You were in a room. The room was cold and gray and empty, and the sunlight that came in through the window did not seem like sunlight at all. It did nothing to warm up the place. Beside the window there is a table. There is a white vase softly gleaming with weak light, in which there were a few stalks of red flowers. They were watching over your still body solemnly, quietly. I twist the cold metal door knob and enter the room. It smells of bleach and medicine. I don't like it. Do you like it? Slowly I walk in with a soft jangle of coins in the pocket. I sit on the chair and wait. I fell asleep.
When I awoke, you were staring at me with such wide eyes, I was scared.
*~Antonio~*
It's boring.
Facing the window, it's boring.
We used to do it together. It wasn't so boring then.
That window faced the bed on which you slept in. It looked out to the tomato fields and it was the perfect place for the sun to shine in. I positioned it with such care because I just liked people to smile and enjoy life. The sunshine brightens up the day of everyone.
When we looked out of the window, there would be so tomatoes and clouds and the great blue sky. When you were in your normal mood, you'd sit and sulk, but look out of the window all the same. When you were sad, you'd sit on my lap and sob, but you would feel better immediately after watching the sky.
When I was sad, the skies would turn gray, and they would roar with thunder and come alive with lightning. You would come plodding to me on your small feet, then you would shout, Why is the sky so gray today? And then when I see you, I would immediately feel better, and the skies would clear.
There were so many things we could do while staring out of the window. We could make shapes in the clouds, and we could count the tomatoes. We could even talk to the tomatoes. In Spring time, there would be little shoots about the farm, and the air would be cool and crisp and fresh in the gardens. The Earth would be waking, and we would spend time counting the graceful butterflies and the passing birds. When there were bees, you would scream and hide away, and I would laugh and close the window. In Summer time the sunshine will shine on the young plants and their leaves would be so shiny, a healthy green. The sky was a cloudless endless blue on times, and when the thunderstorms raged, it would be dark, and we would observe the fleeting raindrops, shooting into the mud, trailing down the window. The tomato plants would have grown bushy and healthy now, and they must have small green fruits now. During Autumn time, the tomatoes would have turned into healthy red fruits, gleaming softly in the caressing rays of careless sunlight. We would go out with baskets and hats, and then we would pick off the fruit. Some of them we give to the market, the others we keep. During Winter time, when we are lucky, it will snow a little. When we are super lucky, it would snow a lot, and we would make snowmen. When it was cold, we would stay in the house and count the snowflakes. They are so pretty, you would say, and you would reach out a small hand and try catching them. When it was not so cold, we would go out and play, or sow in the tomato seeds in the farm. We would make little holes in the snow and dig with our fingers before putting in the tiny seeds. Then we would bury them all over again. You always threw a tantrum when the seeds didn't fall into the hole. It was amusing and cute. It was fun.
I used to tell you stories. I would seat you on my lap and face the window, and then all sorts of stories would form in my head. I told you all sorts of stories, and you were so fascinated then.
I look out of the window now. The tomatoes that once glowed with joy no longer smiled.
*~XxXXxX~*
I used to go to wars a lot.
I would go to war and kill and kill and kill. My hands are stained with the blood I could not wash, my head haunted by voices that would not die. I would venture out and not return for a very long time. And when I did, I would come back with blood and cuts and bruises, and I would suffer the wrath of your headbutt. But I didn't mind at all. You deserved to have the pleasure of attacking. You've waited so long. So long.
While I was away, you would be alone in the big house. It was lonely, I know. But you waited. You were forever waiting, if only for me to come back for a day and go out the next. I think it pains you, a small child such as yourself, to be left alone in a big house, waiting and waiting and waiting. I wonder if you ever got scared?
While I fought, I thought about you. You were there all the time. Even when I was suffering, my economics failing, you were still there. My beloved child, you were still there. I often imagine your silhouette, a black shadow against a white background softly glowing. Is that your loneliness? Your agony, bearing the silence of the house, the emptiness?
After the war is over, I would be tired. I wouldn't bring myself to smile; I couldn't. I would be bloody and wounded and hurt all over the place. When I went back, you would be all tears and you would attack me. You would complain and swear and curse. You would complain that there wasn't food. You would complain you had to search for an bloody hour to find the bathroom. It was painful, but...
It was all I needed to rouse myself from the exhaustion and smile.
Because I swore... I would keep smiling, for the sake of a special someone.
I would keep smiling, so that the sun keeps shining.
The sun will never set.
Never.
But I broke my promise. I've broken it. The Sun has set, the smile gone, my child missing.
*~XxXXxX~*
There was a period of time you started painting. The paintings were beautiful...
And scary.
They weren't your average paintings. They were morbid, but beautiful. Morbidly beautiful. But they did not portray a specific something. They were a mish-mash of colours, straight lines, trails, spatters, dripping, a careless style, yet one made whole-heartedly. Those paintings weren't your usual style, but I thought nothing of it.
I should have roused you then.
It was all too rushed- All too rushed, that one day you just left a painting alone, and suddenly you were in hospital.
Maybe, maybe when I think back then... While you painted, your eyes, when I look at them from the sides...
Were they housing pain?
*~XxXXxX~*
I have always known you to be an honest young man. You never hid anything. Your emotions, they flowed as soon as they were created, and yet I know your words. They usually didn't mean harm, but perhaps of your habit, some people think they do.
Or rather... Are they hiding a pain?
Are they hiding an unspoken anger? Grief? Or, are you completely different altogether?
I used to think I knew you...
But now,
we are but complete strangers.
*~XxXXxX~*
I am watching a pair of butterflies dancing outside the window. I watched as you sauntered into the garden, your eyes dull, and you squatted. Cautiously you twirled a blade of grass around your finger. I smiled. Maybe it is the chance to be a baby all over again. And...
Maybe, for me, it is a chance to be a father all over again.