You Watched Me Fall {A Novella}

I: The Song of the Nightingale Bird

Copyright © M.T.Wilson 2012 - All rights reserved

 

I: The Song of the Nightingale Bird

 

    “You watched me fall.”

    His eyes like drops of silver moonlight saw me, a burst of darkness barely visible in the fading light that tumbled through the red streaked sky. The rushing wind that thundered around my ears as I plummeted was deafening and tears streamed from my eyes. It felt like I was going to fall forever until finally, I landed.

    Tree branches scraped at my skin, tearing flesh and ripping my already tattered dress that was once white with shining splendour. They broke my fall a little but when I finally broke through the branches I hit the ground with such force that I couldn’t breathe. It felt like all the air had been sucked from my lungs.

    I could smell the earth, could feel the dark soil as I curled my fingers around it, could taste the warm blood in my mouth. My eyes were glued shut, my limbs paralysed in place and I gasped, attempting to breathe in the cold air around me. Every part of my body felt like it was on fire, my back seared with pain and tears pricked my eyes as I remembered what I would see there.

    As I lay there I slowly opened my eyes to look up, just as a single white feather floated down and landed in front of me. I reached out, my arm dragging along the ground, and my fingers brushed against the soft feather, caressing the smooth texture. Just then the wind breezed over me and it tumbled over, revealing the blood-stained other side. I swallowed the lump in my throat.

    An almighty gust blew the feather away from me and I lunged at it in vain, being able to do nothing but watch as it was carried away from me. My eyes followed its path until it was gone. But it had not been carried out of sight by the wind. As I struggled to focus on what lay before me I finally noticed him, stood just a few metres away, a white feather resting on his open palm.

    He began to approach and I tried to speak but my throat felt like sandpaper and a feeble croak was all I could manage. He crouched down beside me and suddenly I was afraid, my eyes grew wide and I tried to move away. I could see his lips moving but I could hear nothing.

    He reached out to me, offering his hand, but I could only stare at it. Why would anyone want to help me? I was an outcast, no longer pure. But I wasn’t in Heaven anymore, I was now confronted by a human, an innocent human with no idea what he was facing.

    I watched those pink lips, tried to figure out what he was saying but my vision blurred and I blinked rapidly to try and regain it. Then, slowly my hearing began to return to me. I could hear his muffled voice. He had a beautiful voice. Something about it made me reach out my hand and allow him to encompass it in his own.

    He offered a hand when no one else did. He lifted me up in his arms, cradled me against his chest when there was no one else there to help me. He whispered into my ear as he carried me. So I was lulled to sleep by the sound of his now clear voice that told me everything was going to be okay. And I believed him.  

    When next I awoke I was on my back, staring up at a wooden ceiling. The smell of vanilla filled my nostrils and I breathed it in, craving the luscious scent. My whole right arm was tensed and I looked down to see my hand clenched in a fist around a rough blanket, my knuckles white. I released it and immediately felt my muscles relax.

    I tried to sit up and my head immediately began to ache, my stomach churned and I thought I was going to be sick. The world span and I placed a shaking hand on the wall to steady myself. As the room came back into focus I realised I was in a small log cabin that was bare except for a few shelves and a cardboard box. On top of the box were an old torch and a small knife.