inconceivablenotions
We walked through that garden, just the two of us, crunching the morning frost underfoot as we went. Violets, tulips and all manner of foliage grew in every soil bed, creating a beautiful place to take a loved one. I led her to a vintage bench, situated in the middle of the yard, surrounded by Birds of Paradise, and sat with her. Placing my hand on hers, she took the hint and interlaced her fingers with mine, and together, we watched the sun begin to make its long journey across the clear sky.
'Bloody hell, she's a sadist,' Jason complained, rubbing his sore thighs.
'You'd think she would at least put down the megaphone once in a while,' said Dan, 'if not to give us a break, then the poor megaphone.' We all chuckled half-heartedly - the joke wasn't particularly funny, nor were we in a laughing mood. Physical education always took it out of us. The instructor, Mrs Yates, appeared, judging from the way she ran us into the ground every lesson, to possess nothing that could remotely be called a soul.
She fiddled with the plastic straw floating in the drink, twirling it between her fingers, looking absent-mindedly out the window, biting her lip as she did so. I sat, content, on the opposite side of the booth, happy to just stare at her, and take in her perfection, her imperfection, her infinite beauty and flaming self-respect. Noticing my blatant gaze, she looked down at the marble table, trying to shake me off. But I didn't falter, and when she looked back up again, she caught my ever-so-slightly creepy eye and smiled, breaking into a laugh.
I do not think I can recall a moment in my life where I have been happier than those three hours I spent with her in that little cafe.
Slow music crept out of the speakers and wrapped itself around every couple in the room, giving each of them a sense of security. I was no exception, for once. She rested her head on my shoulder, allowing me full control of our movements across the dance floor, and showing her trust for me. I held her tighter in response, entirely content and entirely whole. Scanning the room, I saw every other couple in almost exactly the same position, and the sight filled me with intense hope for the power of love, whether platonic or romantic.
The jet black limousine pulled up at the dockside. A passerby noticed the ominous nature of the vehicle and switched to the other side of the footpath, as a slick suited man stepped out, hand inside his jacket, seemingly clutching something of important.
He walked around to the opposite door, and pulled it open, taking his hand out of his jacket.
"Get out," he demanded, motioning with the gun now in his hand.
A miserly looking man stepped out. He appeared as if he had falled down a flight of stairs - or perhaps, if someone had taken a disliking to him and beaten him with a crowbar. One of the two.
The film reel started to spin, and multicoloured light streamed out of the lens, projecting onto the screen. I sat, alone, in the fourth row from the front, staring resolute at the images. I could not remember how I got there, in that rundown theatre, or what I was doing there. Even as the film ran, I could not recognise the movie as any that I had seen, until I saw a familiar face - myself, riding the maroon bicycle I had been given for my sixth birthday. Then, before I could fathom what kind of sick joke this was, the image changed - the family holiday to the mountains when I was twelve. My mother, laughing, and my father, concentrating on the winding road, but still smiling at the terrible joke I had just told. And then, somewhat numbly, I understood what this was: a montage of my life. But, the still unanswered question...why?
"We're looking for this man."
The stern-looking sergeant slid a CCTV image of the suspect across the table towards me. Immediately I recognised him. Long sideburns and all.
"What's he done?" I asked.
The sergeant titled his head slightly, quizzical. "Why do you ask?"
"No reason," I shrugged, trying my best to look nonchalant.
Seeming to accept my premise, the sergeant replied, "He's wanted for the brutal murder of three female university students. All exactly ninety minutes after each other."
Trying not to show my utter horror at what he had said, I swallowed hard and stared at the picture again.
Brother, what have you done?
He lay there, in an uncomfortable, scratchy, hospital bed, an old, sickly man. He had decided that he would be at peace with the end, and he would not complain and regret like others in the hospital; nay, the mortuary. But, feeling the darkness creeping up on him, he felt no peace - only despair. Black, empty, lifeless despair. Where was his family to guide him into the dark? Where was the friends that used to comfort him? What had become of all his love, spread out among so many? Did he get no return on what he had invested? Frustration mixed with regret, regret morphed into sadness, sadness turned into all-consuming hopelessness, until finally, feeling more depressed than he thought it was possible to feel, the old man took his last breath, and faded away into nirvana.
It is interesting, amazing even, to wonder how such an insignificant event or object can irrevocably alter the course of one's life. Take, for instance, the common breath mint. For most of us, it is a convenient way to mask the foul odour of festering bacteria feeding off stagnant collections of food, but I would stake a fair amount that it was a life-changing invention for the man that created it. While likely dead now - I don't follow the obituaries of mint-inventors - he must have amassed a huge fortune from his product. Ironic, though, that the current mint-producers, the ones who merely duplicated the inventor's idea, probably have ten times his 'fortune'. Another interesting thing to ponder - just because you have the original concept, it doesn't mean you'll be the one that prospers most from it.
(I admit that that took longer than a minute)
Tightening his grip on the dim torch, the boy was glad to have some source of light, however dull it may have been. An owl hooted directly above him and the boy jumped with fright. This was not the place he would've liked to have been after dark, but unfortunate circumstances had given him no alternative than to enter the very place his parents had ominously warned never to go: the Forbidden Forest.
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