This isn't about any one, just a random little thought process that went through my head like... ten minuets ago. Then the long story is the "Short story" I wrote for a club, then decided not to share, because it wasn't nearly as good as the other stories that were told. haha so have fun kids.
What has he done?
The man who once followed his heart,
Who was led on by honesty,
Has been fooled by the artificial rues of her innocent eyes.
Eyes, with lust and passion,
Oh the eyes that deceive.
They bring not what man needs,
But what man finds as proclivity.
A promise to fulfill the most splendid reveries,
To vanquish thoughts of concern,
To banish negative connotation of desire.
Those eyes... Those eyes.
This man, took those eyes and thought them to be genuine.
He found himself no longer a man,
But a worn out item of personal gain;
Tossed aside at the likes of another who's cup held a sweeter wine.
Her Tree
His pocket watch had struck 7:47 PM. That pocket watch was a gift from her, a way of reminding him she'd be with him at any hour. “Then why aren't you here now?” he asked himself with bitterness in his heart. Then his bitterness turned to sorrow. That's when the memories flood through his mind; the mental dam could no longer hold back the furry of their haunting presence. It was clear that the cries of his heart had escaped their chamber, and he could no longer hide his emotions within the black abyss in which they were once concealed. The woods, the path, he remembered them with a stinging recollection - as if they were scorched upon his destitute mind.
Subconsciously he wandered forward in the forest, not acknowledging the way which his mind had led him. He shed a few tears during the review of his bitter-sweet, inescapable past. Was the wrenching emotional toil he must endure worth the once blissful memories and fond reveries? With his mind still pondering this thought, he continued to tread upon the unbeaten path that led to the source of his painful reminiscence- her tree
It was at this tree that he met her, where he held her in his arms while she wept, where they grew to know each other, and where he fell in love. It was at this tree that he promised he'd never let her feel alone. When he realized where he was, it came to him that he stood before that towering giant without her for the first time. The calm stream of tears turned into a violent wave of sobs and fervent longing. Quiet aches had languished a sturdy, passionate, man into nothing more than a cold, soulless shell who silently went about the day without purpose. But this; this was his breaking point. This broken man became a shattered spirit. All of this torment compelled his body to tremble, and caused his knees to again meet the soft soil that laid before the timber.
Suddenly he was stricken with a tender memory; when he came to his knees by his own will. He nervously practiced what he would say, and thought through what would be the opportune moment to kneel before the woman he loved. When he would profess his feelings, when he was prepared to commit his life to her. He held a small wooden box that contained a modest, white gold band in his pocket. A poor man he was, and he couldn't afford the glamorous diamond that most girls long for. But it wasn't a lack of money that compelled him to buy this band. He would have done anything to present her with a ring blanketed in diamonds if she so desired. In his eyes, the most expensive and embellished ring would have never been enough for her. She deserved the best. But all she ever wanted was the reassurance of his love, and to know that he remained faithful to her.
She would often stop to admire the ring's simplicity in the jewelry display when they would walk through the bustle of the city mall. When he asked her why she admired the ring so, she answered plainly “Something doesn't have to be complex or expensive to be beautiful” with a genuine smile, a smile that had captured his heart. This is why he bought this ring. He knew she was fond of it's simplicity, and that it meant more to her than a circle of precious metal. It represented a bond, their love. Which was something plain, genuine, and devoid of complexities.
But that night when he was prepared to purpose, she never showed up. He sat below the tree in his best suit with a ring and a broken heart. She was unjustly taken from the world before he had a chance to fulfill his promises to her, before he could give her everything she deserved. Why would someone with so much potential and so much compassion for others meet such an early death? At her funeral, he placed the ring in her cold hands, and looked upon her face one final time. So serene she seemed to sleep. Even in death, she was more full of life than he. It seemed that when she was consigned to death, so was the man he became. Never again was he the same person. She had helped him find who he was, and when she left, she took that part of him with her.
He continued to weep and pleaded to be set free of his pain. The night seemed as though it would never end, that the torment would continue until his very death. As he sat under the tree's haven, he went through all of the memories they shared. Some he looked upon with disdain, and others he could have been found with a faint smile. Then, gradually, there was a sense of peace about him. The calm of the night had settled in, and he began to fall victim to it's coaxing atmosphere. The night shut his tear stained eyes and granted him rest.
He awoke to find himself in the beauty of the foggy dawn. While a dull pain still resided in his heart, and he still had a heaviness about his chest, there was a sense of freedom from the chains tragedy had placed on him so long ago. It was as if an angel had descended from above and personally lifted his burdens from him. Life seemed as though it could continue, and that he could function again. While it was not easy to accept, he knew that he would continue to breath and find purpose in each new day. That's what she would have wanted, after all.
And a broken man began to heal.
-Hannah J. Thomas
More to come I'm sure.
With love,
Tom
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