“VESTE”
Every day the Sun rises bright and radiant in the clear sky. He would awake to its rays on his eyelids, and lay there unmoving, till the cat came to pounce on him, dousing him in a shower of black fur.
There would always be a new wicker basket full of fruits, jam, bread and meat outside the door, on the old wooden bench. A small bit of jam always disappears down the cat’s throat. He would eat two slices of bread, and leave the meat for later, storing it in a box lest the cat steals it.
He would grab his tan scarf and skid down the path, sending pebbles flying all directions. He would walk down the sandy beach, until he reached two oddly shaped prickly bushes, and then stop.
To stare out into the vast sea, and the wide skies, to the horizon where the two meet.
He faintly remembered a time when he rushed down every day, hoping to see something, anything different, feeling that ‘this must be the day’ – that something special would happen.
He’d long forgotten when he’d stopped rushing, stopped searching. Now it is just routine; to stare out into the open with faint wandering, hope now a long memory faded away. Even the weather followed a pattern. A 28 days of clear skies, two days of light rain, a humid night, a rainstorm, and the cycle repeats.
He turned his head up just a moment before the gaggle of seagulls flew into view, in their usual V-shaped formation.
Something niggled the back of his mind, as his eyes followed the birds idly. Something was off. He frowned and scanned the desolated beach. The wind blew a few strands of his white long hair into his face, tickling his mouth. Nothing. Absently brushing the stray hairs away, he glanced up again.
What is that?
At the end of the V formation, there was a little dark speck. Just barely out of position, but still fluttering unsteadily to keep up. He felt his breath catch in wonderment.
It was a baby. A new baby seagull.
He stood there at the same spot, long after the seagulls had disappeared out of sight, long after the cat had settled by his feet, signaling the next meal time. He could feel the excitement, pure liquid anticipation, in his bones. It was the start of something new.
Change was occurring.
He felt his lips being tugged up, and an unfamiliar sound emerged from his throat – a sound that brought up nostalgia of happy times playing with and teasing the cat, of finding strange new shells. He laughed again and spun around with arms wide out, kicking up the sand.
Finally.
( I'm doomed. Somehow during exam periods i experience an even greater urge to write, to draw, to play music - and not study. gah!)
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Fate Bound
AdventureProphecies are troublesome, tiresome, bothersome, wearisome, irksome... one would get the idea after being confined by it since the time they were even thought of being created. This story follows a few who are tied by said irritating prophecies...
