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>