She wiped a tear that escaped her eyes while putting down the white lillys in front of her mother's grave. She ran a gentle hand through the carving of her mother's name and the time she spent on the earth before retreating to her full height.
She smiled, but it soon wavered, and her lips fell limp, continuous tears flowing down her eyes, despite her several attempts to stop them.
As she was busy wiping away her face, a gentle voice caught her attention.
It was a boy leaning against the grave that was right beside her mother's. He was staring up at the sky with a smile, not bothered by the sun's harsh glare. He talked and talked in a language she did not understand.
She has seen the boy ever since she started paying a visit to her mother's grave every weekend and always envied him. He could smile and talk to the deceased. Even if his eyes were damp and his smile wavered, he never let it drop.
She wanted what the boy had. She wanted her pain to turn into something so beautiful that she would be able to talk to her mother the way that boy talks to his loved one.
But that was not happening anytime soon. Hence, she left the graveyard.
She came back every weekend to pay a visit to her mother, and every time she saw that boy talking to the deceased. He made her wonder whether he came every day or just the weekends, like her.
Every time she saw him, she wanted to talk, to ask how he managed to convert his pain into something like this. But every time she thought of approaching him, he either walked away or she cowarded back.
This time, when her eyes travelled to boy, he was leaning against the grave, but he was neither smiling nor talking. Instead, his head was buried in his knees that were pulled up to his chest, his body shook, and she could hear light sobs.
When the boy raised his head to look at the sky, her heart clenched at the sight.
His face was red and bruised, eyes swollen, lips bust, all being coated by a layer of sweat over which his tears rolled non-stop.
Even though she still does not understand the language the boy spoke, she didn't have to be a genius to know he was cursing out a person who was not here anymore.
She wanted to approach him but decided against it and was about to go on with her day until she heard a pained yelp. She turned to see the boy inspecting the side of his palm, which was dripping with blood.
Quickly walking over to him, she kneeled down in front of him and took his hands in her.
He was lost in his own world and never realized the girl approaching him until she had not taken a hold of his hand.
"Let me," She spoke, pulling out a white handkerchief and gently wiping the blood on his hand.
He stared at her face as she gently wiped the blood away. Her touch was so gentle that it felt foreign to him. It was no surprise. Gentle was something he never really had a chance to experience.
He watched the girl's hand move around as she tied another handkerchief around his injury before looking up at his face. He flinched back slightly when her long and slender fingers reached out to the side of his face to turn it left and right to inspect.
"You need to go to the hospital." She let out after she was sone inspecting his face. "The cut is too deep. It needs stitched, or else it might her infected.."
He turned his face away from her, wiping the blood on his lips with his injured hands before standing up.
She, too, stood up and held onto the string of her purse.
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The Black Dragon Warrior
काल्पनिकThe great black dragon warrior had cut himself off from the world he belonged to after being banished from the castle of gods for a crime, that no one heard his reason behind. He was sent to the fiery hell to serve the time in imprisonment for his c...
