COTE: Vignettes archive

Expectancy

Every human has hoped, at least, once in life.

Hoped for things, people, cities, and the world, too, to arrange itself for you.

Things happened, but a figure turned their back. People called a name, but the figure walked past their close, yet, distant figures. A city stands still, even as the frames within it rots.

A flash of hope. If all these things were an illusion. A bedside story parents tell to their children, so they fall into a peaceful slumber. But the illusion falters, witnessed by eyes, wide in relief, and the dreadful dreaming spell
crumbles.

The face is averted, so the light from the sun doesn't burn.

Not the vision, for it's been trying, ever so desperately; a hand is digging deep in the mind, and a bleeding hand pulls out, clutching a splinter of glass.

The eyes sees, escapes, and it finds — no heart thumping in the quiet, living body.

The truth finds its way. Even if its strength were to dwindle to a dried ocean.

A drop of it has survived.

Hope, however, doesn’t last long. Fantasy eventually gives way for reality.

The body must be warm, standing beneath the bright Sun.

What is an ocean but a multitude of drops?

The current in it, far too strong. Mere fragile hopes drifts apart. Always.

They will never meet again.

“...Hey, will you, one last time, do one another task, for me?”

I am aware of the reality.

“I've done many things. You know it well, don't you?”

I avert my gaze.

“Listen, I promise you this one thing — ”

I feel a tendril running up my—pathetic—empty chest.

“—Hope.”

I choke out the fantasy as the tendril punishes my throat for this offense.

“Yes, hope.”

I know it's unforgivable.

“One day, I will repay you.”

I know, however, what will be snuffed out first.

“You know me, right?”

I am ashamed by this crime.

“It doesn’t need to be said.”

I am indebted again.

“Thank you, for all your kindness.”

I won't give you a bit of it.

“And...”

I bit the insides of my mouth; it bleeds; unable to provide even an adequate recompense.

Are there limits to how low I can sink?

“In future, soon.”

I turn my back to the girl.

She's strong. So much that, I wish she forgets to hope this once.

Hope is a terrible thing. Not unreasonable, in essence, it’s hypothetical. If you learn....if this....if that.....if you speak more....if you....if things change, then you will hold what you want. It invites you to walk alongside itself. 

One can renounce the very idea of walking at the narrow edge of the cliff, the cliff of which the gaze travels down into a bottomless pit. But against all odds, when the heart yearns, yearns for that splinter of glass. The piece sits. In the seat of the heart. Existence alone couldn’t be enough; I wanted more.

But, for what reason had I considered myself to be permitted more than others? Was it the strength of desires?

Expectancy hangs upon tomorrow, and life loses today. To abandon what lies in control, but wrestle what is arranged beyond me... What was I looking at? To what goal was my body straining? Rationality had lost.

Such a folly this is, such that the laugh that bellows in my belly — it dies the moment it’s born.

But....

People aren’t perfect creations.

And I'm, at last, a human too.

“And now that you don't have to be perfect,” I quoted, “you can be good.”

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Words: 595
Published: April 9th, 2022