Moonlight Sonata

•5 - Lie•

Lie: To lie means to say or write something which you know is untrue.

•She•

Sometimes, I would sit waiting on a chair, as rigid as a log, as He disappeared and didn't return for a long time. I had no way of telling the time, I couldn't see the clock, and my body grew strangely unfeeling to sensations on these occasions. These days were the beginnings of periods of deep frustration, when every inch of me started to slowly slip into a deep slumber as I helplessly let it happen.

And then the images would start. 

This time, I saw the brightest garden - much like the one we lived around - and all the trees bearing the ripest of fruits and the plants garnished with the sweetest of flowers. The bees kept up a steady hum of chatter, the crickets joining in at times. There were other beings too, ones I couldn't describe or didn't know about.

I was in it, present there, stuck in the very midst of it all; feeling lost and hurt as I stumbled over this and that. I didn't know where I'd landed, but it was a short fall. I still had my wits about me, and the bees still sung in my ears. But here I was, sitting on the ground, tripped up by a thing I couldn't even see. I thought I'd gone too far this time. It was then that I started to cry. I was in a cage I didn't want to be in; a bird so trapped, yet aiming for the sky.

I thought I'd be rescued or something - that's generally what happened. But I had to pick myself up on my own, in the process, scraped my knee on a stone, and thought, for the first time, about the colour of blood. Was it the same as the sky, or was it a different kind? The grasses, or the crows? Or maybe the gravestones of the souls?

The souls! I thought. They would know, of course. He had told me, once, that dying spilled blood. And so I embarked upon this childish journey, just to occupy my time, but I met someone, on the way, it was not Him, I could say. It was seldom that you met someone around here, so I stopped to say hi. To ask them their name, and the place they hailed from.

"Are you a boy or a girl?" I asked.

And they said, "How would you know? If I didn't tell you anything about me, could you figure out on your own?"

Their unusual response caught me by surprise; a twisted take, really, on a simple reply. Did this person find joy in confusion? Or did they think vagueness was a thing to be enjoyed?

"I don't think I could," I said. "But you're tempting me now."

They remained silent for a while, and I thought they were gone. But no sooner had I reached that conclusion, did I hear a voice close to my ears. "I'm just strolling down this place," they said. "Did you ever consider this, that maybe others come by too, and you're not the only one here? Did you ever think, that maybe the voices of the souls, do not come from them after all, that the crows that speak to you so kindly, aren't really crows that you hear? That all the things you reveled in, weren't really there? That you have been living a made up lie, for all of your years?"

"Tell me then, good person," I spoke with a hostile stance. "What proof is there of the things, that you hold to be true? What proof is there of the Almighty, of the habits, the customs, the beliefs? What proof is there of money, being the eternal bliss? What proof is there of ghosts, that so many shiver around? Why, for all of those things, there is but word of mouth. And yet, if these words of mouths, are things you zealously follow, what proof is there that my beliefs, are completely hollow?"

"Quite a feisty woman, aren't you?" The stranger casually mused.

And here I turned away from them, with a pleased little sigh. Though a little of me had wanted to stay on, I'd liked the sound of being a 'feisty one'.

But before I could turn back, I found myself back in my chair. I regretted my hesitance then; I'd left, without a goodbye.

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