Chapter 6: The Song
In his last moments, Journey couldn’t help but feel the reality of the fact that all travels must come to an end. His half writ saga had been punctuated for the final time, like a poet lacking the constitution to write in absence of his muse. Given to fits of whimsy, he simply places a period and declares the story concluded. He had spent one too many summers in this house, and he longed for the days when he ran from autumn rains. Rain drops dancing blithely on idle window pains, and his warmth wrapped securely in her arms. She held him tightly, yet gently. He slept. Somewhere inside him, he knew he had never moved passed those autumn days, and that when he left that day his spirit failed to make the trip with him. It had been trapped in a purgatory of his own construction, walled in by the errors of his past. She looked down at him with her impossible green eyes, fallible in their perception. They blinked, but did not shed tears. She did not cry for him. Instead, as she held his head, she sang a song for him, a prayer she had learned, while sirens screamed the songs in keys of dissonance. In his last moments, they both thought the same thing; perhaps the story had been concluded, but finally Journey had been allowed to be free.
No comments:
Post a Comment