Skip to main content

Fall

James felt rather than saw Mike catch up to him. He moved to the right of the bike path so the two friends could cycle side-by-side without much problem.

“What’s on your mind?”

James sighed. He did not have to turn to Mike to know the latter was looking at him with those intuitive sharp blue eyes. James knew the expression all too well – Mike’s eyes would be narrowed; there would be a small furrow between his brows. If it were anyone else, James would probably be afraid of their bike swerving off-road, but not Mike’s. Mike could drive from his room to the campus with his eyes closed and no accident. That was just who Mike was.

Making something up did not even cross James’s mind. He knew Mike could read him as well as he could read Mike, perhaps even better. Any lie would immediately be called out. Plus, he did not have the energy.

“Death never looked more beautiful,” James replied, nodding to the trees that lined the opposite bike path, their leaves in different shades of yellow, orange and red, the warm colours a stark contrast to the green of the field behind the bike lane. A quarter of the leaves had fallen down, blanketing the bike path. As the two friends continued to cycle, the wind knocked down a few more.

Mike hummed.

“What?” James asked, slightly peeved.
“I didn’t say anything.”

James merely raised an eyebrow, certain Mike would catch it. Mike could convey a lot through the noises he made; the meaning of the latest one was clear – he disagreed. Mike sighed.

“Decay, not death.”

And with those three simple words, Mike was speeding ahead. It took James a second to realize that the increasing distance between them was in fact because of his own slowing down. Dimly, he was aware Mike had stopped further down the path and was craning his neck around to say something.

Later, James would wish he had heard those words.

Mike never saw the scooter speeding the wrong way down the wrong road.

James’s scream died in his throats even as Mike fell in front of his eyes and rolled onto the grass divider between the bike path and the main road. The truck lumbering down the main road was huge. Mike, trying to sit up on his elbow, was still disoriented. And James? In his hurry to get to Mike, he fell face-down, his legs tangled in the frame of his bike. He raised his head, only to catch –

Mike misjudged his surroundings; the truck put too much faith in Mike, or maybe it never saw him. It was over in seconds.

***

As soon as he had gotten his degree, James had moved to the tropics. It was a true urban city where he lived – concrete buildings towered over broad roads James would drive his car down. That was ten years ago. Now, at thirty-two, he was sitting in a plane on his way to the one country he never wanted to see again. He had postponed the meeting with the company’s other branch for as long as he could, but there was only so far he could run. As the plane neared the airport, James steeled himself, and for the first time during that flight, looked out of the window.

It was a blizzard. James did not know what exactly a blizzard entailed, yet those four words were the ones which crossed his mind. Everything was a swirling white, everything except the ground, which was a strange mixture of black, brown and grey with dotted yellow lights. The plane wobbled; the cabin lights flashed, and oxygen masks dropped. James thought he heard someone scream.

The man sitting to his right shifted slightly away. James could see his reflection in the windowpane – sharp blue eyes looked out of a pale white face, smooth except for a small furrow between the brows.

“What’s on your mind?”

James smiled, removed his seatbelt with his left hand and turned to the man, laying his right hand on the arm rest, the palm facing upwards. A cold hand slit into his and squeezed.

“Death never looked more beautiful,” James said. No one corrected him this time.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Clothes on the Bedroom Floor

  Clothes litter the bedroom floor, Memories of a lover's heart ripped and thrown, Fading like the will to knock on the door And pick up the pieces that have now been outgrown. The blue sweater truly suited you - White stripes from a country not my own... It saw the sun rise over a ballsy victory or two Before sinking to the floor, heavier than stone. On the same stained floor lie clothes of the night, Once shared with love amongst you and I Till you lost your drive and all strength to fight While I abandoned the energy to cry. The cargo pants were his to rock, Dotted with pockets to carry his smile... Now it lies lopsided, contorted like a keyless lock, Only to be stepped on with scorn every once in a while. And there - a friend's jade jerkin, a union's sign, Both still thriving and alive, Though now I can call neither of them mine - Too tired to buzz with the busy bees of the hive. That black jacket was a gift from the dead To provide an illusion of warmth in a land of sn...
2 comments
Read more

Memories of 2020

Remember that ride to school When a spider fell on you? You screamed so loud I slipped off the seat. But you don't 'Cause that's a memory we never made. Remember that day we got late Hence I was running up the stairs? Suddenly I tripped, And brought you down with me. But you don't 'Cause that's a memory we never made. Remember when you forgot your breakfast So we had to share mine? We sat 'neath the trees outside, And he saw you for the first time. But you don't 'Cause that's a memory we never made. Remember that time you didn't do your homework And he let you copy his? He called it your first date. You were so happy. But you don't 'Cause that's a memory you never made. Remember when I discovered That that quiet girl had the same interests as me? We'd spend our breaks in the library Discussing everything. But you don't 'Cause that's a memory I never made. Remember the tears we shed During our farewell party? We exc...
2 comments
Read more

The Lass

Past the footprints on the muddy track If you walk through the grazing grass, Find you will a knife stained and black With old blood from a young lass. Follow the drops and you shall see Flattened grass where the dull spots end, A young lass with tears running free To form a river just 'round the bend. Born from a puddle of red despair, Flowing through a barren way To the sea and from there the air, Resting in the gathering clouds of the ending day. All the lass had ever needed was a shoulder; Now her own tears rain down to wash away sorrow, For no kind voice ever told her Of the light that shone in the morrow. Her tears stay to water the tired, Her blood forever staining the silent ground; The Earth shall rise to claim the wired, Only then will start the sound Of what made the lass the knife to yield? However did she drown in despair? Why did she keep her secrets sealed As she sought to destroy all beyond repair? Perhaps she'll hear from the starry sky The apologies and condol...
2 comments
Read more