I despise the wind. It shrieks around corners, whispers through leaves, steals breath away under the summer sun, and carries the echoes of lonely pleas for help to ears that turn away.
Forever.
They see, but they walk away. They hear but refuse to listen.
I thought death would solve all my problems, but here I am, walking alone with the wind I can't feel on my face.
I see them bathed in golden light when it's dark and cold outside. They sit together, laugh, and eat the food I can no longer taste.
How did they forget me so soon?
I met Others when I closed my eyes on that black night and walked away from the light instead of leaving behind this indifferent world.
They said. "On this night, you can go back. You can talk to the ones you left behind."
They lied.
The wind blows and deafens the ones I want to reach. They turn away from the whispers, the shouts, and finally, the shrieks as if they are deaf.
I want to go.
"Show me the way back to the light," I bellow through the howling wind that maintains the gulf between us.
It's no use.
I watch her through her windows. Why did she walk away? Why didn't I fight for her when I had the chance?
She's looking out the window, straight into my eyes, but I can tell she can't see me standing in the storm, wind screeching around me, black clouds roiling overhead.
The curtains are closed. She pulled them shut to keep out the signs of life without a place to enter from the storm.
Someone's opening the front door. She stands framed in more light, and I can see her eyes staring into the dark. I can hear her speak, but I can't understand the words!
JJ!
Please!
Hear me!
I turn away and leave this place. Lights in houses begin to blink away, the wind howls and screams around me as candlelights in pumpkins extinguish, and groups of children ushered away but herding adults from the approaching storm.
In the distance, I hear the ominous clang of a single bell. Light brightens around me, and then – the wind is gone – my last chance.
A voice.
"Spencer! It's time to let go."
An explosion like a shot from a gun pierces the light, and – I see a familiar figure approach.
"Come,"
I look back once, but there is only darkness, the blast of wind at my face and – nothing.
I love the wind. It speaks the truth.
"Take my hand."
The last day plays again like an old black and white movie. The images flutter and blink. A gunshot, a burning pain in my gut, screams, shouts, and then – nothing.
"It's time."
"I know."
The familiar face smiles, and I realize that someone hears, someone cares. I clasp the offered hand and – step into the light.
The wind screeches at my back, but it no longer has a claim. I can't remember why I walked with it for so long.
"It doesn't matter," said the one sent to meet me.
"No, it doesn't matter."
The light, brighter than a mother's love, closes out the darkness and the shrieking wind. It shows him the way.