He never liked me, but we are good together. I know he has this aversion towards our relationship, I feel it every time he holds me, and yet.
I, on the other hand love this person. He can do things with me that most were incapable of. We haven't been together for very long; although at times it feels like forever. Since we first met I never left his side, until last night when he became distraught and threw me away for doing my job, my duty, the reason I exist. In a rage of anger, I found myself tossed out a window, spiraling out of control in a chaotic free fall only to land in freshly churned soil, now turned to mud. Laying here, now unwanted, I am thankful that nothing appears broken.
It was a mistake, one he regretted almost immediately. While I lay buried in this blackened silty mix of clay and soil, slowly sinking in a pit of filthy water. I could hear his panicked feet pounding down broken stairs and race across crushed rubble, shattered glass, and concrete. I heard the squish of his boots in mud as he reached the outside field, now empty of life.
The partial moon hid behind drifting clouds, giving no aid to his search. I heard his rattled breath pleading to find me, but he did not know where I was. Unfortunately, others knew where he was, and they were coming for him. With out me he was doomed; part of me wanted to laugh because of his foolishness, but there was only sadness in my thoughts. I wanted him to find me, I needed him to find me. This was no way for us to end up, not now, not after all we have been through. I can still be useful, I need only to be cleaned up a little and of course, to be found.
Now, I can feel myself slowly sinking, if he does not find me I fear this will be my final resting spot. I have an ability to call out, but without his aid I am a mute on my own.
He sloshes around, frantically clawing at the water-soaked land, ripping hunks of sludge in a furious fashion, tossing the clumps aside. He is so close; his boot almost touches me. I would reach out if I could. I hear him fading away, walking in the wrong direction. ‘I’m am here ....come back.'
Throughout the night I feel him searching for me, yet he knows he can not call out, silence is safety, so he says nothing. Yet there is prayer upon his lips, it is soft and pleading, barely coherent. I can tell he is crying; I am familiar with the sounds of his tears. He was weeping when he discarded me, he wanted to be free of me, but without me there is no freedom.
Darkness is beginning to fade, a dim light rises in the night sky, He may be too late, he should flee. Although, I fear he will not get far without me, but he should try. Yet he stays, unmoving. I hear his breathing, rasping and desperate.
He is listening.
I feel a low rumble in the distance, closing in, the steady thump of running feet. He hears it too.
'Run you fool, run. Leave me.'
Instead, he falls on his knees and in a mad fury he digs and searches again, this time all pretense of silence is gone. A bright light of fire shoots across the sky, illuminating his silhouette against a backdrop of chaos.
The sounds are closer, I feel the vibration, approaching they are all around us. His breathing is loud and short. I feel his fingers brush my surface, then disappear. He is panicking, he does not recognize me, even though his fingers have gripped and held me a thousand times. I know his touch, why has he forgotten mine?
There is shouting behind him, voices yelling. He cries out, while he continues to search for me. Again, he brushes my surface, this time he recognizes me. He has found me.
But they find him first, a barrage of sharp pops sears the morning air. A noise we are all too familiar with, they sound like mine when I call out. The difference is their sound is many while mine is but one.
A light creeps along the field, tendrils of wavy gold weave amongst the morning mist, a ray shines upon me. He rises, yelling out in defiance as a staccato of popping once more echoes in the clearing. I watch him fall to his knees, and in slow motion his body slumps beside me. I know he sees me, in desperation a hand reaches out as his eyes widen in recognition, before they dim forever.
No bugle will sound for him, no flag will be folded over his grave, and no tears will I shed. For I was not created to cry, only to make others weep.
About the Creator
I have enjoyed writing for most of my life, never professionally.
I wish to now share my stories with others, lets see where it goes.
Born and raised on the Canadian Prairies, I currently reside on the West Coast. I call both places home.
Excellent work. Looking forward to reading more!
Original narrative & well developed characters
Niche topic & fresh perspectives