We were watching..

Chapter III

Everyone hides secrets, and so do I...

I am not that much of a being of the past, but she was a treasured person to me. Every morning, I awoke to see her prancing around, glimmering in the sunlight, through my slit eyes. Maybe I wasn't the first one to see her, but I knew that I was special to her. She would fling open the doors of my heart and hum away with mirth as she came to me. It was a part of my morning ritual, so I didn't pay any mind to it. But now I wish those days would come back, those days where I could have actually listened to the charming melody that escaped her lips. 

Each morning now, three days since she left the world, that same honey-sweet tune has started to haunt me. It resonates within me, stirring the darkest feelings of guilt and regret, nearly driving me to lunacy...

 When I feel the darkness within me, I can't help seeing splashes of those brilliant, myriad colours — the little pink skirt that suited her slender legs so well, that blue hat that seemed to doze off on top of her blonde head, the ash mauve coat that was a gift from her father; and the green checked scarf that was a gift from him, that red silk gown with golden florals that he complimented her in... All gone like wisps of grass in a gale.

 If life had seasons, it is probably one of the coldest winters now, I would be a wanderer, who just lost a friend in a blizzard and she would be a child who ignorantly plays with snow, oblivious to frostbites.

 One of the last images of hers surfacing time and again in my mind is that of the last day of her life, the last morning that she awoke. She came to me with an unnatural clumsiness that her "love" had brought about, her usual humming was reduced to whispers which were almost indecipherable.
"Geez! I can't even think straight when I am so happy!!" were the first words that she ever spoke to me.

About two hours after dawn, she slipped into one of the loveliest dresses she had. A white satin gown, with a blue ribbon from behind, a few pearls to line her beautiful neck, a pair of crochet gloves on her tiny, graceful hands, and her blonde hair tied into a bun and set neatly with a tiara on top. Her smile shone like sunshine, it was the best memory she had given to me.

 Everyone holds secrets and so do I.

Now all the clothes that she loved are scattered across the floor carelessly, like the trampled flowers of an autumn evening. I know where she is now and I no longer want to burden this heavy heart of mine with such a gory secret...

She lies right here, with the white sleeves of her gown stained with dull maroon, with her necklace now dangling in mid-air, missing a few pearls, with locks of her hair clumped together with sticky blood, and with a greyish shade outlining her eerily open green eyes.

 She lies right here, like a child huddled up in fear, inside me. Now I sadly have to accept what a comically contrasting pair we make —a mortal body that just lost its soul and a soul that dwells in lifeless wood.

I'm no one special... For all I know, I think that I am called a closet...