Wynter's Tale

Chapter 1

The sun's harsh glare focuses on my face, forcing me to let go of the remnants of my dream world. The birds would not shut up, taunting me continuously for wanting to get a peace of mind. They don't like me at all.

I try sitting and groan when my lower back throbs with pain. My hands push on the bench, helping me up. Almost instantly my headache makes itself known, not being able to wait to join the party. I shuffle through the jacket, looking for my bottle of aspirin. The bottle is almost empty, would hardly survive for another day. I, nevertheless, take three out, not sure about my chances of surviving for another day either.

I imagine a life where I would be free, a day when I would escape through the shackles of pain, but I know it is too good to be true. My dying hopes make me realize that I am too damned to ever get rid of this curse.

Too damned to ever find happiness again.

~

I've been wandering around the city like a lost soul. I cannot eat, there is nothing special about food anymore. All it does is make me nauseous.

I feel something vibrate inside my jacket pocket and take it out to see someone calling me. I contemplate throwing the phone away as soon as the name registers.

I want nothing to do with him.

He is dead to me now.

I am so angry at him, the wound of his words still fresh. And like what I have been doing for the past four days, I put the phone on silent and shove it back into my pocket.

I take a step forward but stop. This needs to end here now. Taking my phone out again, I take the battery out and throw it against the wall. When I hear the resounding crack of it breaking I throw the phone harder on the floor. Stomping on it again and again. Taking all my frustrations out. I don't need anyone. I am done being hurt. Absolutely done with life too.

The empty alleyway allows me to scream as loud as I can. It absorbs in all my wretched cries. The image of my sobbing self huddled in the centre is hidden from everyone. No one wanders through these places anymore, the paths are blocked for the construction site ahead.

It is so hard to stop when I let myself go. I cry for all that I have lost. I cry for being a weak pathetic self, not strong enough to face all the hurdles life throws at me. I cry because I failed. I cry because I am a disappointment. I cry and cry, begging someone, anyone to take this all away. No one listens to me, there is no miracle that happens, my cries fall on deaf ears and there's nothing that could save me from my own self.

~

I have no idea how long I sat there crying my eyes out, but there came a time when I ran out of tears. My phone lay broken in front of me, it could be of no use to me now. However, I still take my sim out, putting it in my jacket's pocket. I, then, stood up and headed towards the one direction that could bring me instant relief, with a single thought in mind.

Who said letting go of the past was ever easy?

The bar stank as I walked into it. It is the cheapest one around, and I only have so much money. For a minute I stand and appreciate the fact that I at least have money to buy me my bottle, visually pat myself on the back for holding onto it with me as I headed towards this journey. Patting myself for not being a guilty fool, and leaving everything behind.

The bartender is familiar with me from the past few days I have been visiting and with just an eye contact she knows what I want, what I need. I slid towards the only couch available and observe the people around as I wait for my order. Nothing special about the crowd here, they are all wallowing in their own miseries, drowning their sorrows with alcohol. My gaze meets that of old Joey, and I nod towards him, which he returns with his own awkward shake of head. This has been our ritual for the past days, he is the only other person, except for the bartender, to ever notice that I existed. His acceptance of my existence brings a type of calm that I did not know I could feel anymore. I am not that undesirable, I think, not that undesirable a human being.

My bottle is placed in front of me, the bartender smiles at me and walks away. I can't even muster up a smile in return. I don't remember how to. I am about to clutch the bottle into my awaiting hands, when I hear someone's breathless mutter, "Wynter".

It probably has not been that long, but that name feels so foreign. Just a few more days for it to break free of my memory cage.

I lift my face up to look at person who delayed me from experiencing my own euphoria, and my breath hitches in my throat as I look at who it is.

Those grey smouldering eyes are boring into me after so long, their gaze shaking my very soul. I remember how the lighter grey starts from the centre evolving into a darker one at the edges. It's impossible to forget the eyes you've spent endless time staring into.

Because these are the same eyes that never fail to make my heart beat at an incredulous speed, almost wanting to jump out of my chest.