This is a special blog for my stories, fictions. I have other blogs too for my thoughts, ideas, and stuff. This one I dedicate for my writing practice only.
Care to read? Can give your comment as well...even critics...
She cries and cries. There is nothing that she can do but cry. She looks at the sky, she cries. She looks at her own reflection in the mirror, she cries. She looks at the flowers she planted months ago in her small garden on the right side of her yard, she cries.
There are only tears, there, in her eyes, on her cheeks. Sometimes, on her blouse, on her hands, everywhere. There is nothing but tears.
Her neighbor, an old man of 40, never misses a single morning, looking at her from his balcony. He just watches and watches. He never says hi, or even waves his hand at her.
She knows that she has a spectator. But, she doesn't care. She doesn't need one.
He is now watching her again. But, this time, he has a telescope with him. He can see the details better now. He sees her tears. He feels sorry for her. He really does. He seems to be able to feel her pain although he doesn't know what causes it. He feels like crying, too. His heart is aching, wondering what has been done to her fragile heart.
She sees him, and his telescope.
Both his and the telescope's presence change nothing. She keeps crying. There is nothing she can do. She can only cry...for a reason that only she knows what.
She walked…here and there. She didn’t know where to head. She looked back. She thought there was someone following her. But, there was nobody. She stopped, took her mobile phone from the purse, dialed some numbers and pushed the green phone picture. She waited. Nobody answered her.
She started walking again. It’s getting darker and darker. She didn’t even see the moon, seemed like it was fully covered by the clouds, hiding itself. It was somehow scary.
She knew, she had made a wrong decision. She shouldn’t have been getting out of the house, she should have just stayed and kept her mouth shout. But, she couldn’t help it.
It was typically her. She always wanted to tell the truth, even if it hurt. Her father would know anyway that her mother had been spending time with that man even if she didn’t let the cat out of the bag.
And now, alone in this absolute obscurity, she regretted her decision.
Her regret grew bigger and bigger when she looked back and found that a man—or two, she wasn’t certain, she was too afraid to look back one more time to ensure—was following her from such a short distance.
Then, she felt hands on her back, on her mouth, on her eyes. She screamed, out loud…but even she couldn’t hear any voice coming out of her sealed mouth. She couldn’t see anything, couldn’t hear anything, anymore.
She knew it was the end, and, she smiled
~20 years ago~
My heart beat faster and faster as the little girl came into the room. I couldn’t see her face. Her eyes were glued to her brown shoes. Her dress, also brown, seemed not to fit her well. It was a little too small.
Mrs. Jig brought her closer to me. I reached out to her. She stepped back. Mrs. Jig looked at me, asking me to try once more.
I didn’t want to try once more. I didn’t want to scare her. I wanted to give her space.
“Maya, this is Mrs. Kayren. She will take you to her house. Maya, please, look at me while I’m talking to you.”
Maya, the little girl, looked up. I saw tears in her green eyes.
I looked at her. She looked at me. We said nothing. But, I believe our eyes talked to each other. Our eyes said million words.
All of a sudden, she stepped forward. My heart beat even faster.
“Do you have cats?” she asked.
I smiled. I nodded.
“Good. Let’s go to your house. Let’s see if you can be my mother.”
There she is, Maya, my daughter. She looks beautiful on her graduation day. She is now Maya Kayren, DVM, my smart adopted daughter.
That pretty girl, sitting on the cold bench, was looking at the lake with her wide eyes. I was on the other bench, also cold, reading my book. Well, not actually reading beacuse she really took my attention. I could see her fine nose, a little bit up, smelling the air. The nice smell from the lake.
In front of us, there were some little rowboats two persons in each, a man and a woman. She was still staring at the lake. No expression, no happiness, no sadness, nothing. I could see her eyelash from my place. They must have been so long and curly that I could notice from about two metters and a half.
I tried to read my book again with my eyes sometimes looking at her. Half an hour. It was almost dark. Most of the boats were disappearing from the lake. Only some couples walking out of the park, hand in hand. Some others enjoy the darkening process. No sunset in the corner of the lake but still it was beautiful.
I put my book back to my bag. Tired of sitting down, I walked to reach the lake. A few inches from it, I stopped. I turned my head to see the girl. She also stood up. A few steps away from the bench. Her long brown hair and skirt were flying so beautifully on the cold air. Just one thing bothered me, tears.
I saw tears on her pinky cheeks. Now I saw sadness. Wondering what on her mind now. It seemed like she just could not help it. She was trying to manage her feeling but then, she really could not help it.
Standing there, tears from her eyes onto her cheeks, down touching the land, absorbed. But not her sadness. She kept it in her heart, wishing that she could do the same with it, letting the fetile soil absorbed it so it did not have to be her burden.
I was still there, watching her. She did not notice me. That might be better. I would not be able to heal her wounded heart.