Eternal Memories

   His hand gently turned the pages of the album allowing him to view the photo's one by one as if he had never seen them before.

   The wind that moved the soft white curtains, touched his face; it was the touch of an old friend that eased the pain in his heart. But he knew that the wind was his only witness and that the pain would never leave him; he had to bare it for ever.

   Halfway the book he stopped and cramped his hands round the air that surrounded him. If he had known that this was his eternal future, he had changed his plans. His impulses at the time were too... well... impulsive. No control and less satisfaction although when it happened he thought different about it. He thought he had worked his way to the climax very carefully and well considered. It was not so that he did it when he felt like it, no, it took him weeks! But after the second time he never did it again.
He was not sick. Or mentally ill. He was a normal guy who took his chance when he recognized it.

   Brought up by his uncle who was his mother's brother, and his aunt, he received enough love and attention, as if he was their own son. He did not think they spoiled him, his parents died when he was very young and it was only his right to receive love from the nearest family member. He felt so much their son that he never wanted to talk about his own parents. And his aunt and uncle also never talked about them.
   Although he was very young when they died, he still remembered that day but always considered it as a normal occasion in his life. Something that was predicted to happen and that was it; life went on as he explained the doctors who took him into hospital but who did not understand his feelings. They sent him home because his other behaviours were of that of a regular young child.

   He was raised with love and responsibility for the company of his uncle who wanted him to take over one day. He loved that responsibility and getting in control. He spent all his energy in the business and hardly lived a life outside it. Of course this caused concerns with his aunt and uncle but they did not bother too much. Their happiness over the continuation of the company that they built with their own hands, was more important.
   Still they were a bit disappointed that he seemed not to be interested in women. Silently they hoped this was going to change when the right girl came into his life but never mentioned it to him. They knew how focussed he was at one thing at the time and that handling more responsibilities let alone 'temptations of the flesh' wasn't going to work....

   While he loosened his grip on the surrounding air, he remembered how aware he was of their feelings and thoughts at the time. And right now, looking back at his life as if it was played in front of him on a bright screen that showed even the tiniest details, he felt the same cold again that surround his heart when he was young. A cold that protected him against feelings he could not and did not want to handle. Or as he called it now, did not want to take responsibility for. It was so much easier not to feel responsible; it put the things he had done and was going to do, in a right perspective.
    The cold from then was totally different from the cold he lived in now. The old one he could touch and control, not only physically but also mentally. The cold of today was thin and transparent; untouchable, not his but controlled by others who finally made him aware of what he did and who let him suffer without a cure.

   Punishment. He tasted the word and it did not taste good any more. In the past it was a word with a sweet edge to it and he loved it. Today it tasted bitter and unwanted for the one and only reason he was now the victim of punishment and could not defend himself, even if he wanted.

   His hand touched the next page in the photo album but he hesitated to view the photo. It was not the first time, he spent so much time in this room going through the album but every time he reached this specific page, he hesitated. Not because of what he was going to see but more because they forced him to turn the page and being forced was something he still was not good at. At the same time he knew that if he did not do it, they took his hand and that feeling he was never going to get used to.

    Finally he turned the page; his eyes were drawn to the photo of the beautiful young girl that one day entered the office as his new assistant. He still felt the emotions of that day; they never involved him in her employment. Never!! Again his anger raised to a high level and the cold around him worsened.
   But back then he did no show his anger to anyone and smiled his ever so charming smile at the girl who promptly fell in love with him. Never had she seen such dark brown eyes and long lashes before with a man. Lashes that covered the in his eyes visible emotions but always by other people mistaken by sexy and mysterious.
Never before put a girl so much effort in asking for his attention, encouraged by his uncle and aunt who truly believed he had overgrown his lack of empathy.

   The more he was forced to like her, the colder his heart was; to an extend he turned into the same two people as all those years ago and he could not stop it.
He could not stop himself of being the charming man that accidentally touched her hand or who smiled his irresistible smile. The day came that she did not mind him putting his arm around her shoulder. She blushed when he asked her out for a drink and his uncle and aunt smiled.
The first drink was a success but he did not kiss her at her door, not even on the cheek. He knew he might loose his control too soon and this time he was going to enjoy it to the full! Every day, every hour and every minute!!

The photo album still lies on the chair he sat on when he still lived here which is a very long time ago. When he turns the pages, you don't see this. You might not even be aware of his presence, forever doomed to relive every minute of his life.

Photo: @dennislexmond_photography (Instagram)

   If you see the soft white curtain moving although the windows of this long abandoned house are firmly closed, you might not know it is the wind touching his face. Yet it is. Remember the wind that blows through every little crack in this old house, is his only friend.
They might have found his parents after he killed them when he was 6, but they never found the girl.

Only the wind knows where he dug her grave.

Word of thanks: the photo of @dennislexmond_photography (Instagram) inspired me to write this story and I was given permission to use the photo as an illustration for which I am very thankful. Thank you Dennis!

Link: please  visit the beautiful Instagram account of Dennis Lexmond Photography.

Note: the story is pure fiction! A figment of my imagination.

Helen

Wind of Seasons (short story)

The edge of the cliff. A dangerous place to be, she knew that, was born here.

   But an indefinable feeling that made her body tremble, drove her from the cottage to this edge of her world. She was so much a child of the beautiful Northern Irish landscape where the many shades of green competed  with the grey and blue colours of the sky. Where the wind waved the grass or tortured the scarce trees that bravely survived the storms with bowed backs like old men.

   She was born in a heavy storm in April and named Aibreann. Her paternal grandmother predicted a strong and determined will, always prepared to fight storms in her life and even looking for them.
Aibreann did not disappoint her grandmother with whom she had a close relationship. Both women had a wild almost earthly edge to their character. Both inherited the free will and combativeness from the Vikings that once ruled Northern Ireland. Add a little blood from the Cromwell's soldiers and a generation of brave women was born. 

   Strong women needed strong men at their side; it wasn't an easy task for the parents to find the right one. Most men were easily either discouraged or too impressed and Aibreann was very seldom impressed by the men who dared to try to approach her.
Her mother shook her head and believed her daughter was never going to marry. Her father laughed and said that the man who could handle his daughter was out there somewhere to turn up when Aibreann was ready for it.

   Watching the wild sea beneath her, Aibreann smiled. Yes, she was 24 and yes, there was a man - Lorcan - she liked but her heart still belonged to the seasons and not to him although she admired his tenacity. The first man that seemed not too impressed with that wild side of her. Still....
   She straightened her back even more, raised her head, her chin pointing forwards, her eyes wide open. She opened her arms and welcomed the wind that gained in strength, trying to subject her to his power.
Aibreann did not give in and laughed, the wind swirled her laugh over the fields towards a man on his horse.

   The man sat high on his tall dark brown horse, his left hand on his knee; the wind blew the manes round his right hand that loosely held the bridles.  He looked at the woman at the edge of the cliff and could not take his eyes of her, feeling a sensation of which he thought he lost it long ago.
   To an ordinary spectator it might have looked if she was going to jump but he knew that she stood their to embrace the wind. She was too far away to hear her laughing still the sound resonated in his chest. Man and horse did not move and stood like a statue in the middle of the green field defined by large ferns that obeyed the law of Autumn by fading into yellow and brown.

   At the same moment the man guided his horse to the cliff, Aibreann knew someone was watching her. She turned around and the wind blew her hair forwards; her hands held her hair back to watch the magnificent combination of strength and solidarity of the man and his horse.

   She was alone but not afraid. Her chin still up, she waited; her eyes fixed on the man's face until she could see his eyes grey as the smoke from the chimneys.
   She raised her hand and laid it on the nostrils of the beautiful horse who nodded a few times to approve with her touch. She did not look at the horse, she looked at the man who's emotions were clearly visible in his eyes; the grey turned from bright to dark but he did not blink.
   She lost track of time, the world around her stood still. The wind got hold of her heart and blood, raced through her body and she knew that the man felt the same. She knew she found her equal and she knew she needed to fight for him; he was the main storm in her life and nothing that followed later in life would cause similar sensations.

~

   Aibreann smiled and thought she was indeed an old sentimental fool. A forgotten tear dripped on the letter in her hand. One of the many the man wrote to her. Letters in which he told her about the storm in his heart the moment he saw her. That incredible sensation that raced through his blood. The recognition of equal souls; creations of the wind.
   Their secret relationship was not meant to last, they both knew that, but until it ended it was fiercely, unruly. Their passion grew with the Autumn winds, raw and reckless. The rain washed the tears they did not want to cry, their time together was too short.
   The storm inside her held on for months after he left but then came the day she calmed down and accepted the proposal of  Lorcan.

   Poor Lorcan who was good to her, who loved her and kissed the ground she was walking on. She was loyal to him, never betrayed him with another man but also never told him about the letters of her wild and passionate lover from long ago. A lover she never met again but who's letters she received though never replied to, until the announcement of his death 60 years later, long after Lorcan passed away.

   After she read the final letter from the stranger that told her about the death of her friend ("we found your address in his agenda"), she walked to the cliff but instead of looking at the sea, she looked in the opposite direction, the wind in her back, searching for the contours of man and horse but they were gone. 

Photo: @beautifully_derelict_ni (Instagram)

   All what was left was a case full of letters, carefully preserved in the attic and never to be read twice or found by anyone. Until now after she towed the case downstairs. Sitting in her chair in front if the peat fire, she opened them one by one before she laid them back in the case.   She read for days and days, forgot to eat, forgot to drink. The peat fire stopped burning but she did not feel the cold; she felt the heat of the fire that burned with the same flame in two bodies, enkindled by the storm.

   Aibreann too died long ago but the heritage of her character and the unlimited love for the seasons once united in the only man on earth that understood her, still remains. Exposed in her little home in front of a cold hearth until the elements destroy what is left of the abandoned cottage, allowing the storm to blow the written memories towards the wild sea.

 

Word of thanks: the photo of @beautifully_derelict_ni (Instagram) inspired me to write this story and I was given permission to use the photo as an illustration for which I am very grateful. Thank you Jules!!

 
Link: please visit the beautiful Instagram account of Jules

Note: the story is pure fiction! A figment of my imagination. 

Helen