People often say that all great stories start with a bang. Well, mine starts with a squeak.
Across the mountains, as the sun's rays beamed over the green pastures, I heard a squeak. Mind-boggling to say the least, as emptiness is all that surrounded those mountain tops, I began to roam, endlessly and carelessly, those forsaken mountains. At the edge of giving up, after hours of needless obsession, the squeak grew louder. I could feel it coming from a nearby crevice. As I slowly walked in, I gasped, both in shock and horror, at the sight before me.
In the darkness, hidden under an array of dimly-lit candles, stood an old woman, encumbered with crimson clothes and decaying age. You! - she exclaimed with anger in her throat, as she pointed her finger towards me. I could feel that her stance was of painful endurance - I could almost see her fall in the next few minutes. And so she would.
I have finally been found! - she yelled in joy, as if the weight of a thousand stones had been taken off her shoulders. My dear boy, - she went on - I have been stuck in this crevice, locked by darkness for years - and here you finally are! She slowly walked up to me, demanding in posture and frightening in appearance, and around my neck, meticulously gentle, placed a necklace, engraved with bloody words and rusty diamonds. She, then, continued on. I have been awaiting this moment for so long!
As she uttered those words, she gasped sweet air of happiness, fell down, and died.
I was out of words. The crack of her half-broken nose, along with the general splat! from her falling on the ground, caused me fear, confusion, shock, tears, and finally, suppressed laughter. I felt as if I would go insane.
I began to run. Though narrow, I soon found myself out of the darkness, out of breath - almost the same as a baby out of familiar darkness and onto newly-found light. I felt dazzled.
Although an experience never forgotten, I carried onto the mountains, only causelessly stopping near a dead tree, resting my eyes.
Such a dream I had never had before. Her face appeared before me, young and pretty, so unlike what I had witnessed in the darkness. Everything around us was brightly-lit, and I saw clearly the rusty stones, attached to the neck of the woman before me,characterized by, what is to be said the least, the true meaning of gems.
The first was crimson in color, dripping drops of blood onto the ground below. Into it I saw a strange shape - most reminiscent of a heart, but something more than just that. Above it flew small, myriad creatures, most similar to cupids, but something more than just that. And in that shape, I saw little holes, as if arrows flew straight threw, but most definitely, something more than just that.
The second stone, azure in color, was filled with words. Some joyful. Some hurtful. Some meaningless. Just words floating around. But, perhaps, something more than just words. Perhaps feelings, dropping on the ground with full force, and, barely so, pushing themselves off the ground and into the skies, never dead, always recurring.
The final stone, pitch-black, contained nothing. Absolutely nothing. No comforting serenades. No emotional grenades. Not even trivial days. Only forsaken remains. Perhaps more than just that? No. Just emptiness. Dark, meaningless, empty. Such a depressing thought to have, is it not?
Scream. All that remained after the lighted stones, after the woman has gone, were interjecting, penetrating, mind-destructive, gracious-less screams. Then, I woke up, heavy with sweat, tears in my eyes, night in my mind, sun in the sky, and only the scarce willingness to go on. But, I must. The pastures await.
One day passed. It had begun.
Two days gone by. Still enough to go.
Three days. I must be getting close?
Four days - halfway done.
Five days, and only two to go - right?
Six days. The pastures are getting greener. I am getting so close. Each mountain top reached, with silent echoes screaming in the background, only two more remain. One more once I reach this one. Go on. Sweat. You can reach it today. And then, one more to go.
The sixth mountain top reached. God, rain down on me with givings of completion, for the seventh shall be the last... right? But, what is that down on the pastures, all the way down the mountain? It couldn't be, could it? Is that the face of my dreams? Or just a delusion of my decaying mind?
It was her. With her staring eyes, staring deep into my soul. With her flowing hair, each flow awakening the flowers of this perpetuating Eden. With her familiar, yet distant face, a face worthy that of Eve. I must descend to her.
And so I did. Hers was not a look of shock or mischief, but rather, love. And so was mine. Roaming these pastures was nevermore the same. For I now had the Eve to my Adam. These gardens would now awaken, flowers floating above in a perfect circle, birds tweeting songs of simplicity of the soul. Perfection.
The stone awakened. The dry grey turned to crimson red. And blood dripped on my feet.
A few hours passed. The love began to wither. Words became that which they were labeled - just words. Some joyful. I love you. Let us roam these gardens forever, never leave, never interrupt the birds happily singing. Some hateful. I despise you! These pastures are no longer the same! Shut those birds up before I do so myself! Some meaningless. I don't know what to do. I don't know how to feel. I don't know what all this is supposed to mean. And in the end, are they more than that? Are they more than words? No. The meaning comes after the pitch-black stone lights up.
A stone awakened. Azure blue shines, stuck to my neck. The chirping birds fall down. But do they recover and fly once more?
The day was soon to close. The pastures were soon to darken. But, a scream echoes. I run forcefully, legs in pain, perhaps in vain, to where she is. But it's too late. The fates have played with her mercilessly. There she lies, cold, black, decayed, burdened with wrinkles on her face, and her eyes: forevermore shut. She is gone. The pitch-black stone awakens. And so the words transform into more. Emotions. Pain. Tears. Sorrow.
Seventh day. Final mountain top. I climb. Barely awake. Dead on the inside. Ready to feel the final mountain echo before I lay near the blossoming tree and close my eyes. But, here I am. Still awake. Walking these pastures. Endlessly. Mercilessly. Cyclically. Forever and ever. And I shut my eyes - forgetting the pastures, forgetting the tree, forgetting the sky and chirping birds, and dreaming, of when I shall, once more, dance with clairvoyance.
Stefan Noshpal