Post by Ira Defaire on Nov 12, 2015 6:03:31 GMT -5
PROLOGUE
But slowly, the shiver of excitement became a bone-chilling cold that soaked her to the skin. She was alone as she slid down the face of a lustful swell and into a trough. Their raft has gone. With a small rising panic, she was lifted again, but it was out of reach and growing smaller. Her icy-cold fingers reached out for the small piece of wood that detached itself from the boat, it's wrinkles smooth by the waves of the sea. It was mere millimeters away, only for it to tauntingly float out of her reach. Their beautiful craft of love was cracking, and nothing could have hammered it into place. The ship that battled fiercely against the waves of punishments, jeering and mockery from the outside world was being dismantled by the world, and the judgmental eyes they had viewed the couple in. It was destined to resume battling and fighting against the waves, but what good would it be, if there was only one person to hold it together?
Her fingers grasped onto a plank that was lowered down to her, and her dark eyes met the male's. She could feel the warmth in them, even when she was enveloped in the icy agony of the sea. For a fleeting second, she had wanted to let go of the plank, to allow the sea to carry her away and to simply go with the flow. There were no boundaries, no limit to how much mockery the world would gave her, it was as infinite and endless as the ocean. However, her eyes hardened and she scrambled onto the boat. Her mouth was set into a thin line, and her fingers clenched so tightly that her fingernails was digging into her palm. She had learn a lesson while allowing the sea to carry her, and she finally understood there she had no control should she go with the ocean. Once she let go of the boat and averted her eyes from it, she would be banished in the depths of the ocean forever.
Just like love, the boat was a beautiful piece of art. It takes two to hold it together, and the couple managed to, defiantly staring at the whole world. They would not give in, nor give up, for it was their art, and their fate was in their hands. It was not a matter of what to do, it was simply the matter of what they wanted to do. With a start, the female noticed the weariness in the male's eyes, and how his hand shook as he took the wheel. He was tired, she had realized, of fighting against the storm alone, and enduring the attacks without her. His face was ashen white, but his lips tilted for a split second when his eyes caught the girl's. Her decision was made as she took his hands into hers.
The world was the sea, constantly splashing and haunting the boat and the society were the fishes. They would follow the tide and rise of the waves and never mind the consequences, for who could out swim the sea? The sea is everywhere, and there was no escape route given. You needed a partner, someone to build a boat with you and to ride out the rough waves with you, while trusting each other to watch the other's back. You needed a friend, a listener, a shoulder to cry on. You needed a rival, a competitor to make you determined to improve, to outshine them for once and for all. Finally, you needed someone to love, and to love you back, for there was no life without love. Your families and friends are the very planks of the boat that pushed the both of you up, the supported you against the mockery of the waves. However, some friends would leave, and when they do, the planks will loosen and water would spill into your ship. You needed another plank to hammer down and cover the empty places, but there would still be a fissure, an empty scar that dents your sea of life.
She finally knew the planks that came loose, and her hands were bleeding. They were bruised, broken and bleeding, but they were nothing compared to her heart. Her heart was simply an empty void that she had to fill later. Her fingers moved faster and she willed herself not to look at the planks that were coming loose, to not understand how the situation could have failed. She was too late to save the boat, as more and more planks drifted into the endless ocean. Lightning flashed in the dull gray sky, and thunder roared triumphantly. It was their victory, and they knew it. She was too late the save the delicate craft that was cast and shaped by her very own hands...and his. Him. There would be people on the boat, helping. However, behind the female's back, while she was gone, one of them were loosening the boards and undoing the nails. They wanted the boat to sink, for this so-called love to be destroyed and set adrift aimlessly. That desire raged on inside them and wiped out the guilt, the regrets and any thoughts of the outcome.
Perhaps she had known, but turned a blind eye to it. Nothing was wrecked or ruin yet, why should her lips move and allow her voice to say those dreaded words? Why should she address an issue when there was none yet? Or maybe it was the cowardice in her, the fact that nobody would have believed her should she voiced out anything. Or was it regarding the person that tried to badly to loosen her boards was a friend that she had loved? She did not want to see anything and so she wouldn't. That was the implicit rule that she struggled to follow, though there were a few slip-ups that occurred. The masked person was not unreasonable, for every action was carefully calculated, and every move was thought out thoroughly. They knew that the female was gone, and every night, they would sneak out, to see the male's eyes on the bright silver moon, and to comfort the male. Each plank was loosening and some was set adrift, but when the female came back, it was too late. It was too late to save the boat anymore. So why was she still desperately trying? Why was she still desperately clawing at the planks and hammering fresh wood into those empty holes when she knew that there was too many for her to cover?
She never knew.
With a loud crackling sound that sounded eerily like laughter, a huge piece of the ship was finally defeated. She ran to the person that was standing at the corner, and she saw that in their eyes was not triumph, but a slight resignation. Her hands moved up before she could even register her actions and with one swift motion, she pushed that person into the sea, leaving them to swim on their own.
It was crazy. It was insane. However, what was truly insane at the moment was that a hope still raged on in her eyes, and not the defeat and the slump of the shoulders that everyone had. There was still hope and a small chance that shone so brightly in her eyes that it hurt to look at her, to tell her that all was lost. Maybe she had known it, but never said anything since she had a insane idea in her head, but that was far from the case. Everyone wanted to grab her firmly on the shoulders and scream, to shriek out the dreaded words that everything was gone. They wanted to wake her up from her stupor, but nothing could anymore.
She walked up to the male, and a smile reached her lips. She was alive, not just breathing like the rest of them. She was hopeful, not defeated like the rest of them. Most importantly, she still love. There was no death lingering her, for it could no longer caress her and claimed her as their own. It was almost painful to gaze upon her.
The ship finally gave up. A powerful tide rose, higher than the ship itself, and the screaming started. Loud, ugly wails could be heard, resonating again and again, a huge contrast to the weirdly tranquil tide that was about to drown them all. Everyone cowered at the corner and started sobbing, praying for the god to save them. However, the only thing she could see in her eyes was him...and only him. He was all that she could see. Not the waves, not the tide, not the powerful storms, nor the people shrieking about how they both should be shut in an asylum. Not anymore. She couldn't hear those words as she stared, mesmerized, at his lips moving. She heard not his voice, but his heart. She saw not his eyes, but his soul. Nothing mattered anymore.
She leaned him and kissed him firmly, their hands still grasping each other. They knew that they would never let go, or even let their eyes wander off from the other, for what good was love when you let your partner go in the face of danger? What good was love, when you gave up in the face of defeat? She hadn't given up, and never would. Her lips moved as well as the tide flying down to the couple. She whispered three words that might, or might not be her last;
"I love you."
CHAPTER
How far does a voice carry? Over a sea, across a valley? When did it rest, out of breath, wearied by the weight of its message? It was a burden too great for a meaning so faint. It lied on the cold wet grass when the earth inhaled and gravity pulled it down to a place underground, a place that's dark, still, tranquil, and no one could remember its sound. The words were hidden, buried and was bound into traps and warnings. Even as of now, there were hidden meanings in carefully sculptured words, hidden malice that bore its weight and hidden tint of envy used to fool even the sharpest person.I walked upon the world, where there was no tracks, no path, no tunnels for me to follow. Everything was an aimless wandering, cursing the rest of my feet to never come. I tread upon the earth lightly and insist that I would have a goal for me to serve for in a day, a week, a month. Time was never gracious to me as it flew and slapped me before it disappeared, like a little, foolish child it was. My feet never paused and never hesitated, each path was chosen upon my very instinct. However, there was no path for me to choose. Miles and miles of sand and wind were my constant companion, along with the stillness of the air. I met vicious snakes whom sunk it's fangs into my flesh, blades of grass that slid gently on my skin and left a lasting gash. Any ants that crawled upon my body were not killed and even as the eagle slashed its talons on me, I would think "It is better than people."
Better, better, much better than people.
How far does an echo carry? It was a shadow of the original sound, one that resounded aimlessly and endless when it hit a surface. It was a ghost of it's past, much like the fading noise of music when it gradually disappears. I tried echoing to my parents, my friends, my past. I opened my mouth and allowed the notes to fly, to soar beyond the wide blue yonder. I allowed the thin veil of fabric that was situated between the earth and magic to lift, and allowed magic to have a free reign as it ran with the wind, swum with the sharks and cried with mankind. Reality was a distant relative, something that I could analyze later, for dreams would manage to soothe the savage beast and buy the art of time. I could crumple and curl up upon the wet, muddy floor and listen to the rain as it attacked the earth and sprung up, evolving into a million droplets before diving to the ground again. I could just stare at it, entranced and described exactly how the golden rays of the sun burst forth from the pearl-gray clouds.
You would have loved it.
You always grabbed my hands and smiled that amazing smile of yours, before dragging me to the window and telling me fables of how the rain appeared. You who said that the rain was like silver needles that gifted the earth with soft mist, never ever diminishing from the earth. You should have been sick of the sound of water slowly dripping down as you hear it every day while your frail body sunk into those white sheets. Every drop of water was like a test to you, your ears registered it and you stared at the tube. How would you have viewed it then, whenever you looked out of the window and saw that I never came again?
We were never allowed to hug, were we? The only physical contact I could ever make with you was through the thick glass, and even then, I could not hear the sounds, the words that your lips struggled to tell me. I was never allowed to go near you, for it seemed that you wore an impenetrable armor that was titled your parents and the nurses. They fussed too much, right? You wouldn't have lunged on me and tore my throat, it was the opposite. We could have loved each other and lived a happy ending, down to the bitter end.
What was happiness, then? Did happiness exist, with the small cry of a newborn child? Or was it perhaps the gentle embraces that seemed to memorize your outline and shape? Was it the listening ear that looked upon your problems or was it the rejoice of lovers that met each other after a long journey? What would you have said to me when I questioned you, how would you have reacted when I adored you and held your icy hands in my warm ones? You never had the chance to tell me, but your smiles held a mysterious answer that made me clamber for more, that made me curious as to what laid beneath that smile.
Was it the stars that we gazed upon together with each other at night, our hands clasped together? Or was it the sunset that painted huge arcs on the morning sky that had a smile breaking out on that weary face of yours? I never knew. Everything had me bounding into that asylum and springing forward with another secret treat in my bag, and it was the only visit you had loved. I was there to watch your face ceased and had another forced smile plastered on it when you hasten to greet your father, whose words were as harsh as a whip, or your mother, who scorn upon you. I was there to witness the shame and humiliation that made you retreat a few steps back in displaying your true emotions, and I was there to see the bitter look on your face. I had wanted to smooth that scowl with my hands, and pull your lips up gently. Perhaps if I threw a tantrum that was hard enough, you would have heard my desperate voice trying to reach out to you.
"Hey."
I did not move. I did not breathe. It wasn't your voice and I did not react to it. It wasn't your tone; it wasn't your emotion, so why should I respond when I wanted to hear your voice first? I felt a tug on my sleeve. Once, twice, thrice. My name was called again but I was obstinate about not reacting. It was you that I wanted to seek on this rainy night, to feel your hands draping the stray hair and tucking it behind my ears. It was your arms that I want to feel around me, not my mother who firmly dragged me up and pulled me back to the prison. I couldn't struggle, for it meant touching someone that wasn't you. I wanted to save every last bit of my emotions for you and only you.
I wanted to protest, to make sure her hands never touch my flesh again, for it should be yours, not hers. It was yours that I wanted to feel, not the wrinkled skin of the woman that cared for me and fed me. I wanted to see your embrace again and hug you back fiercely, to memorize your shape in my arms. Not my mom's. Not my dad's. Not my friends, not my family. You are the one that I wanted. I twisted my arm out of her strong grip and stared at the woman whom seemed so distant to me as compared to you.
You were coming home to me, and you had promised. It had been two years, and every letter, every text, and every breathe was beautifully framed in the memories of my heart. Every word was written with painstaking details and quiet love that you bestowed on me. The message was clear and you were coming home, back to me. I could already feel those arms around my again and the warm breath in my hair even in the cold rain that mocked us. I was dragged back home and I resisted, for it was you that I should cast my eyes upon first and never others. We were the first for each other and the only.
"He is coming home..."
Even those words are mocking me as I said it in a hush tone. It was sacred words after all, words that could not be touched or broken. You were coming home and nothing would ever be allowed to change that.
Nothing.
I took one last look at the withering garden outside and house and allowed myself to be taken away by my mother who was impatient by now. I did not tell her anything, for what was there to say? I could not express my bliss and the state of numbness that enfolded me tightly in their arms. I went into the dark house and escaped into my room, before staring out of the window, feeling the rain water exploding like little delights on my face. You would have loved it, I know you would.
Outside, the weed clung to the stone like a stray strand of hair. The grass rustled and whispered words about insanity, words that never reached my ears. The garden spoke of isolation and days of battling against the harsh wind and the cruel snow. The stone spoke of pain, blood and tears that was shed over it and three simple letters with dots separating them was engraved on it, by my own hand.
R. I. P
