollen ego created a shield of confidence and edge. He dragged her close against the harsh stone cooled walls. Her eyes beamed with absolute fear; staring right into the pool of death. She squealed with raging acceptance. She wanted it badly, but at the same time regrets the very thought of it.
There was nothing that she could have done. He took the knife away from her. Placed it into his pocket and grabbed her hands tightly. Her skin was as cold as her destiny. The angels sung a song which made a way for her to ascend. But it was not her time to go.
She spit into his face. The dry saliva dripped passed his anger. He was getting tired of this. Tired of her begging; he turned her round and administer a blow on the concrete. Blood flowed past his wrist. Seeing that, tears pleated down her doll like face. The blood grew wings and finds its way into her conscious. All he can hear amongst the loud wind was a mumbling woman. Drenched and tired of life. Too scared to take her own, but fearing for his also.
He turned away, moving passed the gate, and she then thrust her hands around his waist. Holding tightly as a drenched phoenix, her ashes settled on his back. Rekindling the fire her love burned with passion. So much heat made him sweat.
He dragged her off, turned and threw the knife on the grass. As he walked away, his heart leaked through one beat to the next. At a far she picked the knife up, and speared it through his chest.
His feet staggered past the grass, as she ran to help him up. Her eyes flowed with tears. Blood gushed pass his chest: as he held the weapon that ended their love. She screamed into the night, calling on those angels to give him a second chance, and take her instead. His eyes closed gently as the stars welcomed him above. She gasped for love.
She dragged him towards the tree that held their initials all over. The branches screeched whispers of murder. ‘What have you done?’ she gently pulled the knife out of his chest, pieces of his love came out- Red and ruby like.
She ran into the shed opposite the farm stead. Suddenly she came rushing back with a shovel. Beside the tree, she started digging as if her life depended on it. She needed to get rid of the evidence, get rid of everything, everything that proves that ‘their’ love did exist.
Finally the hole was big enough. She took him by the boot, and dragged him further down into the mud grave. He added zeal to the dirt, more blood for the thirsty demons to feed on. She sat on his waist, staring right at the blood on her hands. She didn’t mean to do it. All she wanted was for him to love her back. But he never did try.
She reached into her back pocket. In her bloody hands lied another desperate weapon of destruction. The game was over. There was no one to play with anymore. She won. But never before had she felt so much pain, after a win. His eyes peeped open. The thought of him alive sends little spikes down her throat. She pulled the safety off the revolver. Stared at the moon and shot him straight in the forehead. Her tongue moved passed the trigger, licking the spattered blood off the handle.
His grave was now given to him by the love of his life. She picked a red rose out of the bushes and throws it unto his broken chest. She ran to the van and came back with a bottle filled with gasoline, sprayed in a circular motion around his bed, and then lit it afire.
From a distance she stared into the flames. Whisperings of silence filled the crackling grave. Her eyes leaked with bloody tears–Cold Case Love.