Bullets & Iron Knives.

Hello beautiful people. How is everyone doing? Hope we are getting settled into the summer breeze & creating time to smell the beautiful flowers? So this is just something out of the blue, but I dare to ask you so; Have you ever felt solely responsible for something and the table turns around to torment you? Perhaps if its something you said or something you did not do? I had this thought and decided to share it in literature for better explanation. For the better part of life I tend to believe that  "Wherever there is a human being, there is an opportunity for a kindness."

Bullets & Iron Knives.

One cold lonely noon in some communal garden I used to know by heart and brain, I met - [saw would be more precise] – That tiny unnoticed earth drop who had strength and force; enough to save my mean and pathetic world. Swirling among flowers and trees, her small head ringed by a golden halo. She was laughing like one would cry.

Clad in black heavy clothes, mourning an old friend of mine; I was frail, teetering on the edge of the safe side of my mind, and she angered me. Innocently dressed in a bright leafy dress; Sunlight filtered through spaces between the trees’ gaping branches, sparkling off her skin like diamonds. She was just a toddler, toying with the idea of what she would be when she would grow up – [no one ever warns children that age is an enemy ]– a kid, not yet aware that the dance would someday end; who didn't care for yesterdays and tomorrows -[One should never believe ones first idea] - she was entranced; as if dazed by a never ending dream.

Frowning, one could say I tried to ignore, block out of me that ageless stirring motion, but Nature did not allow peace: Flowers, moths, the air itself revolted, buzzing through me, leaving heavy but pure aromas for me to sink in, confusing thoughts, rage and hate to create a brand new emotion ---; Then an interruption destroyed that perfect illusion of mine: 

           "Are you sad?" she dared, crossing the line as if she knew who I was, what I wanted, what I felt. 

Her hair was a rich shade of mahogany. It flowed in waves to adorn her glowing, porcelain-like skin. Her eyes, framed by long lashes, were a bright hazel. A straight nose, full lips - she seemed the picture of perfection. Had she smiled, the world would sigh with contentment. Had she laughed, the world would laugh with her. And had she wept, the whole world would want to comfort her. That drove me to jump the cliff of sanity; rage erupting in my brain, I stood then walked away, leaving kind perfumes and annoying girls behind. 

Fast steps echoed fast steps and pushed me to the Road, but I did not pay enough attention to deathly tricks of fate while the little girl followed me--------- and By a loud shout of people passing by, I startled, my eyes jerked up and then got stuck:  I was finally seeing the car, while bright fireworks exploded in my frightened pupils. Death was on me, and I felt just that light push on my back, then lost my footing, I fell on the harsh ground, safe - why was I?.......No, it could not be; it had no right to be, after taking away my best-friend.

My shocked mind made me move, and my mouth dried itself at such a sight, refusing to acknowledge that the beautiful girl [more beautiful than a Porcelain doll], whose soft whispers of  "Hold on, why do you seem so sad? Do you want a chat?" echoed at the tip of my ears was lying on the road, dead. Her voice was light and haunting and somewhat chilling. Her dull, hollow grassy eyes looking for something no one could see. 

        Suffocating, I just ran and ran down the gray black streets to my small home, wanting nothing more than wash blood and fear and death away --- but thoughts stayed, ringing through me like bullets and stabbing like iron knives: never again would she dance solely for this small world, never again would her laugh and songs annoy - [for the best] - the ones like me, and never, ever again would one hear her welcoming, earthly laugh, for her dancing dream had met its own end.

And I was sole responsible. 

I looked out of my window and the clouds had parted and the moon returned, bathing the scene in silvery light.

" The chemist who can extract from his heart's elements compassion, respect, longing, patience, regret, surprise, and forgiveness and compound them into one can create that atom which is called love" ~

Khalil Gibran