THE FALLEN SKY

THE FALLEN SKY.

The boy’s name was Kyle. Kyle sat on an old divan close to the windowpane. The pain was bold in his face. The same eyes he and Lexi used to see a blooming future were the same eyes that were staring at a cold withering future. The same nose he and Lexi used to paint red imitating the city clowns, was the same nose that couldn’t breathe.

He moved from the divan and went in the drawer. In the drawer his hands fished a photobook. The photobook was filled with blissful memories. He opened it. The first photo that met his eyes was him and Lexi in the garden. The memory slithered into his present mind. It was a summer day. The sun was big and bright. The sky was blue and bright. The garden was big and bright adorned with flowers.

The memory carried over to the evening. It was an evening with no chant enchanted with God’s grace. The weather was mild and kind. The birds were asleep. There were no stars chirping in the sky. The moon was fat. People sat in armchairs. Old men with heavy bellies narrated timeless tales to the young.

The night was young the sky was old. The streetlights walked their lights to people’s hearts and filled them with delight. He and Lexi were among the pack of kids packed under a tree listening to a tale told by an old man. Before he could dig any further the first page turned to the second. Again, the memory of that day slithered into his present mind.

He was now shivering. Tears in his face froze. The blood in his veins ran slow. The picture had him and Lexi skating in the mountain full of snow. The door opening and the white beam of light from the white clouds disturbed him. A man with a black moustache entered the room. It was Kyle’s father. His face was brown and wrinkled. His frail black eyes fell on Kyle’s face. He grabbed a chair and sat beside him. He then seized the photobook from Kyle’s hands. He puffed a few breaths.

Then in a strong resonant voice he said. “Son, life is strange”. “To live is to die, to die is to live”. “Death has no age nor mercy”. “Death is the enemy of joy and a good friend of sorrow”. “Therefore, use your time wisely”. “They say time heals. I say time builds”. “What? You decide”. “If you stay in the dark for a long time, you will remain there forever”. After that the old man gave Kyle a soft pat in the back. Kyle fixed his face. He went for a notebook in his backpack. Then he wrote his last words for his best friend. My dear friend. Days without you, have no sunrise nor sunset. Days without you, have no spring nor summer. Days without you, have rains that reign in my heart leaving floods the sun cannot dry.

How long we have been friends is quite remarkable. The nights were spent whispering to the moon. The mornings we cherished with the face of the sun glowing in our hearts. The afternoons we had swimming in the lake with the breeze blowing delightfully. The evenings we had with the stars dancing at the palm of our hands. These were wonderful times. But then we fell apart.

What sorrowful times we had. The nights we shared with tears floating with the clouds. The mornings we cursed for they brought suffering. The evenings we had with our hands full of blood, from the scars we endured. But then the grace of God fell upon us, and we reunited like trees and leaves in summer. We twirled in the wind with silly smiles. We had memorable moments.

These were wonderful times. Wonderful times were they ploughing our friendship in the garden of love to grow roots, leaves that will stand firm against the vile winds trying to blow us apart.

But then the grace of death fell upon us. Once again, we plunge back to these sorrowful times. These are not trying times but dying times. I have gone blind. The only thing I could see is your smile that tickles the waves of the ocean. The ocean we made with tears we dropped on the dry land. With our hearts the waves will rise to kiss the moon.