DEAD WINTER: A CRYPTIC Anthology

Rose • Omaima Akbar

I could smell the earth that surrounded me.

The mud was damp and it made it easier to claw my way outside the grave. It must have rained sometime earlier. It always did rain at odd times. I hated rain. It made everything humid and sticky. But I would not let it spoil my mood. I was ecstatic to finally breathe in the fresh air, to feel the sun against my decomposed skin. I would be able to see the mesmerising green leaves, the blue of the sky and sound of the river as it rushed by.

I would be able to wrap my wrinkled arm around my wife and smell her hair. My dear wife. She must have missed me.

I clawed faster. I wanted her back. She must have cried every night for me. Our love was eternal. We could write a romance novel on us. I smiled widely at the thought. I remembered her black eyes and the way she turned scarlet every time I complimented her. I had nicknamed her - Rose. My friends had always been envious of us. They did not love like we did. They could not. Such love did not happen often.

Something cold licked my face and I gasped at the first touch of air. I was close. I was so close. I pushed my arm through the dirt and searched for something to hold on. Finding what felt like a root of a tree, I pulled myself up. I climbed slowly, letting out a low groan as I inhaled. The air hurt me. It burned my nose and my chest. I blinked back tears as I pushed myself through the dirt. I needed to get home. I needed to find my wife. I needed to tell her that I was alive.

I wanted to feel her against my body. I had longed for her touch for so many years.

I dragged myself outside. I was buried where I always told my wife I wanted to be- along with the river under the giant oak tree. She had remembered.

The night was cold and the air was damp. I could hear chatter and smell of cheap cigarette smoke exploited my newly acquired senses The town was home to me. It was where I had been raised. I lay on the wet mud, feeling the earth throbbing beneath me. I closed my eyes in contentment. I was back to where I belonged.

I slowly  turned to my right read my tombstone - 'Here he lies, Jack Jones. The man who taught me how to live.'

A teardrop slipped from my eye as I re-read it again. Rose, sweet Rose! Jack was here.

The wet mud stuck on my body at odd places as I dragged myself towards the water stream. I could see the reflection of the silhouette of the silver ball in the sky hidden by dark clouds. But my eyes found my face and cringed at my own reflection. I was not the handsome man people thought anymore. My skin was pale and grey. I plucked a worm trying to climb inside my ear and threw it in the water. My eyes were black as soot and my teeth were rotting. I had become bald and several mites scurried in delight on my head. I dipped my hand in the cool water and washed them off. Rose was not too fond of small creatures. They scared her, she was a bit silly like that. I mustered all my strength to stand up and looked at myself. I could not recognise myself but I knew my Rose would. She always told me that she did not love me for my looks. It was my personality, my heart that had captured her attention and eventually made her fall for me. Rose was special. She would love me for what I am.

I turned my back towards the river, my grave and the big oak tree. I would never return to this place. I would be with my wife. I would sleep in the same bed as her. I smiled at the thought, my facial muscles ached at that little movement. They were not used to any movement and had become limp. I inhaled again and the air burned through me. But it was less painful now that I was getting used to it. Closing my eyes and telling myself that I was doing the right thing I took my first step. I was surprised that my legs paid heed to my brain's command. I was regaining my strength. Maybe all was not so bad.

I started walking towards the town. I could hear the hustle bustle of people moving and chattering. I could hear the low rumble of the car engines as they drove by. It did not look like anything had changed in the seven years that I had been gone.