Sunday, September 11, 2005

I wonder how, I wonder why...

I don't know if this is any good, but I'm sharing a story with you. I just wrote it, so there's bound to be countless errors. Enjoy if you must:


There were the sounds of the city all around her, smothering her, tipping her into a state of emotional duress and panic. The concrete and steel walls pressed against her and the air was too high above for her to actually breathe. Her chest felt tight as she collapsed to her knees, clutching at the place where her heart lay inside her. She tried to curl into a ball on the sidewalk, tried to hold herself in and calm herself down when hands reached out and touched her gently. She heard a cool, steady voice near her ear, whispering to her, not rushed and frightened like she would expect to hear when she was in this state.

“It’s going to be okay baby girl, shush now don’t cry."

She didn’t look up into his face, or open her eyes, she just whispered his name softly into her body.

His arms were around her and lifting her. She should have struggled, but the weight of it all was pressing down on her, suffocating and killing her, and it was all she could do to just stay conscious. She could feel the eyes of people on them like a small knife was slicing into her, and her cheeks burned with it all. He did not show any signs of being tired or uncomfortable, but instead walked with her silently until she drifted away and into sleep…


There was a cool cloth on her forehead, a breeze that smelled like sea salt washed over her body and somewhere in the distance birds sang to themselves. There was no sound of cars or people, just the wind in the trees and the birds and the distant crash of waves on the beach. It sounded like home, where she had grown up with her mother and father in a small two-bedroom house with a little front porch and a small vegetable garden. She smiled before she opened her eyes.

Moonlight bathed the room, its light blue walls and pure white linens a comforting glow, the open window with its billowing windows a source of comfort and satisfaction. She was lying on her side, her hands under a pillow tucked under her head, white comforter thrown and tangled around her legs. She had always been a restless sleeper.

There was a tray on a table next to her bed with recently brewed hot tea, a small container of honey and a small crystal glass of milk next to a white and gold china cup and saucer. She poured herself a cup, careful with the china and the crystal, and added a bit of milk and a small bit of honey to it. She stirred it with a tiny silver spoon, setting it down daintily on the tray and then sipping at her tea cautiously. Surprisingly it was hot, but not too hot, and she quickly drank the rest of the cup and fixed herself another one.

She stood up with this cup and wandered over to the open window. Through it she could see pine trees and past that the sweep of a beach and the cool, calming ocean behind that. She smiled as she sipped her tea, and didn’t bother to turn to look when a door opened and then shut softly behind her, even though she heard it quite clearly. Someone padded along on the hardwood floor and came to her side. She looked up, finally, and smiled at a man who was a good two or three inches taller then her, with dark hair and eyes, who looked serious but kind.

“Hello,” he said.

“Hello,” she replied.

He stared at her for a moment and then asked, “Are you alright?”

She nodded and smiled at him, “Yes, I’m alright. Thank you for asking. Thank you for bringing me here.”

He almost reached out to her, and then thought better of it, letting his hand fall to his side. “Then you do remember me?”

“I do. And I remember this place.”

He nodded somberly, and stared out the window with her. They both watched while she sipped tea the crashing of the waves on the beach, and the reflection, the double moon in the water.

“You do realize,” the woman said, as she set down her china cup on the window sill, “That I will probably have to kill you tomorrow.”

“I know,” he looked at her, and she turned her head to him. “You may try… in the morning.”

She nodded in agreement, “In the morning.”


“Tonight we watch the moon.”

“One last time.”

“Together.” She reached out to him this time, and cupped the line of his jaw with her hands, “One last time.” There was something sad in her voice, an emptiness in this statement and a yearning for something more then this.

He nodded and, taking her hand away, they turned to the window and watched the moon and the trees and listened to the birds and watched the waves.


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