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Mighty Jacksparrow is an Earth-based sub-intergalactic blogger who enjoys writing and in the same time entertaining his ever-amusing will-kill-to-read fans with sensationally hilarious and at times dramatic musings. This blog offers endless ideas and results; they might be charming most of the times but could be offending in some others. Therefore, it is always noble to remind that if you enjoy the pieces, carry on reading, but if they upset you, do quietly leave like the evening breeze and not like exploding diarrhea, which exactly what you will look like if you ever lose it on me. Enjoy! :D

Wednesday, January 27, 2010

The Bench


It has been raining for three weeks.

Tonight the rain fell like never before. Though not as heavy as back in the days, this time around it was rather light but heavy enough to influence his mind with specifically melancholic feelings that had started to fill in the gaps in his leaking heart. The leakage in which had drained all hopes and ambitions in his heart just enough for this loneliness to finally flow away, but really didn't.

It has been three months he had been this lonely.

In his hand was a corsage of three white roses, the finest of its kind, from which he ordered a week earlier from today. Carefully wrapped in the best-looking red Korean silk, he held it firmly in his grip while trying to cover it beneath his jackets, hidden from those little drops of rain water though his head was openly exposed to them. But he did not care, no, he just did not care at all. What mattered was the roses have to be safe at all cost.

The road was empty though it was only half an hour to midnight. The yellow street lights were cloaked behind thick layers of mist that was formed from the rain. And there he sat in between two of the brightest street light poles that he could find on an evidently water-soaked bench in the hope to make himself clearly visible to the vision of that one particular person from which he had been waiting for hours long now.

He wondered where she was, and as instantly he recalled the conversation that took place on the same bench some time in the past.

"One year from now," she said, "one year from now, no matter what happens, we will meet again at this bench."

No matter what happens.

But it happened. He sighed. A year back he was on one of his knees, kneeling before her with her right hand in his while he put on the bracelet, from which he took three hours finding it at the mall and spent almost all of his savings on it, on her fair-skinned wrist to commemorate the day they finally announced themselves both to be in a relationship. And how proud he was when she accepted him after all these times.

Days went fine after that. Really they did, but not for long. Things started to break down here and there, and slowly they developed to his only nightmare, now a reality - she left him.

She did.

But very little that he did lose hope on her. That was one thing with him - a god damn hopeless romantic he was, the one who bought everything that she said to him during the happy times. He trusted all her words, including the one when she said that it will always be him and only him that she will forever love. And he lived in this make-believe for three months long. But it will last no more.

Tonight he realized that what she said was all bullshit.

This is the way you left me, I'm not pretending. No hope, no love, no glory, no happy ending.


* * *

Rainy night again.

She put on the jacket hood to cover her bare hair, some of it peeked out from the hidden space quite naturally, conveying tiny drops of water along them. She hugged herself to warm her body up from the cold, wet surrounding. She continued walking into the puddles of water, none of which she minded to think about at that particular time.

She just felt rather uneasy from staying in the room, so she decided to take a walk instead, despite the heavy rain that occurred earlier.

She walked on the wet pavement. In her mind was none other than the one she called her significant other. The guy he met sometime ago whom she saw as the perfect match for her. The relationship had been going fine so far, and she was very happy about it. Unlike when she was with that jerk she left not a very long time ago over some misunderstandings and arguments, among other things.

'Oh, today is the anniversary', she told herself. 'With the jerk.'

And then she wondered about the jerk. But very little that she care about him. He was just another passer-by, she kept telling herself that. After all, she had all the things she always wanted in her life so far, and with the new guy with her now, everything seemed to be so complete. Never again she would have to take another look around at things she left behind.

Guys, they are just everywhere these days.

She set her paces at a faster rate. She did not see an edge of one pavement brick that came out from its position, and she tripped on it right away, and right away too she fell on her hands. Her wrist was scratched by the unholy pavement surface, and it bled a bit. She sat down while holding her wrist with her other hand. Lucky that she didn't wear her wrist watch whatsoever, or otherwise it might be broken by the impact from the fall.

And suddenly she remembered something.


* * *

He stood up.

He stood up and threw the corsage onto the tarmac road. He stepped on it once. He stepped on it twice. Third times now, fourth, fifth. And the energy he supplied to each step increased intensively from one to another. He let out his anger, his disappointment, his sadness, his all negative feelings. By the time he finished, the corsage was then just pieces of crushed plants and torn cloth. He stared at them for some time. And he went for another step. And another. Another one. Step, step step.

Bitch.

He fixed his jacket and then he started walking away. Into the darkest of an empty, rainy night with his hands at the back of his head and his heart bleeding from one hundred thousand wounds.


* * *


When she arrived at the place, all was left were pieces of red cloth and what appeared to be roses, white roses to be specific, only in hundreds of little pieces too.

She bent over and put her hands against her knees while catching some air. She ran all the way from where she was earlier to that one road with a bench by it, with the bench located in between two of the brightest street lights that could be found along the road. She lifted her head to look at the bench. No one was there.

Slowly she walked to the bench and sat down slowly. She felt water wetting on her pants, but what else would she care about now?

Very little she realized that warm tears started to form at the bottom of her eyes, forming a tiny pond that soon began to overflow, and two similarly looking river of tears flowed down slowly on her cheeks. She held her bleeding wrist tightly for the pain was starting to beat rather disturbingly, but from the look of it, it was her heart that caused her to cry herself out.

It's too late. This is the way that we love, like it's forever. Then live the rest of our life, but not together.

She calmed herself down. Realizing that there was nothing else she could do over there, she then put her right hand at the edge of the old, wooden bench to help herself up. That was when she saw something on the clay floor, somewhat hidden in the shadow of the bench itself.


* * *

God damn it.

Just when he thought life wouldn't get any worst than it had, it suddenly did.

He walked half a mile to his car only to notice that his car key was not with him. Not in his jacket, the pockets of his jeans, let alone in his hands. Must have been left somehow at the bench, he said to himself. So he walked for another half a mile to the place he was before to find it, before to walk back again another half a mile to his car. He walked being very pissed.

When he reached at the bench, he started to look of his keys on and around the bench. He looked under the bench, around what was left from his corsage of roses earlier, and too along the road where he went to before as far he could remember. He repeated this a few times over and over and over. His desperation climbed fast implicitly.

But he couldn't find it.

Finally he gave up. He went to the bench and sat down on it straightly. He looked into the night in front of him, and he felt some sense of emptiness. He felt the loss of a company. He felt the end of hopes, of dreams, of love. Slowly sadness seeped in, blanketing him with cold, blank feelings. One after another brick of ego fell to the floor, crushing the great wall that once made him stood high above everything else. He suddenly felt so cold, so so cold.

How he wished someone could hug him at that time.

And suddenly it happened.

Two hands came appearing from the back of him, carefully hugging his belly from back to front and around tightly, and he felt a warm body came close to him, and then against him. He smelled that perfume that he missed so much, the body that he long so much, the hope he already did abandon.


"Sayang," she said. "You forgot your keys again."





And slowly he smiled.


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