Crumbling Visage

Fragile Love

"Fine." Zahra's voice was tinted with bitterness, "I stole it." She looked quite unabashed if not a little angry. Then her expression changed; her lips curved into a mocking smirk as she questioned, "What're you going to do about it? Turn me in?"

Felix clenched his fists and it looked like he would say something, shout, maybe. But he merely shook his head and sighed. After a few moments his voice came out weak and insistent, "You'll hand it back, won't you?"

Zahra barked a dry laugh, "What, you suggest I just walk in there and hand them back something I took seven years ago? Besides, what they don't remember they won't miss."

"It isn't something one can forget!" Felix's eyes widened and his pupils dilated. His breathing soon turned hard and laboured and he subsided into a coughing fit.

"Best not to talk right now." The girl's voice became surprisingly soft as she led him away, grasping his shoulder firmly. The pair walked with hurried and hesitant steps- best to get the worst of it over with. The ground was soft underfoot with a faint smell of soil and grass lingering in the air. The day seemed dull and tinted with a monotonous shade of grey and the vast grounds were empty of the usual crowd.

Far beyond the barren grounds was a majestic structure. It was a huge brick building decorated with festive lightings at any time of the year; the air smelled faintly of paint as you stepped closer and you could see a few specks of the paint accidentally splattered on the contrasting walls. Felix was led to his room and he immediately flopped down on his bed. Zahra left the room, closing the door behind her.

She walked up to the telephone and waited. She waited for what seemed like an eternity before it rang. The ringing was magnified eerily in the vast structure. Wincing slightly, she answered it.

"Good Evening." Zahra kept a curt and formal demeanour. The voice at the other end seemed much brighter in comparison, "Zahra! How have you been?" the female voice was soft yet high-pitched.

"I have been quite well, thank you." Zahra replied stiffly. There was a moment's silence before Zahra added, "And you?" Her voice sounded almost uncertain.

"Drop the act" a visible sigh was heard from the other end, "Felix? It's about him, isn't it? Always him." The elated tone that had previously occupied the voice was conspicuously absent.

"Yes." Zahra replied, trying to maintain the façade of indifference, "I care very much of what happens to our brother regardless of the events... in the past..." Zahra's voice became breathy and she trailed off.

"That's how you put it?" A dry humourless laugh was heard at the other end, "Events in the past? You do realise that abandoning someone for seven years accounts for a huge argument. Abandoning your family, no less."

"I am back now when I am most needed and that is what matters." Zahra's voice took an acrimonious tone, "Now, what is to be done? About Felix." She added to prevent any further prompt on the former matter.

But the voice on the other end was oblivious to these attempts as the question rang out, "What is to be done?" The voice had put in a new meaning to the words. "What is to be done for a dying pest? What is to be done for the funeral arrangements? Which of these do you mean Zahra? 'About Felix' doesn't cut it."

Zahra drew in a shaky breath and her voice shook with supressed rage when she next spoke, "Preferably about keeping him alive. I discussed it with his doctor; there's hope-"

The voice interrupted, musing those words, "There's hope." There was a short pause, "There was hope long before and there'll be hope long after. It existed regardless of predicaments and victories. But what good does it do us? It is a plague, Zahra, and you're being consumed by it. Fabricating hope when it's not there is a macabre tale of destruction; when you have it you lose it and it destroys you. We both know Felix is past the stage of 'hope.'" There was an expectant silence which Zahra did not break. After a long moment the voice at the other end continued, almost sympathetically, "What is to be done?" the words were echoed and they hung in the air, timeless and unanswered.