Weeping WillowA Story by Ripple of Aqua
Contest entry I made on the spot, about a girl, a garden, a boy, and a camera.
I rub the screen with my thumb, watching the way the fog of heat trails after it's movement. Like a shadow. Like a ghost.
I don't know why I was in this garden; I don't even know who's property I'm on right now. But I wasn't going to move. I wasn't going to care about moving.
A slight beep came from the silver buttons, I pushed with my right finger, whipped with my left. It was like a system I developed. It was just done, without a thought.
I saw the frozen images of Aunt Jenna, her smile covered only partial by her hand, and bent over in mid conversation with Uncle Danny. There was Grandma, her crinkled eyes bright, and maybe there was a slight smile there. There was Mom, and Dad, both of their arms wrapped around me, all of us smiling, with only Dad's eyes big enough to see the flash. There was nothing to smile about now. The banner in the background, starting to fall off of the wall, was nothing more than a cruel reminder.
Despite that, I kept hearing the beep resonate through the garden. The faces, so small, so happy, were just flat and meaningless now.
My eyes didn't move from the screen; the pictures still transferring one to another. I knew she was there, behind me, but I didn't say a word. I knew she would be standing there, under the dark clouds, wearing an even darker evening dress fit for an end. The end of life. The end of all our happiness.
There was a rustle of fabric, the thin film of scratchy material against another, before she was sitting beside me. She put her hand on my bowed back, brushing against my damp hair I forcefully had pulled out of my tight bun earlier. "I do so wish you would straighten it; it looks a mess."
Again, why should I reply? I knew my hair was begin to curl as it always does into dark, winding trails down my back. But I didn't care. The beeps continued.
She sighed. Her eyes looking away from me and out at the garden, the pond that reflected the heavy clouds above right back at us, the small dwindling red and pink buds of flowers that were just closing for the night, and the house, a house filled with yellow, bright, lights; the white curtains pulled over the doors so as to blur the images of people, all black and shapeless, standing inside.
"I miss him too."
The beeping stopped. The image of my fat Uncle Martain's face was glaring back at me, the cookies he had in his hands hidden behind his coat pockets.
She looked down at me for a moment and then back at the party, if you could even call it that. "I miss him too, maybe not as much as you do, but he was my son."
"You didn't know him like I did." My thumbs were now frozen tightly over the screen, holding it like it was the last bit I had of him. And it really was. That's why I had it, not her.
"But he was still my son." She choked out, the words harsh and hard to get out of her mouth. Her back straight, the brown and yellow hair spilled across her cheeks like a shield. "Just because he was your brother, that means nothing compared to-"
"Nothing?!" I whirled on her. My tears and my anger all too clear. "He was my brother! No, not even that; I probably wouldn't care so much if he was just my younger, or even my older brother! That 'son' of yours? That is my other half! That was my twin!" I stood above her, my words coming out before I tried to pretend like they weren't. "Don't you dare say you knew him better! Did you know when his first tooth was lost? Or when he was so scared at night that he would hold me till I couldn't breathe? Were you even there, all that time, when we were growing up, and we had only each other, because you and Dad didn't even want to look at us? Because you would avoid us?!"
I turned away from her. "Did you even know what this thing meant to him?" My hands began to shake. But I still held on to the camera. The only thing left of Alex. The only thing that had ever meant anything to him. "He wouldn't have... He wouldn't have had to leave if you guys would've just listened...Just listened!" My voice cracked. I couldn't take it.
I couldn't take it anymore.
I looked up into the clouds, the things that Alex would stare up so much at, that I believed was the reason his eyes were so much more blue than mine. The reason they were so bright, happy, and deep with knowledge. And there was his smile, the way he only had one dimple on his left cheek, like I did on my right, and when we looked in a mirror we would pretend that we were opposite sides of several mirrors. Like a fun house. Alex always knew on how to make me laugh. He always knew what to do...
"And now I don't know what to do." I said it out loud, not caring if she was still listening or not. "I've lost my only brother. My other half. And you're going to say that you're feeling the worst?"
There was a silent ring as the camera's screen said 'good night' and turned black.
Black like my hair. Black like his hair.
Black like my dress. Black like his tux.
Everything was just black now. Black and blank.
The woman with a tinged of color hair walked right past me, her voice like ice. "You brat." Before she too slipped into the color of the house. But even that fell away.
It turned to grey. Everything turned to grey. The flowers were closed up now, the green of the garden veils in the blackness, as if they too felt the loss. Everyone, everything, had left. Alex was gone, and was never coming back. His body, that box he laid in now, was nothing more that a shell. I could feel nothing in my self telling me he was still there. That there was still hope of him being there.
"No, nothing, nothing but this of you." I held the camera under my chin, shouldering the first raindrops from the only thing left. "But this..." My voice faded away into the tsunami of tears that fell from my eyes, and the eyes of the clouds above me.
© 2012 Ripple of Aqua
Ripple of Aqua
No Where In Praticular..., MO
AboutI like to write, a lot, and I normally have been writing books more than poetry, but I believe my stories are just far too precious to put up. I love all form of arts-fine arts, creative writing, mu.. more..