Tall Tales

- 25 -

T W E N T Y  F I V E

..... ..... ..... ..... .....

Shirk

________________________

When I said that no one will understand, I had my doubts.

In a sense that nobody is the same and no story goes with the exact same plot, then nobody truly understands each other. Yet in a sense that our humane emotions let us feel empathy and for the possibility of similar emotions to be experienced during two contrasting situations, then yes, everyone could understand each other.

But as I paced with my hands wound tight in the pocket of my thick, oversized coat, I told myself that I shouldn't have any doubts. Nobody had understood. Nobody had truly understood.

My mind was pacing relentlessly, a copy of my own two feet. Was I shunning out the possibility of being understood? Did I not understand that someone might understand me?

Even I have yet to deem myself worthy enough to claim that I understand myself. My very self seems to be made of different entities: a body that claims itself as a fair obloquy and a mind that claims itself as an odious beaut. I am the oil and the water, the earth and the sky, the moon and the waves – each a perfect juxtaposition from the other. I could not fathom myself, although it might be that I was the one who refuse to.

I shut the windows to my soul – my set of mismatched eye. One ochre and the other amber. I've come to know the way by heart. Memorized it to the point that I would not get lost, even if I were to sleepwalk. Despite the enervation that I could feel down to the very core of my marrows, I did not wish to slam into busybodies. Not now and not ever, I realized as my eyes fluttered open.

The lights are beautiful tonight, I mused. Even more so when their reflection danced upon the river's surface. The susurrus of the brook and the leaves made it seem as if they were deep in conversation. The blooms, I inhaled deeply, were thriving; it appears that the dark beckons for beauty. I didn't pay them all a second thought as I'd arrived to my destination.

I traced the intricate carvings on the wooden handle. Wood, everything made of the same, delicate material. I steeled myself before rapping the hardwood, my blood a fiery stream in my veins.

One

The thud felt like a blow to my chest; a taut string seemed to urge me to stop.

Two

I gulped, but I didn't stop. I've gotten this near to closing the chapter, I might as well just close the book.

Three, Four, Five

My clenched palm paused mid-air. Hesitation.

Six, Seven, Eight

Perhaps it's the wrong place, wrong destination. Perhaps it's a wrong time, perhaps I'm wrong.

Nine, Ten

But perhaps wrong is right. Nobody knows of the truth that lies in perhaps. Perhaps there is none.

Eleven, Twelve, Thirteen

I held onto the steady beat and gritted my teeth – don't stop at the unlucky number. My mind sneered at me, there is no luck as there is no misfortune. There is just what is and what isn't.

Fourteen, Fifteen, Sixteen

I bit the insides of my mouth. A tear streaked down my cheek, one regret for the memory I shed.

Seventeen

Another tear escaped. I let the dam broke then, I don't care, I don't care, I don't care.

Eighteen, Nineteen

It all went by in a blur as the minutes and seconds coalesced. Blurry, as my vision was right now. Blurry, as the wood grains slowly merging into a solid brown in front of me.

Twenty

This is it, there will be no turning back.

Twenty-one.

"Hello," a smile were its way of greeting, my hand still lingered where the door had once been. The fatigue was slowly lifting, vaporizing, into the space beyond the wooden door. "May I help you?"

Sweet. Sweet, sweet deceit. I smiled back.

"Yes. I'm actually looking for someone," a contorted uplift of the lips was the reply I got.

"Of course, who is it, my dear?" The door opened a little wider. Wide enough for me to step inside. Wide enough that I found myself taking that step.

No response needed, no answer to wait upon. It has been known. And so the next step I took was lighter, and the next one even more so – until it grew darker, and the abyss swallowed me whole.

- Sep 11, 2018

A/N: The End. 😘
It seems befitting to start Tall Tales with a monologue and end it with another monologue...ish. If you still remember, 01 was about taking the chance. Now, 25 is about 'tying loose ends' (or is it? 🙄)

Just fyi, this is the 100th entry in my phone's Tall Tales folder – yeay(?) It is officially, finally, conclusively the last chapter, guys! (Well, not really, one more goodbye chapter is coming after this)

It's been a great time! I'm already in the process of planning my 2nd series, so wait up ;)

Post Scriptum

Would you have the honor of guessing what this chapter is about?

Love eternally,
Caera Keane