Hey guys!
This is a short story you guys should check out. And, no, it's not by me, it's by a friend of mine and bex_the_box's. She doesn't have a Wattpad account, but was willing to post this online, deciding to utilise her time wisely.
So, in other words, Wattpad is a time-utiliser ;D
Anyways, please read, comment, vote, like, etc. Thanks a bunch!
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Leaves flutter noiselessly to the ground. The wind whistles a mournful tune as the trees crumble and die and never renew till the first buds of spring. It swirls the leaves into a sweet tornado of gold; showers them down onto a winding, dirt encrusted road. The sun rides low on the horizon, casting a haze of orange and purple on the sweet, quiet town. At the edge, on the very edge of a crumbly cliff, she sits.
Long black hair flows down over her shoulders, held at the nape of her neck with a sliver of gold satin. Her fingers glide over the grandiose piano keys, graceful as a panther; slow like the gentle stroke of an artiste. The music issues slow and strong out of the piano; her feet squeeze at the piano paddles below.
Out ahead, along the way and past the cliffs, and edges, lies the blue water of the Pacific. Sparkling, vast and clear, it winks slyly at those who drive by. A little boat sits right out on the water, bobbing, like a cork, a tiny insignificant speck on the precipice of miles of water.
Footsteps crunch and sound a little way away. A perfume of musk fills the air and reaches her nose. Her heart clenches. And her fingers stop, feather light on the ivory keys, and she steps away.
Green eyes meet the weary, crystalline blues of a lost lover, a lost sailor been away at sea. At a war so strenuous, so painful, many didn’t come back. And if they did come back, they came back barely a whole. His face is stoic. His hat sits lopsided and sad on his head. Finally, he crushes a piece of paper in a fist, and tears spill down over his reddened cheeks. So much had been said. So much had happened.
He doesn’t say a word. But she understands. She understands fine. She cries too. Silently. Quietly. The words unsaid and unspoken hang between them, rush between them, as if they stand on two opposing cliff heads. But they don’t move. Neither knows what to say.
The wind picks up, ever so slightly. He looks back up at her. Strands of her hair blow into her face and sticks to her wet cheeks, masking her gaze as she looks up too.
Unbidden, she runs forward, rushes into his arms. And like a thousand paper kites being cut free, all the pain, all the tears, are forgotten. And they fly free.
He’s warm. And alive. And right now, she doesn’t care about what had been said. Or who had said it. He is alive. He is here.
