Short story Collection || Raglak ||

⫻Write Me Wrong II ⫻

aarushi6

#writemewrong

⫷ The story starts from here ⫸

The air smelt fresh foliage. The fifty-year-old Syra closed her eyes losing herself to the serenity of mother nature.

Her tales and dreams began from there. Every day her mother would leave her home, in the middle of the woods, lurking in the dense rainforests. Somewhere, lost yet found.

As the Sun let the sea wobble him up, the girl's heart raced. Her mother didn't return. She clutched the lantern tight. Her lips sung prayers. 

Just like her Mother.

That's what people told her. She took pride in it. She was brave to save herself from wild cats and rattlesnakes and too mature for an eleven-year old. She felt the breeze brush past her tresses and tickle her cheek.

She wanted her mother at that moment. She went to the fireplace and extended her pink palms. The warmth was nothing compared to her mother's embrace. She looked out of the window. The misty sickle of the moon shone brightly. She rested her head against the wall as she heard a euphoric music.

It was the music of the nightingale. It may seem plain, but it was anything but ordinary. The music from its repertoire resembled her mother's lullaby. The melody seemed as if she was withering in the pain. She stood up. She picked her lantern and resolved to find her.

In no time she found her night's musician lying on the ground half-dead, still and motionless.

She sat on her knees and gently pulled her into her palms. She was a beauty who was struggling with her claws tangled to some wild creeper. Memories of her mother flooded Myra's mind. She felt uneasily soothed. She slowly pulled out every strand of the weed.

Syra set her free. She chirped and flapped her wings. The nightingale pecked her beak into her palm. Syra winced.

Oh! That's not a very polite way of saying thank you!

The Nightingale looked at her saviour one last time and flew away. Syra felt light and indescribable. Little did she know that she had lost the most precious person of her life.

Her eyes dampened as Syra recovered from her reverie. That day she could have gone in search of her mother and done something to save her mother from the whirlpool in the marshland. But she saved the birdie instead. She never regretted it. And she knew her mother would be content too.

Syra heard the same mellifluous tune from the woods. Her heart raced like that once again. The moon spread its glory over land. She heard the same pain in her voice. She picked up her torch in search of her.

She found the nightingale trapped in a birdcage.

Poor soul!

She walked over and curled her fingers around the bars of the cage. Syra sadly smiled.

What do you have for me today?

The nightingale surprisingly pecked the back of her palm just like that day. Syra's smile dropped and she closed her eyes. A lone tear rolled down her wrinkled cheek. She was in pain. Her heart hammered against her ribs. She let a huge breath out. The cold breeze made it harder for her. She opened her eyes only to meet hers with the poor nightingale.

Syra lifted her right hand, which moved to her chest right over her heart. Syra gasped. She kept mum and raised her left hand to the latch of the cage. As her fingers unlocked the cage, she fell on the ground with a thud, closing her eyes. Memories of her mother and that night clouded her vision. She opened it for one last time. The nightingale flew and perched on her cheek. Syra tried smiling at her. The little bird to her surprise pecked her lips. The lips that had gone deathly pale, blue and cold.

She knew hearing music in the woods at night was usually a bad sign but it was such a pretty tone.

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Hope you liked it!