Afraid of Us
Afraid of Us  sad stories

zekebenkaminMy other account: zeke_benkamin
Autoplay OFF  •  4 months ago
A snippet( prologue) from my work "Afraid Of Us"

Afraid of Us

To who doth i screameth at which hour i am dumb, and ears art deaf. Who is't doth i seeketh at which hour i am blindeth, and darkness shrouds

I cannot see. I am blinded by the mere simple gazes, send into my sight, of strangers, in which I struggle for that right one. But even then, I don't know what right is.

My thoughts are worried, heart aching, and breaths shallow as if with a sole purpose that to convey I am not dead yet.

But I am not aware who hears to these pleas not said, and all I do is breathe again on the dead air of winter.

I see how solemn is winter, and feel the cold kissing my aches. Tree are in slumber oblivious of the wilted leaves.

The fallen decaying into the soil with a tint of red and brown as if burnt by the Autumn days.

I see the sun, tired and solemn, behind the gray of clouds, meeting the horizon with a promise of another tomorrow.

People pass by in desperation of the warmth, leaving with the puffs of white breaths fading into nothing; some traffic traces the road, and the fallen ones remain unknownst.

I see it all, I feel winter.

"What do you see?", I remember as he said as we laid under the summer sun, shadowed by the old oak, skies blue, before us, yet unreachable to the touch.

It was serene in his embrace, crickets in the back praising the creation; a song for our love.


", I did say back in truth, for it was him I saw in every direction, in every scene of the nature folded before us: the warmth of the sun, the kisses of soft Summer winds,

and the hold of our hands. Forever I desired to see him even when when we were afraid of us.

A sting knocks at my heart, of the cold bitter wind, fetching me back to winter.

Tranquil memories fall apart as if castles of sand meant to stand for mere moments, and what remains is just a trace leading back to ache.

This 'ache' of mine, I know no cure for. It remains deep in me, a reminder of him, breathing and murmuring of him. I wish to forget or maybe I don't.

I know no more what I want anymore, but he is with me whether I want or not with a promise of forever; his memories, and our beginning.

That day is still alive in me, those feelings and thoughts breathing on memories, his memories. A reminder of him, me, and our love.

Fire had just started in home, and I needed an escape from the enraged cries-there was never an escape, just some breather before smothering in the fire again.

April rains had already visited and to me it was solace, a fine time to enjoy solitude in the town of Hawel.

So was the nature saying as I made my way outsides, Spring air filling my lungs with the musk of new life.

Birds were singing their joy for rain, sun behind the veil of clouds as if blushing from its lover.

Gentle drops of rain kissed my being and I felt tranquility seeping in me, as I walked down the gravel path to destination uncertain.

It did kiss away the winter doldrum too, yet some houses keep remain burning.

The honks of cars and splashes played in the background accompanied by the patter of rain.

My feet traced the very familiar streets and few people crossed my sight,

holding umbrellas to shield from the nature(as if one could); little children covered in raincoats giggling and running for puddles of water, their parents running after them.

It was nothing new in Hawel, just a potrayal of prosaic life in April rains, yet somehow it was serene to the sight. Perhaps, it was rain and me.

As I walked with my musings, I found my self stopping before the old oak. It was said to be about around 100 years old, still in it's youth we can say.

With it's large branches spreading far, bearing a shelter of leaves and acorns from the rains and summer sun.

Being in the farthest corner of town, surrounded by wild bushes which welcomed you further into the deeper woods, it wasn't really for attraction to people.

But I was grateful for this hideout where I could hide with my thoughts and sink into the comfort of the nature.

It is a wonder how sitting beneath some old tree in the wild,

surrounded by the bushes; when nature is whipering to you melodies a man can't compose; even when prone to the skies; you feel peace-that, four walls couldn't do.

The earthy smell of rain reached my lungs with a reminder of where we belong, gentle winds sending shivers deep into my soul; wet traces weaved about my body, dreanching me and my sorrows.

It was bliss, a remedy to aches and betrayals of my very own family.

My family, not very recently, had started to break, again. Betrayals had taken place yet another time. Problems were known, so were solutions, but, not sure of.

It wasn't a surprise from life, not anymore, after living lies your whole life nothing is.

The lies of a content family; the lies of an husband to his wife, the lies of a father to his children, and the void words presented with smile no more surprised.

Words were said and forgotten, promises made and broken, and all that remains is ache.

This ache that breathes and sustains on our memories, infiltrating our thoughts, as a remainder of what we lost. It might be of something worth and value, or even such as bliss in ignorance.

The damp leaves of the oak rustled under my feet as I climbed to my nest: a large branch in the centre, just few feet above the ground, concealed to the sight by other branches and leaves,

yet presenting a good view of a large area. The leaves bore drops of rain, glistening as if some precious gems, gradually replaced by other ones as the rain continued.

Then... I heard him. A barely audible sound before the lullybies of nature, husky and uneven, yet enchanting.

I remember seeing him there down beneath the branch, a boy soaked wet with black bangs sticking to his forehead, looking up towards me.

I remember his amber eyes that appeared as if holding mischief, and how they greeted my darker ones. And I do remember falling hard...

on him; that huff as our bodies kissed before meeting the wet soil below; my body on his, perfectly meeting near curves; how our cheeks met, lips mere inches apart.

I remember that heart beat, his heart beat against mine; our chests pressed close; his erratic breaths and my own.

That day I fell not once but twice.

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