Redemption

Tuesday #2

Everything Beth ever learned on the village's geography was now chiseled almost impeccably on top of the paper.

Perhaps a handful of stone powder would do the trick for the rest – and, of course, the two of us still had another behemoth structure to explore about in three days.

Everything, like aforementioned, was too close to absolute completion. Within that exact moment, a droplet dived into the edge of my skin, offering further possibilities of yet utterly inhumane choices that I could walk upon.

The water turned into an agent of emancipation, where its fingertips collided with the vast entirety of what was perceptible. Gifted from the grey, teardrops, upon its landing, stood in beads atop the materialistic legacies of the fruitlessly insatiable.

Beth appeared to be worried as to the rain may ruin our days-worth effort. She embraced the sketchbook which contained the map, and with a pleasant surprise, she commented, "It feels like it's raining."

And indeed it was.

I knew we had to call it a day, and she agreed.

***

That particular afternoon was dark and stormy.

Raindrops watered the portrait. The passing souls made a futile attempt to stay dry as possible as the clouds gathered and endlessly expanded, pouring a hundred gallons of water to the desolate streets. We were no exception, and in less than thirty seconds, we found ourselves quenching our thirsts with the blessed raindrops bestowed from the grey heavens.

And I was told to leave her all alone once again. I stopped right in front of the window of her cell, as Beth swayed aimlessly but with a visible pattern as if she was waiting, curious to know any other relatable details about who exactly was the person blindly standing next to her. Forsaken and possessed by a sense of timid hesitation, I felt like an utter coward. But I was running short on time – I was running out of options to choose from.

"You're hurt, aren't you?" She inquired suddenly, just before the parting of ways, but with an unapparent smile drawn upon her oddly fatigued lips.

The scars etched the very pain into the soul of my mortal coil – a perfectly delicate voice advocated for a very specified agenda, to go against my true feelings.

An ethereal wrinkle in the veils of reality kindled a spark, an alteration that made my feelings whimsical as a reed under the storming gale. The attempt to unsee her misty eyes, incapable of even reading her own lips, had blown a ticklish breeze upon the masking envelop and entwined the confusion into a single sophisticated knot.

As beautiful as her eyes were reflected across the mirror's edge, she was as distant as she could have been from the unchangeable truth.

I denied it, and with all my might I disowned myself from the unavoidable. I told her that I was perfectly fine and asked her back why'd she suspect that matter continuously for the past few days she's seen me.

"Why wouldn't you tell me the truth?" Said Beth, her smile enshrouded.

"I may not be able to see you, but I can still tell. Aren't you hurt, and isn't it getting worse over time?"

Her infantile, discolored, perseverant fingers were only slightly loosened – the grip turned just a tad more tender around my palm.

Just as it were, the pacing of my breath became oddly synchronized with the beating of my heart – a vitalized spark, so rage-inducing, was surging below the skin of my ruined entirety.

"I just want to know if you're fine. That's all I ask of you...."

I so desperately wanted to utter a genuine response. Everything seemed too vague as if they were covered under the misty fog – yet the truth shined so brightly like the guiding luminosity from a distant lighthouse. I was like a sailor stubbornly neglecting his directed pathways, distracted by my own blindness.