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Flying Without Wings, Preface |
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Preface
There was no rain on that dreary day as the young Asian girl watched the people below bow to the picture of the deceased young man. Her deep blue eyes became wet with the longing to join them in their last respects, but she couldn’t. She looked to the family of the fallen, young man who was about to be laid to rest: the same family that she had received a great rejection from. Her eyes were directed to the young man who stood with them, and young man 7 years her elder, and her eyes turned into a fierce, crimson red as she burned with anger at him. His eyes looked from beyond the funeral up into the hills where she stood, and their eyes meet. She jerked around, breaking any chance of an eye locked, and her eyes faded to deep blue once more.
She had to get out of there; she couldn’t stand it anymore. She broke into a tear-filled run towards, well, she didn’t know where, just anywhere, to the place her legs decided to take her. She found her run broke by an old tree whom she was quite acquainted with, and her arms were flung around it. After a few long, heavy sobs, she finally released the tree and leaned against it, looking-up at the almost clear sky, with only a few puffs of clouds floating in the gentle breeze. She wondered in deep sadness why in the world it couldn’t rain today. It did in books, it always did. In every story she read or heard, it always rained at the funeral of a loved one. So, why was this time not important enough to rain?
As she was thinking this, a cloud that looked oddly like a fish swam by in the breeze, stopping before her. She watched as it paused as the breeze paused for half a moment, then it swam off, as if it was causing the breeze, like a fish causes a current in water. Yellow hope began to eat away at the blueness in her eyes. Could that have been him? Could that have been his spirit? She began to smile. Why should she be mad at the day? Why should is be raining? After all, not everyone knew the young man in the coffin, so why should they suffer a rainy day on his account. People died everyday, maybe not in this village, but in other places. Should it rain every time someone died? It was a beautiful day; in fact a day the girl would have considered it perfect if it wasn’t for the funeral. The other people around had the right to enjoy the day as much as she had the right to morn for the one who passed away. She shouldn’t be so selfish.
Besides, the weather was a slight comfort to her in her loss. After all, if the day cried with her, would she be able to bare it? She had lost so much more than the young man; oh so much more. The weight of the world falling in tearful rain would have made things even more worse then they were now. It’s as if he was smiling down upon her, as if the gods were smiling at her, or at least sitting there comforting her, hugging her. She was sure that one of the two was there making it happen so that she couldn’t be in even more pain. With the fish cloud, she was sure it was him behind it all: it was always him behind everything. Another smile found her lips.
In the end, why did it matter if it rained? That was something of stories, and she was of flesh and blood, thus not needing such silly fantasies. Besides, like him, she liked things to be different. She didn’t need the cliché of rain heavy on her mind. It seemed that even in her sadness, her life had to be different; even though she knew that there were probably many others out there who have had to witness a funeral as she had to. She closed her fully yellow eyes as she rested her back on the tree with a smile, and a lone tear being pulled by gravity down her cheek.
mysticalfairymagic · Sun Dec 21, 2008 @ 03:14am · 0 Comments |
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