Windchimes

January 31, 2008

Fiction : The Appointment

Filed under: fiction, short story — Tags: , — didee @ 10:09 pm

This is it“, she thought as she grasped the hand of the man sitting beside her.

She moved her hand through her luscious locks, as a lover does to someone who is her world.

I’ve always thought you were beautiful“, she wasn’t aware she said the word out loud. Her eyes grew misty as she watched her mane in her small hands.

And you are, and will always be, beautiful my love“, says the handsome man, as he joins his hand with hers.

She smiled sadly, happily. She was confined with two emotions battling inside her. Happy. Sad. Sad. Happy. He’s here and yet …

“Will you be there?”, She wanted to ask him. But all she could come up with is a gesture of a look. She looked at him with muted lips and a thousand silent words.

Be there. Her mum request.

He knelt in front of her, and kissed their joined hands. He looked at her with the same muted lips, and with gentle eyes he answered her silent plea.

“Ma’am we’re ready for you.” The salon receptionist approached them. She smiled at the couple who is a picture of gentleness, love and compassion.

Her heart breaks for the woman who have frequented their salon for so many years now. She and her full of life smile and contagious spirit. How can one joyful life be burdened by something as dark as death.

“I’m ready”, came the words from quivering lips and courageous heart. Yes she is, every fiber of her is screaming the words out.

They seated her in one corner of the salon, away from prying eyes. The man who went with her sat beside her and never let go of her hand. She watched as the hairdresser starts to shave off her hair. They were undressing her, she felt, as her eyes followed her locks as they fall by graceful lumps down the floor.

She decided this morning to have this visit and have her hair shaven, her crowning glory. She decided as she saw her thinning scalp and more than a handful after handful of hair in her brush. Just as the doctors said would happen.

Death came knocking at her door, with no invitation, but she has long accepted that she will chose life and take charge of her own. Her beautiful life that she’s gonna lived up to the last drop. She’s gonna make death equally beautiful.

And she promised herself, that as she feels that last push of life pulsing through her mangled veins, it would be like the sound of stepping on a pile of fallen autumn leaves. She shall not cry, but they shall hear singing.

Autumn Leaves

i don’t want to be a solitary leaf
left hanging by a torn twig
waiting for the final
sunset to grace my night
and serve as my last full show

if i shall choose my way
to fall
i desire to be one like those
autumn leaves
coloring the earth
like newly painted orange bricks

and as i feel that last push of life
pulsing through my mangled veins
it would be like the sound
of stepping on a pile of autumn leaves
i shall not cry, you shall hear singing

~ wind chimed last April 17, 2007

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4 Comments »

  1. sad..

    Comment by isza — January 31, 2008 @ 11:20 pm

  2. hi mai 🙂

    i wasn’t thinking it would turn out sad hahaha.

    Comment by didee — February 1, 2008 @ 1:42 pm

  3. this is what i have been waiting for. your poems, and stories that tugs the heart. makahilak.

    Comment by konsuy — February 1, 2008 @ 7:41 pm

  4. hi chi, hehehe thanks. Sucker for bittersweet stories jud.

    Comment by didee — February 1, 2008 @ 8:08 pm


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