washed away

ONCE UPON A TIME, a young lady talked to the sea. And it listened.

They say when your heart desires to free itself from any burden that wears it and when nobody or anything could seem to lighten the load, you’ll just have to do one thing—scream. And the best way to do this is by venting it all out to the open sea for it is a very good listener. Its waters just take anything. No protests. Without any reply. It’s just there. Ready to listen.

It was still midday but a gray sky and dark clouds churned above everything else. Everything was gray. And cold. She stood by the shore, eyes closed, tasting the salty chill of the air against her face. The beautiful waves of her hair billowed towards the direction of the wind. Along with it the length of her tattered dress and her spirit she wished was as free as the sea gulls fleeing away from the brewing storm.

I watched the motionless figure standing against that wide open space of dull canvas, adorned by a teal-colored sea, an eternal stretch of fine sand, and a murky sky. I wondered what thoughts dwelled in her mind. But I was more curious on what was going on inside her heart. What brought her to the sea?

She suddenly raised her hands and threw stones at the sea. Rain started to spill out from the gates of the heavens, enveloping the world in a thin sheet of ghostly fabric. And then I heard her scream. Her bellows echoed in the air, bouncing off the nearby cliffs. Her beautiful face was twisted in rage. Bulging veins revealed themselves on her neck like small roots as eyes finally let go of the tears, camouflaged by the rain water as they flowed. Every shout she gave was palpable human pain. The kind of agony you can hear and that pierces through a heart. She screamed at the sea, as tongues of frothy water licked her feet, as if trying to give her comfort by washing away sand and bitter memories.

A fork of lightning tore the sky into two and stabbed the endless abyss of the sea. But she didn’t flinch. The skies roared like lions trying to break closed doors. Like trying to break her. But the truth is, they are nothing but amplified woes, mimicking the contents of a heart that once was whole. I watched helpless, rooted on the place where I stood, hidden from her sight behind a dead tree. But I couldn’t bear to hear her cries anymore. I struggled to fill my lungs with air and started to uproot myself and dragged my stubborn feet.

As I wade my way towards her I suddenly froze. I heard my name. She was bellowing it in a way that was filled with hate and love at the same time; torn between a curse and a plea. Every word from her mouth stung, paralyzing, constricting my breaths. But like the sea, I felt that I had no reason to complain. I was willing to take the stones I knew were for me. I just had to take it all in because she speaks of the truth; an ugly truth that stripped me off of rights to any forms of absolution. There was no turning back for there were such wounds that even time couldn’t mend. I couldn’t scream. I couldn’t speak. All I could do was weep. My hands on my face as my knees grazed the sand, my heart laid full of guilt, buried underneath its grains.

And then, I couldn’t hear her anymore, just the rain pounding in my ears, the surging waves colliding against the shores and the transient sounds of thunder. I looked up and I could no longer see her. She was gone. I walked forward to where the sand met the sea. And when the waters rolled back, all I found was a pair of blue slippers enduring the waves to stay.

The storm soon passed, leaving the place in an eerie silence as a soft wind blew, carrying fallen leaves, a sleepless unrest, and lost whispers.

The next day, a young man talked to the sea. But this time, its waters chose not to listen.

. . .

This is written for Dhianz tag. I hope you still remember. I apologize because it took me so long to do this. Slipper-inspired stories don’t come by my doorstep very often.

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