Tickles of Wind - Final Chapter

The wind gushed to meet me in the station.

I pulled my shawl to hug my chest. There was none but me and the mist. A more fitting goodbye I could not have imagined.

The sirens echoed through the station as the train arrived.  As I stepped towards my prodigal return, I turn to see the Undertaker's giant edifice looming over the sky. Surreal, I blew him a kiss and bow my farewell.

As the train moved, I stood in the pedestal and willed my heart to taste for one final time this journey. As the city rushed before me, so did trailers, of the boy and the girl. Just cut moments. Too fast. Too hard.

He did not think I would remember. Defying his chimera was my memories of coffee, streets, garlands of marigold and basil, sand, sea, Lord, him and her. Overwhelmed, I hummed to myself:
But if every wish I wish went answered,
Oh wont I be the queen of your dreams...

Why did I take this journey? Oh yes, to embrace saturation with contentment. When the point finally arrives, I would smile, pull my arms forward, tilt my profile and run swifter than the wind. If I could emote the point, I would imagine it agape while it hesitates to chase. In that second, my fate and I will become saboteur of the other's will, dreams, love. It would chase me and I would defile it in every turn.

For every story must be told, and mine will be painted in circles. Endless, it would spin to illuminate the mirrors in the world.

I look out the window and see my breaths are not misty anymore. A pain, dull and throbbing, return to my knee. I lift my hand to hold my knee and feel it tepid, like a memory, to the touch. I look at my hand and see it slowly turning a crimson hue. The thought of blood hits me like an afterthought and I lift my hand in shock and see my knee covered in blood.

Oy, oy girl! Is this coach free? The old man panted as he entered. He looked at me, wiggled a finger and said, Ah, the pain of journey... I see you are already half deep in it! He laughed and dropped his bags in the coach. I looked at him speechless, baffled as he fumbled with his things. Tears, shed free of my eyes, dropped in a thread across my cheeks.

Ah, I see, he said and embraced me. Now you hold on to me and you wont be lost again. As I looked at my drying hand, he turned my palm, took it in his and smiled into my eyes.

He was old and would fit into any old person stereotype. Cuddled in his embrace, I felt a warm gush return slowly to my lungs and stomach and an unanticipated pain emanating from every muscle in my body. My knee lit my senses in a blinding pain and I gasped for air.

Ah girl, hold on, the journey is not long afar.
Hold on my dear and I will see you through.
This time, I promise, I will see through.

His words seemed to comfort my soul beyond belief. I managed to conjure a smile and studied his palms. Wrinkled, relentless with time. As the blood in our hands dried slowly, the train picked a blinding momentum. I looked away to watch the scenes rush and whispered, You said lost again. Was I lost before?

He sighed as his lungs rose and fell in tangible pain. Time had failed to heal his wounds and memories locked him in a prison where time stood helpless. Do you not remember, he asked. I turned to look at him and said I don't remember.

He laughed. As his eyes, filled with love and gratitude, locked with mine, I gasped. Humbled, cornered, I partook his gift. He cupped my chin, kissed my forehead and said Live well, my dear. 

As we moved away from our embrace, the entire train shook as it sped. Prostrate, I looked to hold on and for the first time noticed that the train was smooth without railings or hangings for support. When the finality of the thought embraced its truth, the train crashed and I was thrown headlong into the compartment.


I opened my eyes gasping for air.

I was surrounded by masked men and women and one held my shoulders to calm my efforts. As I blinked, my eyes hurt from a brilliant light shining atop my face. I slumped back exhausted. As I gasped for another lungful of air, one of the masked pricked my arm with a needle and I could feel myself drifting to sleep with almost nil effort.

As I opened my eyes again in the hospital, I could see my mother sitting beside me. She was on borderline insomnia and as she saw me, she said oh, and trembled with tears.

Beside herself, she hugged me, kissed my entire face, laughed and said oh, you were so weak, so weak, but you pulled through. Oh, you pulled through.

I grinned, not knowing why. Oh, it was so good to see her face and be loved by her.

I sat up with some effort while she adjusted the pillows to my back. As my eyes rested upon the bandaged knee, she took my face, kissed my cheek, and said, its ok dear, it will heal; and, all it will leave is a scar for you to remember.


Tickles of Wind - Part 8

The sky was an iridescent array veiling the sinking sun.

The beach itself seemed surreal as it hung on a strange silence devoid of human interference. And in the joyous peace, the waves played with the shore as if its first memory of finding returned home.

I took advantage of your moment of weakness, she said.

Not a soul shared this relentless happiness of the waves as it surged again in joy. Of course, peace would come if peace was sought, for this place is a dream. Her dream, to be precise.

I can stop, she had whispered.

He was playing with the sand grains in an effort to grant me the time I needed to recoup. His back to me, his legs crossed, he grabbed a handful of sand.

I was at a loss for words. For him, I challenged the Undertaker. For him, I would move mountains, if only he asked. To what virtue of his I hold this unwavering loyalty? Damned if I know.

The wind and sea filled our silence for a while.

She lived next door to me, he said. We were betrothed to be married, like was the tradition of those days. She and I would play and learn for hours together and we were bound by threads that we did not even know existed then.

Such was our love that even time forgot its greed to flee. So pure our love, we burnt the envy in others eyes. We were accepted, a certainty, as you see this world.

If only I knew then… his voice quivered. His eyes wept a silent tear as the wind caressed his hair. I leaned to place my hand over his shoulder.

He was yet helpless. His loss, of innocence, was painful to hold. Of his smile, that would have lit the stars, this world was bereft. His penitent heart ached and beat, but the rhythm no longer belonged to the living.

She was chosen, he continued, as the medium. It came as a shock, for she had not reached her age of bleeding then

As the medium, her duties and life belonged to the Lord and His claim would override mine.

My grandfather said, the Lord was a puppeteer and we played his calling, one and all. All perfect cogs to the whole, each of us spun our lives to his games. The story must be told, but none to witness its entirety. His amusement is shared by none and for that sorrow alone, it was kind to play with him while we lived.

He deserved empathy. Empathy that would well our hearts for any being that saw life and death, in its circle, in its futility, every day. So I danced with Him, trusted in Him and believed in Him.

He dropped the handful of sand slowly and sighed.

Belief.... does not always allow acceptance

I could not accept her loss. I could not control the pain in me, as it seemed to grip me in its arms and tighten its hold.

So I ran, like you, as fast as my legs could carry. I could not carry the moment with me, for it seemed empty of life, of happiness, of her.

And as I ran, my eyes streaming, she ran with me. Her heart pure, she wept for my sorrow. She now belonged to two worlds, and she could choose neither. In her childish innocence, she wished for both though she knew, the world so far had died before her eyes.

The wind howled like a amorous ally sharing his deprivation

We watched the sun sink slowly into oblivion.

There is no grief greater than the death of innocence, he whispered. And as we ran, as we danced, we held each other’s hand for a final time

In that moment, the world seemed like this, he stretched his hand. It was beautiful.

My eyes welled.

You now witness our dance, he continued. You now remember the truth which you will weed. Your blood runs from ours and we will help you forget.

You must now return, he whispered. 

We have kept you long in our greed.

The wind and sea filled the silence that followed

I do not want to forget, I whispered. I could be your witness, if only you wished. The Lord is alone in his sorrow for he is stone and water.

You are more, I vowed, and I will remember.

He smiled and shook his head.

She stood behind him and looked radiant in the colors dancing across her hair. I walked to her and touched her cheek. She hugged me as would a child her mother. I cupped her face and kissed her forehead. He came to stand behind her and smiled at us. I looked at them, smiled, sighed and said, I should pack.

She laughed.

And in its echo, the waves surged again in joy and rushed to the shore to greet us.