Thread:Idolatry/@comment-10665455-20131018062657

It was the shatter of the seasons, summer was dead yet autumn was not yet born. Once, a bird fell from the bleeding tree, its wings hung down loosely, feathers dropped away. A milky veil came over its eyes, and its beak unhinged, its talons delicately curved at an awkward angle. Even death couldn't mar its grace, as the bird lay on the earth like a broken antique. I had been too selfish back then, throwing the stones at the sky, and a stone hit the bird.

The last graveyard flowers were losing their petals, and their faint fragrance drifted across the cotton field and into my empty house, speaking softly the names of the dead. The trees outside rocked back and forth like an empty cradle, their leaves falling like embers. When the elm sings to the maple, its song dies up in the breeze like silvery dust. Over the faint whispers of golden dusk, I climb to my roof, and watch the liquid sun dip below the horizon. The old rocking chair still sits on the neighbours balcony but it's always empty.

Sometimes, like right now, I let my thoughts drift up to the stars, and I remember him. He was just about the most peculiar boy I've ever met. Of course, he wasn't hauntingly peculiar like a ghost in the night, but a pleasant peculiar, like someone you would meet in your dreams.

He moved in to the house next to mine last summer. Shy, quiet, gentle in manner, and very queer. He would sit on his pallid rocking chair out back on the balcony, a book resting on his lap, and read for endless hours. He would look up from the page every once in a while, eyes at half mast to screen out the sun, and hum to himself. His voice was slightly cracked, but sweet. I remember first spying on him through the crack of the fence that drunkenly divided our backyards. The sky was low with sun, and the grass tickled between my toes. I looked over him finely. He had a fair face. Good looking, even. His hair falls slightly into his beautiful eyes, which are bordered with long lashes.

I didn't see him again for a whole month. It was like he disappeared. Never existed. However, I never forgot him. His face was added into my gallery of people, and his silvery voice continuously replayed in my head.

I saw him again at school. I felt my heart flutter with excitement when I casually bumped into him at the lockers, but he didn't as much as to acknowledge me, and brushed passed, my fingertips barely grazing across his white uniform. Stuck in my gradually decaying dream, I struggled to make eye contact with him, smiled awkwardly, went as far as to invite him over for dinner. He politely declined each time, saying he had better things to do. I smiled tightly in return, but I felt like I was being slapped on the face each time. Humiliated. Hopeless. Desperate.

I measured the days and counted the nights, and finally, summoning the courage, I confronted him in the empty classroom, telling him that I had words to say that I couldn't say, and that we should walk home together so I could say them.

And so we walked. We walked in silence, and the whole time, I just wanted to stop him in his tracks and kiss on on the lips. But that never happened.

The October sky began to darken, and rain began to fall heavily. The rain roared through the pines, and lightning played across half the sky, thunder roaring out. In selfish fear, I ran ahead, abandoning him behind me. I heard his sloshing footsteps as he chased after me, and his echoing voice telling me to wait. There was a flash go lightning, and the tree nearby split into two, crashing to the ground with a heavy thud, shaking the ground.

The drops stung my face like nettles, and the wind flared the wet glistening leaves of the bordering trees. Soon I could hear his voice no more. I hadn't run too far before I became tired. Realizing I had made a mistake, I stopped and waited for him. The sound of rain was everywhere, but the wind had died and it fell straight down in parallel paths like ropes hanging from the sky.

As I waited, I peered through the downpour, but no one came. Finally I went back and found him huddled on the side of the road, near the lighting-split- tree, out of breathe. He was sitting on the ground, his face buried in his arms, which were resting on his drawn-up knees.

I apologized, offering my hand so I could pull him up.

He didn't answer, so I knelt down beside him and placed my hand on his forehead and lifted his head. Limply, he fell back onto the earth, eyes closed. A trail of scarlet trickled from his mouth, and his neck and front shirt was stained with a brilliant red. I cried in horror, shaking him, but there was no answer but the ropy rain. He was sprawled on the ground awkwardly, his head thrown far back, making his neck appear more fragile than ever. I began to weep, and tears blurred my vision.

I screamed, and threw my body over his, placing his head on my lap, and stroking the damp clumps of hair out to his eyes. For a long time, it seemed forever, I lay there crying, sheltering my fallen bird from the heresy of the rain. 