My heart was racing. It pounded hard in my chest, pressing against my ribcage as the frosty snow bit at my nose. The stinging cold was no longer there as I continued to run through the snowy fields. Beside me icy water flowed through broken patches of a frozen river. My footsteps crunched into the ground, leaving the boot prints behind me in a frantic pathway. In front of me I pushed past the dead branches, breaking them away in a frenzied pattern. They fell to the ground, almost a float compared to the pounding of my own feet. The light from the sun reflected brightly off the untouched snow in front of me, blinding my path as I continued to run. I could still hear him behind me.
As I ran, my hair whipped past my face. My cheeks were a rosy pink and my fingers stiff with cold. My pants clung to my skin as the snow melted from my body heat. The river’s running water began to slow as I continued down farther, the ice growing thicker and offering an opportunity that I needed. My feet suddenly brought me to a sharp left, running across the thickening ice without much caution. My boots crushed through the layer of drifting snow as well as cracking through part of the ice. Despite the effort to create a barricade, the footsteps behind me continued. My breathing was at its peak, small wisps of white smoke escaped past my lips, floating off up into the air before disappearing completely.
My feet touched solid ground again. I had made it across the river, but so had he. I whip my head to the side, making the mistake to look behind me. He was only feet away, closing the distance as I took the chance to turn around. With my panic, I crashed through tree branches, cutting my face and slowing me down. It only slowed me down to worry about my face, arms, and just my body in general.
I felt his hand on my shoulder now. So close. His breath hit the back of my neck as I was forced backward, my arms flailing up and my legs kicking forward. Even with my struggling, I did not scream. My voice was gone and my face grew more pink with the sudden scramble for myself.
I was not sure what happened, but I stood in front of him, taking small baby steps backwards, as he did the same moving forward. His expression cut deep into my memory. His expression of remorse, anguish, and most of all, one that wanted to be forgiven. My breathing was quick, my shoulders squared as I prepared to run once more, but to where? I was quickly losing energy and I was not sure how much more of this I could handle. The harsh conditions took over of my body as I took a few more steps back, his lengthening as he moved forward. His hand reached out for my face, which I instantly denied and turned away,, giving him a side glare that screamed for him to simply go away. The silent signal was missed as touched my face. My bleeding face that stung in the cold.
Memories flooded back of the times we had spent together. Standing by this very river during the summer, kicking both our feet in the cool stream. Running through the shallow waters and splashing one another. We laid by the bank, soaking up the sun till it fell behind the hills and then continued laying to watch the stars appear overhead. How we always held hands, our fingers laced together tightly as we promised to never let one another go. How we laid there till the sun came up to greet our peaceful faces once more.
With the moment right, my memories clearing, I had brought my hand up, quickly smacking away the gloved fingers reaching to caress my face. I turned to leap through the thick branches, but as I moved forward in a lunging motion, my waist was grabbed and I was pulled close once more. This time I did scream. My hands flew to his arms around my waist and I kicked and screamed, my voice echoing throughout the frozen woods. My voice that would never be heard as the cries were easily muffled by his hand over my mouth. The more I screamed, the more force was applied to my mouth. My frantic motions did not affect him as he pulled me away from the thick build of trees and into a clearing. My wide distressed eyes searched the clear blue sky for answers.
I felt the turn, my body turning in a circle as you spun me around, your hand no longer around my mouth as he faced me towards you, spinning me near the icy river. What we had always done, our arms crossed and hands held tight together as we spun like children, laughing excitedly. It was not innocent this time and I did not feel like a child. I cried for you to stop, but you did not listen. I screamed and you did not listen. I mixed both together and yet again, you did not listen.
It seemed my frightened expression was enough for you to finally let me go,, but not enough to slow yourself down. My hands slipped from your grip and my body flew backwards away from yours, towards the frozen river. The already cracked ice broke against the pressure applied to it and my final scream filled my lungs with frozen water.
Friday, June 8, 2012
Saturday, January 21, 2012
Can You Remember?
“Do you remember me?” The voice was soft. Unsure and hesitant. In front of him he could see the slim figure, hands twisted together with their eyes hiding behind thick, curly, blonde hair.
“I feel that I should,” he responded to the hazy figure. There was nothing around him, simply an emptiness that felt never ending. Everything was white, with the exception of the two people in the room. He could feel his own presence, but was unable to remember how he looked.
“It’s sad.. I’ve called your name so many times, but you never answer.” The voice dropped in a pitch, obviously upset. Their eyes searched for a hint of recognition, but what they searched for was not there. He was at a loss. Why was this person so upset to see his face? He couldn’t even recall his own appearance, let alone this stranger. “Your eyes tell me you remember nothing, but even so.. I’ll continue to call to you. Your heart will hopefully listen.”
He could tell. The voice was pained. “Just tell me who you are. Can’t you do that?” He was desperate now. Who was this mysterious person? Why were they speaking to him as if he knew who they were? Their hair was tied up in a large ribbon, but still their bangs covered most of the face. Still, he could make out a scar covering half the face. Was it streaks of red he saw running down their cheek? He knew he was not permitted to know who this was, simply by being told. It was something he needed to figure out himself.
“I cannot.. You know that as well, but if I keep calling.. You’ll answer.” There was something in that answer that brought him a heavy feeling in his heart. He should already know, but he did not.
“And if I do not?” he asked with the shaky unsure tone his voice had been holding back. He watched the scarred face, hidden behind most of its hair.
A pause of silence. For a moment he felt himself slip away, the figure in front of him falling farther away. “I will call until my voice breaks on me.”
The sentence caused a chored of recognition to hit inside of him, but that was simply it. He was sure that he had heard the same sentence before. Somewhere along his life and it had meant much to him, but when? He parted his lips slightly, ready to ask for more, but the person in front of him spoke again, turning to the side.
“I hope that you will wake to my voice.. If time could reverse itself, I would change things..”
It was a hard impact that slammed into his chest. Suddenly his face was streaked with tears and his heart twisted painfully. What was the meaning of this? Why was he suddenly crying over a simple statement? He found himself falling to his knees, unable to breath as the tears continued to fall from his face. What did this mean? The question continued to repeat in his mind.
He woke with a gasp, his body flying forward as he struggled to breathe. Carefully, he brought a hand to his face, gently brushing away the tears. “I’ll remember,” he promised with a hushed whisper, the tears continuing to fall as he tried his best to control them.
“I feel that I should,” he responded to the hazy figure. There was nothing around him, simply an emptiness that felt never ending. Everything was white, with the exception of the two people in the room. He could feel his own presence, but was unable to remember how he looked.
“It’s sad.. I’ve called your name so many times, but you never answer.” The voice dropped in a pitch, obviously upset. Their eyes searched for a hint of recognition, but what they searched for was not there. He was at a loss. Why was this person so upset to see his face? He couldn’t even recall his own appearance, let alone this stranger. “Your eyes tell me you remember nothing, but even so.. I’ll continue to call to you. Your heart will hopefully listen.”
He could tell. The voice was pained. “Just tell me who you are. Can’t you do that?” He was desperate now. Who was this mysterious person? Why were they speaking to him as if he knew who they were? Their hair was tied up in a large ribbon, but still their bangs covered most of the face. Still, he could make out a scar covering half the face. Was it streaks of red he saw running down their cheek? He knew he was not permitted to know who this was, simply by being told. It was something he needed to figure out himself.
“I cannot.. You know that as well, but if I keep calling.. You’ll answer.” There was something in that answer that brought him a heavy feeling in his heart. He should already know, but he did not.
“And if I do not?” he asked with the shaky unsure tone his voice had been holding back. He watched the scarred face, hidden behind most of its hair.
A pause of silence. For a moment he felt himself slip away, the figure in front of him falling farther away. “I will call until my voice breaks on me.”
The sentence caused a chored of recognition to hit inside of him, but that was simply it. He was sure that he had heard the same sentence before. Somewhere along his life and it had meant much to him, but when? He parted his lips slightly, ready to ask for more, but the person in front of him spoke again, turning to the side.
“I hope that you will wake to my voice.. If time could reverse itself, I would change things..”
It was a hard impact that slammed into his chest. Suddenly his face was streaked with tears and his heart twisted painfully. What was the meaning of this? Why was he suddenly crying over a simple statement? He found himself falling to his knees, unable to breath as the tears continued to fall from his face. What did this mean? The question continued to repeat in his mind.
He woke with a gasp, his body flying forward as he struggled to breathe. Carefully, he brought a hand to his face, gently brushing away the tears. “I’ll remember,” he promised with a hushed whisper, the tears continuing to fall as he tried his best to control them.
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
Apocalypse
There was the sound of dripping water. The air was thick with ash, its blackened color covered everything in sight. The sun’s rays hardly reached over the horizon while the faint puff of white mist left his mouth. Worn out and torn wool blankets covered the trembling bodies. The fire’s orange glow slowly died down over the night, leaving only a further pile of ash and faint embers. It was the middle of the cold season and the world was dead. Trees bore no leaves, the snow that fell from the sky was mixed with black, and the bitter winds cut through the thickest of clothing.
Carefully, a young teen took away his blanket, placing it over the only of figure beside him, who did not stir. He watched the child sleep, watching as the blanket rose and fell with each breath. When the teen brought himself to move, he stepped away from the small huddle of a camp, walking towards the road. With the trees cleared, it was much easier to see the sun. Its shining yellowish glow barely peeking over the small town. Houses were burned to the ground and caved in, cars crashed into one another as well as other objects, trees had fallen over, and everything was covered with a black snow. The silence was painful to his hearing. Not a single sound was heard. The birds that normally chirped around this time were silent, the scurrying of a stray cat or dog was left unheard. There was simply no sound. It was the loudest his ears ever heard. Dimming eyes checked around before heading back to camp. He was not only the eyes for himself, but for the other.
The child was still sleeping even when he returned. He did not bother to wake him, for he needed his rest. The teen worked quickly on bringing the fire back to life, throwing in new wood and lighting it once again. He dug through the wagon, finally plucking off a small frying pan and the food that rested on top of everything., mainly canned foods. He opened up the aluminum container, peeling back its lid and pouring the contents in the pan. The sizzling pan woke the child up and he watched the body fly forward, blankets thrown about without a thought. A normal routine.
“I’m here,” he called to the child, watching the panicked expression quickly calmed. “Are you hungry?” he asked him,
“I’m always hungry,” the child pointed out.
The child was right, the question was foolish to ask. Food was hard to find and they needed to use it sparingly. The teen left the pan over the fire, taking the blankets the child had thrown and put them on top of the wagon. He pulled out two cups as well as a spoon before walking over to the child. He took his hand and led him to the fire. It was colder this morning and the fire would prevent the fragile boy from freezing.
“Here, keep yourself warm,” he commented lightly. The teen focused back on the food, taking it off the fire and pouring an even amount into each cup. He left to spoon for the child, taking his hand and gently placing it around the mug, leading his other hand to the spoon.
“I can do it myself,” the child spoke.
“I know that,” was all the teen said.
Silence followed after and the pair quickly finished off their meal. It was not long before they continued moving again. Trailing behind them was a faded red wagon, its paint chipped off and its wheels squeaking every few moments. Nailed to the sides were planks of wood, rising the sides so that they were able to carry more items. The teen held the handle of the wagon in one hand and in the other hand he held onto the child’s.
The whistling wind cut through the worn coats. It had started to snow again, black and white flakes mixed together as they became slush hitting the ground. Every few moments, he found his eyes searching behind them. Nothing was there. Nothing was ever there, but the feeling of being followed was difficult to shake off.
“It’s cold.” The boy’s voice cracked as he spoke.
“I know.” His voice weary as he spoke.
“Can we rest?”
“We’ve only gotten started.”
“What do you see?”
The conversation happened each day, several times a day. With the boy’s eyesight stolen from him the day he was born, he learned to depend on other senses. It amazed him to see this child interact with the world. The dimmed, almost hopeless eyes, met with the child’s own, dead eyes. For a moment, they simply stared at one another, although the boy unaware of what he was looking at.
Carefully, a young teen took away his blanket, placing it over the only of figure beside him, who did not stir. He watched the child sleep, watching as the blanket rose and fell with each breath. When the teen brought himself to move, he stepped away from the small huddle of a camp, walking towards the road. With the trees cleared, it was much easier to see the sun. Its shining yellowish glow barely peeking over the small town. Houses were burned to the ground and caved in, cars crashed into one another as well as other objects, trees had fallen over, and everything was covered with a black snow. The silence was painful to his hearing. Not a single sound was heard. The birds that normally chirped around this time were silent, the scurrying of a stray cat or dog was left unheard. There was simply no sound. It was the loudest his ears ever heard. Dimming eyes checked around before heading back to camp. He was not only the eyes for himself, but for the other.
The child was still sleeping even when he returned. He did not bother to wake him, for he needed his rest. The teen worked quickly on bringing the fire back to life, throwing in new wood and lighting it once again. He dug through the wagon, finally plucking off a small frying pan and the food that rested on top of everything., mainly canned foods. He opened up the aluminum container, peeling back its lid and pouring the contents in the pan. The sizzling pan woke the child up and he watched the body fly forward, blankets thrown about without a thought. A normal routine.
“I’m here,” he called to the child, watching the panicked expression quickly calmed. “Are you hungry?” he asked him,
“I’m always hungry,” the child pointed out.
The child was right, the question was foolish to ask. Food was hard to find and they needed to use it sparingly. The teen left the pan over the fire, taking the blankets the child had thrown and put them on top of the wagon. He pulled out two cups as well as a spoon before walking over to the child. He took his hand and led him to the fire. It was colder this morning and the fire would prevent the fragile boy from freezing.
“Here, keep yourself warm,” he commented lightly. The teen focused back on the food, taking it off the fire and pouring an even amount into each cup. He left to spoon for the child, taking his hand and gently placing it around the mug, leading his other hand to the spoon.
“I can do it myself,” the child spoke.
“I know that,” was all the teen said.
Silence followed after and the pair quickly finished off their meal. It was not long before they continued moving again. Trailing behind them was a faded red wagon, its paint chipped off and its wheels squeaking every few moments. Nailed to the sides were planks of wood, rising the sides so that they were able to carry more items. The teen held the handle of the wagon in one hand and in the other hand he held onto the child’s.
The whistling wind cut through the worn coats. It had started to snow again, black and white flakes mixed together as they became slush hitting the ground. Every few moments, he found his eyes searching behind them. Nothing was there. Nothing was ever there, but the feeling of being followed was difficult to shake off.
“It’s cold.” The boy’s voice cracked as he spoke.
“I know.” His voice weary as he spoke.
“Can we rest?”
“We’ve only gotten started.”
“What do you see?”
The conversation happened each day, several times a day. With the boy’s eyesight stolen from him the day he was born, he learned to depend on other senses. It amazed him to see this child interact with the world. The dimmed, almost hopeless eyes, met with the child’s own, dead eyes. For a moment, they simply stared at one another, although the boy unaware of what he was looking at.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)