When The Last Leaf Falls

When The Last Leaf Falls

A Story by Iris Jayne
"

She comes to be with him again.

"

                The air is cold.

                It always is whenever he’s around.

                She puts the pen down and stares at the curves and lines that is the finished story of her life. She looks out the window; her eyes are just in time as the last, wilted leaf of the dead tree falls to the ground. It falls slowly, swinging right and left, each sway matching her heartbeat…a heartbeat that could have been gone once.

                With every gust of wind and roll of the leaf, her mind takes her closer to the constantly untouched surface of the past. The memories stir like ripples appearing when caressing water.

                ‘I love you.’ His voice sounded fragile, but his words were certain. The car was wrecked and wreathed in flames, and she didn’t know what to do, what to say, where they were. She didn’t know where to hold him, because everything was covered in blood.

                ‘I love you too,’ she whispered back, ‘but we don’t need to say these things.’ She sounded frantic, which was contrary to what she was telling him: We have more time. ‘They are coming, hold on,’ she added, tasting blood in her own mouth.

                She refused to look away from him, because underneath the grime and the thick, red blood, she could still see his face. That beautifully chiseled face she had long ago fallen in love with.

                He reached for her hand; the time it took it could have been enough for the dark energy of death to snatch him away. But he was quicker than that. Just as quick as when his kiss had stolen all of her; her heart, her soul, her being.

                ‘Remember my promise,’ he struggled to say. ‘Together forever, right?’

                ‘I don’t have to,’ she said, her tears like melted diamonds falling on the melted rubies on his forehead, ‘you’ll stay. They’re coming. Please…’

                He smiled. He smiled because she was a fool inlove; he smiled because her words meant nothing but empty consolation. Consolation for the both of them.

                The clouds hovered over the moon and the cemented road felt cold when he silently passed on to another journey. A journey he would have to take without her for the meantime.

                Unlike what others may expect, to her, resurfacing from the pool of memories is not like breathing fresh air after a long time underwater. Her last moments with him are, after all, like nightmares more than anything. But he was there, in that horrifying scene, and she treasures every waking and slumbering moment with him, no matter how dark they might be.

                A lot of times, when she immerses herself in what has long ceased to be, she gets confused with reality and memory; the line between gets massively hazy that his cold, stony company is the only thing that makes life worthwhile.

                The wind whooshes its final gust, she whispers life goodbye. As the leaf reaches the crust of the earth, his hand reaches out to her.

                She takes it. Her papery creased and withered in time hand becomes young once again, and his hand feels cold no more.

At last, they finish the journey together.

               

                               


© 2010 Iris Jayne



Author's Note

Iris Jayne
please do tell me what you think.

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Reviews

Whoa, so she commited suicide??? A little confused at the ending... Anyway this was very dramatic and u described the emotions and he scenery well.
her tears like melted diamonds falling on the melted rubies on his forehead, Love it! Great write! :)

Posted 7 Years Ago


You have something so special about your writing that makes me fall in love with it every time I read one of your pieces. You have a beautiful talent for creating marvelous stories that almost effortlessly flow so well. Some day, you'll make it big. I can just tell :)

Posted 7 Years Ago



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Added on June 3, 2010
Last Updated on June 3, 2010
Tags: love, death, accident, short story, autumn

Author

Iris Jayne
Iris Jayne

Candon, Philippines



About
Sometimes I think I babble too much. more..

Writing
Love. Love.

A Poem by Iris Jayne