The thick door thundered violently, announcing the beginning of a cruel isolation. His elbows were free again, but he was tied up with darkness. Standing in the middle of nowhere, he stretched his hands and moved them in every direction. His eyes scattered into pieces. His hands found nothing to touch and his eyes met no gaze but darkness. That’s it. He was locked up forever. This dark room was made for those who became forgotten, and he is now abandoned. His ears longed for nothing but a sound to hear, but there wasn’t anything at all. He was abandoned; his senses left him to suffer alone, and only his blood remained faithful to him as it marched through his head like an army determined to crash every obstacle on the way.
Her face flashed in head and he screamed. His eyes dug the surrounding darkness for any ray of light, but it was too dark even for hope to exist. He screamed. His knees went weak on him and he fell down.
Suddenly, he parted up from the floor and listened carefully. Soft humming carried his name along and a far ray of light came to life. That was not the hope he waited for. The ray of light grew bigger while it approached him. It carried a face, a loving angry face. Oh, he missed her so much, he felt. But something was not right. Those were not her eyes that sprinted with joy. Those were the eyes she wore when he gifted her the way out of life. Those lips were mumbling, and he couldn’t understand them just like the mumbling he didn’t understand when he helped her depart from this life. Those lips were moving fast, they pleaded him to understand. His heart went silent when that face moved toward the door. The face was telling him something and he couldn’t understand. He ran after it, but it disappeared without a trail to follow. He called her name, he shouted, and he yelled but she was gone again. “Let me out” he begged. “Grant me light” he cried. “I loved her” his tears splashed on the palm of his trembling hands. “She wanted to go away, to leave” his odd voice betrayed his sudden silence. His tears went dry, his palms wiped agony away from his face as he stood up and started to run. He must get out, he must leave this place, and he must go beg her for forgiveness. He ran and bumped into a wall that sent him back to the floor. He got up and ran again only for his heart to touch the floor beneath. He lost his mind. He got up and ran again. The sweetness of his blood tasted bitter when merged with agony. And he ran again and again until his strength surrendered to the floor and forced him to swallow his defeat. He couldn’t explain it, but darkness was getting darker, the room was spinning, his lips were mumbling, and his body was struggling. His ears failed to warn him, the door was opened, and the guards dressed in white came to him. They dressed him in white while denying him the sleeves and carried him away out of the white room that hosted him on its floor.
His eyes panicked and refused the sudden disturbing light in the passage; only to grow wide at the site of her crying eyes next to his mother’s bleeding eyes. The line that connected his confused gaze with their cries stretched until it broke when she hugged his mother and cried with pain as they took him to depart alone.
It was late when he decided to call it a night. Thunder outside drove him mad. To him, it was like the end of the world. He decided to hide, to run away from that irritating feeling. Tucking himself in his bed was the most treasured thing he ever did. He is safe now, shielded and armed with wool covers. The heart is sheltered with peace. The clock is ticking, but sleep was away for this night. He had feelings to spill, and so, he grabbed his papers and the pen resting on them and triggered his mind for writing. Where did all the ideas go? They were buzzing all over his head. Did they hide? Did they leave? Or simply, they died? There weren’t any urge in him to dig them out, so he surrendered his papers to their prior refuge. What is wrong with him tonight? He wondered. This is emptiness in him, and he didnt have any ideas to write, so he decided to read.
As people scream out their true nature, his books did the same. They were his loyal companions. What he didn’t know, was that his night was a very important phase in his life. It is the night where his life will change forever.
He couldn’t read, the pages were blank to his eyes. Despair claimed authority of his heart, and his life rolled like a short movie in his head. “When will this still life end”? That’s it! The end. The end is what only matters now. He bumped out of his bed, opened the door of his balcony, climbed the iron fence surrounding it, spread his hands in the air, and got ready to jump.
His legs mesmerized in their place, his heart thundered faster than raindrops and louder than the noise around, but the raindrops were magical. They washed despair out of his system. He felt confused, betrayed and peaceful. Confused by joy, betrayed by emptiness, and peaceful by embracing hope that will lead him to a life where ambitions floated all over. He must be a different person now, he must make a difference. If it wasn’t for the world, it would be for his little lame life…
Right there, around the corner, wind raves a paper, flipping it in a circular movement. Small rocks tumble along with the flow of that old dusty road. The road’s endless rounds carry the sight and twist it with every corner. Right there, around the next corner, that tree stands still. Surviving every shimmering season, surviving every dry inexistence of rain. Yet, it falls for the brown episode of time that absorbs the green out of every vain.
A dried leaf falls down silently, surrendering and laying down peacefully. Life ends. Another leaf falls, neighboring its precedent. The mother tree can do nothing to save its flurried children. Life cannot get any harder. How can a tear drop out of inanimate? People can cry, shout, yell, and mourn. How can a tree mourn its loss? How can a tree wail the loss of its falling children? But, what do we know? A man knows nothing. Man cannot break into the silence of nature, nor comprehend the agony in stillness. And again, what do we know?
We cry, spill tears, and with those tears, we spill our rage and pain out. What would a tree spill? Is it possible that these leaves are not the children? Is it possible that these leaves are what a tree would shed in a moment of sorrow?
Trembling footsteps, barely heard, barely moving, approach from that other corner. Hesitant and reluctant that young man disturbs the stillness of nature, moves toward the tree. Touches the aging stem, goes around it, looking for something in particular. There is it, a trembled carving of a heart with two letters inside. At the sight of this heart, the young man drops to his knees, puts his hands on the nearly erased heart, and cries. He cries so hard, and so loud that as if the wind blows were in harmony with his screams. Could it be that this tree has witnessed a broken love tragedy? Or could it be that it has witnessed the arrogance of a child who grew up in age and pretended to grow up in value so he never came back for the shade of this old tree? Or could it be that it missed the sweat of a wounded runaway who craved for shelter under her branches? Could this silence be resembling the loss of any of them? What do we know! What do we know!