Droplets of Blood

A creaky gate

The flowers hadn't yet bloomed.

As I walked my eyes were drawn to the sky. Each cloud was strung out, blotted with grey. It hung like a curtain to obscure the sun. Rows and rows of strung out clouds. With each step I took I could hear the rattle in my throat as I drew in breath and very slowly released it. The sidewalk was a soft tan with chalk faded from time. The flowers in my hand suffered the same fate. Each petal was a muted grey with specks of emerald. There were stray stitches and wisps of hot glue that refused to leave. The stems were to broad, and the fabric to rough. Still, it had been made my my own to hands and filled with the blood, sweat, and tears that I had. That alone made the far more beautiful and special than anything else.

With caution I reached into the bouquet and pulled out the only living flower. Around me passed few cars as it was midday, but laughter drifted through the air. It passed from children laughing as they dug in sand, and from the cafe windows where people could drown their sorrows in coffee and biscuits. It was tempting in the bitter cold to stop at the neon lighted shop and warn my fingers. To laugh and smile with others. But that couldn't happen. Not now. Not tomorrow. The street avenue was five feet away, and the wind swirled around me. Carefully I lifted up the tiny blue flower and released it into the wind. I had made a promise to her. Every day I would release a forget-me-not into the wind. Each day I hoped it would find her. It never did. The winds did not travel far enough. It's alright. I am patient.

I longed for spring. Without the flowers sprouting through the concrete the world seemed dull as everything else faded away. But so far, nothing has even begun to grow. Still, when they bloomed the flowers would add spots of prettiness into the otherwise ugly world. And each year, like clockwork, they would come back. This year, they were late. She had always wondered why I loved the flowers that bloomed in the sidewalk. She had preferred to walk through the gardens, and to stare at the flowers that twisted vibrant colors. To watch as butterflies made of silk landed softly on the thousands of orchids. I preferred the sidewalk. Here the flowers hate their stories, they whisper their secrets. They speak of the hardships and pain the feel as each day they are picked. Trampled. And forgotten. Covered by slush and snow and the tears that the sky cries when it has seen far to much.

It rained yesterday. It looked as if it would rain today.

Sometimes I wished to fly into the sky with wings of cherry blossoms. There I could simply drift and follow the whims of the world. Up there the sun would warm me, and the sky would shine with thousands of dying stars. I would look down on the earth and smile as places were remember. I would smile as times were forgotten. But at other times I knew the truth. I will never fly. There is to much weighing me down. Chains upon chains of bottled up memories and promises that are now broken. Cherry blossom wings would wither and from the sky I would fall. Lower and lower until my body would break, or the water would swallow me. There is no way for someone like me to fly. The weights will never leave. The burdens won't be forgotten.

The sidewalk seemed to wind on forever. Forever I would be stuck in my head, feeling the numbness creep into my fingers. That was not true. The path has been burned into my memory, and I knew it would only be awhile longer. I hoped to never forget this oath, but I wished to never have needed to learn it. There would've been a time where it would be fine to forget. Now, forgetting means being left behind. Forgotten myself.

I laughed softly at the irony.

Long tendrils of weeds began to sprout from the earth and carefully I stepped around them. They still lived no matter how they looked, and each life was important and beautiful. That is what she taught me. The ribbons of grey were changing color and disappearing into tendrils of smoke. Now pinks and yellows lined the sun, and I knew only a few more hours remained. It did not matter. Enough time was left. Enough time would always be left.

Carefully I opened the old wooden gate. It dig into my hand, the peeling paint scattering into the road. A new coat of paint would be needed soon, but that would have to come later. Smooth squats of granite lay in the earth and formed a roughly hewn path. It made me tired think of the days I spent hauling it to a fro. She loved granite and the way it's colors could be so beautiful. So chaotic. There was far too much work to be done, but something about it spoke beautifully. Roses crowded the path, their delicate flowers hanging from arches. Each was a soft yellow, a symbol that said it would be alright. Each was flecked with dirt and thorns that lay hidden without a closer look. Around me the grass grew wild, and the song of birds overhead lay distorted and mysterious. Each note was beautiful and jaunty, and the cold seemed to multiply as the shadows grew longer.

The clouds resemble stains of blood as if the sky had been punctured.

The pain inside my chest grew, and crystals formed inside my eyes. It was always the hardest taking the next few steps. The song overhead continued, mocking. I felt my knees give way on the cold granite slab, and carefully I cradled the bouquet to my heart. The chains I carried seemed to multiply, and the world had become waterlogged. Placed on my shoulders. Tape covering my mouth. Heavy and dreary the weeks and months seemed to come on me. I allowed a few minutes to sit, but I knew it would only be harder if I did not get up. Still, the pain inside of me twisted and gnawed. Like an abandoned toy I say in darkness. A memory of a better time. It did not matter. Not to the world. Not to those who watched over and nurtured. In a few minutes I would get up as it was always needed. I would carry on. The next day it would repeat. And the next day. Over and over the story will repeat until I can no longer come. That day is far from now and yet... it looks over me. Watching. Waiting. Lurking in the shadows when everything feels to impossible.

Setting down one hand I got up. I had to. The blood stained clouds grew darker in the soaked sky. I carried on. The granite became worn, small cracks appearing along the edges. Weeds thrived around me. A shiver ran down my spine as the lamps continued to flicker. It was broken, but still it tried to do its job. A breath rattled my lungs. Sticky notes began to appear around me, each one a light blue. On them were hastily scribbled notes and half baked promises. They stuck to the rose bushes, the lamps, and the stone wall. Some lay faded and torn, broken on the ground. Dirty. They spoke of secrets told between tears and laughters. They spoke a story. Reaching into my pocket I pulled out another sticky note, and carefully I placed it on the yellow rose. Its words were simple, but I knew she would understand.

I will never leave you.

The path continued only a little further. I knelt and drew in a breath. Dust lay piled around me, and dirt seemed to spread now matter how much I tried to clean. Still, this was her favorite spot. A place where the rose bushes opened up, and the water could be seen. Lily pads and koi fish had lay in the water, but now only algae grew. Carefully I traced the roughly hewn words that lay carved in stone and swapped the bouquets. One by one the song birds faded away into nothingness and the shadows around me grew long. A single tear traced down my cheek and fell into the earth.

"I hope the forget-me-not reaches you in heaven."

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Editor Mochi here! ... Good god it has been to long since I've written anything other than essays. Because of this I apologize if there are stupid mistakes or anything of that sort. Also, updates are never regular on anything of my things... soooooo... don't expect anything different. Working on the next chapter, but it probably won't be out in a bit. Anyways, editor Mochi out!