I will, here's a story you might like, it is a story about exquisite love, a crushing heartbreak, and the sweet swift wind of justice.
The air, space, and the fabric, it's twisting turning, I'm sewn in place, an onlooker to this scene, this scene, I can only tell myself the events transpiring before me, like I am chained to an ominous seat in the cinema of life. In front of me, I see two little birds entwined, oblivious to their caged existence. Under this willow tree on a hill away from the bustling streets, away from stress and the intricate troubles of the city life, two little birds enjoying their youths pleasures, entwined in that Rosen-red sensation.
Time supposedly came and went, I would not know, stuck as I am. The couple came and then vanished in the bright light of morning as I yet stand here stuck and chained. The leaves wither and the seasons change as the bright light of summer is swiftly slain by the crimson dusks of fall, which slowly slumbered into winters cold darkness, which gave in to the grey wet skies of spring, still stuck in this cage of cosmic origins, or was it something else at play?
Time and time again this perpetual change played before me, like a time-lapse on loop, repeating, and unending. Four? No, maybe five times this scene played out, then Dad appeared again at the root of the tree, distressed? Was he worried about something? Folding his hands in prayer on his knees at the trees root. Praying for the well-being of something soon to come. Could it be? It was, wasn't it? He was praying for Alexander, under this tree where past memories of joy vibrated.
This time the season did not only change but the vibrant environment too changed. The sky dissipated and got replaced by grey wooden walls, a decorated crib, some pot-plants, a dinner table, a small light-bulb, and a lonely window applying rays of sun or moon through this room of the past, our kitchen. This feeling, what is it telling me?
Trough snow, moonlight shine, trough rays of dawn, shades of dusk, trough social troubles, heartache and economics they fought, together, one unit that grew with the passing of time. Alexander... As a toddler he was so cute, eyes so bright, and a smile so joyous and kind, one could truly see how.. How... How his character grew with time, why am I crying? Stuck in this standstill watching my own happy family growing up so very close.
What is happiness? A feeling? A place of belonging? or the people you give your time too? That faint warm feeling that spreads from your chest to your lips when you laugh? That tickle long in the back of your very core as a being? Was it any of that? Or perhaps all of it? Is it not a vision of happiness that I am looking at right at this very moment? That joyous feeling of closeness when a family grows as tight as ours, we truly did belong to each other, so why? Where did it all go so very wrong?
Time and time the three of them laughed and cried but always pulled through another day, another morning, another night. One of the mornings, I think it was Alexander's fourth birthday, he climbed up to the frame of the window to surprise our parents when they would wake. Arms short and legs stubby he balanced himself on one of the dining room chairs to reach the edge of the window with his tiny hands gripping it tightly trying to pull himself up, he slipped and tipped the chair over in the fall but he managed somehow to cover himself with his arms before he hit the floor, the ruckus almost sent mother and father flying out of the bed to see what the commotion was, why did they never tell me about things like this? One minute they were in shock and then they all just started laughing, Alexander with still some tears in his shiny little eyes, grinning from ear to ear, he did get scolded a bit for his silliness but it was all good.
Another time dad slipped on the bottle Alexander dropped, waving his arms around not much unlike the comic gestures clowns do on unicycles, the fact that he regained his balance was truly worthy of high and loud cheer by the crowds. He used to be so upstanding and charming with an unfaltering smile bright as the morning sun, when did it all die? Replaced by those dead eyes and swinging anger that I had known for so long.
Darkness, light, darkness, light, darkness yet again, pouring through that solitary window and on my frozen existence, bound by forces unknown to man, whether they were involved with the occult or curses, or the cosmic questions of astrology and philosophy. Somewhat it had seemed to tighten, crushing the bounds of air my flesh and lungs could contain, no air, no light, scene changing its familiar form to something else.
Suspended, levitating, helpless, a tiered and silent witness to the events of this world, is this what I will be reduced to? No! No! No! This cannot come to be. Vibrations, faint yet tight, like an invisible bag bound with ropes, perhaps maybe even like frozen in unfeeling ice? But the vibrations there and if it is a vibration I can bend it.
Focusing on the vibrations undoing I almost missed the change protruding from the gripping darkness. It was another hill, wasn't it? A hill in the night shrouded with white flowers waving in the brace of the continuous wind, the night sky shrouded in gleaming stars shining down its white light reflected by the eclipsed moon. Why am I here? Suspended in the middle of the sky of this lone hill. But who else is here? In between the white blowing petals, there is someone, a woman in a white nightgown, alone, looking at the phenomena of the eclipsed moon, hair long and reflect-ant of the sky above, and between whimpers a name, a name escaping the woman's lips. "Frank, where did you go?"
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