A Perfect Stitch

Chapter 51 | very toxic situationship

The days grew worst.

Summer had brought a laughable twist of fate upon Belgium.

It turned into Satan's sauna.

Each day was exceptionally hot.

My throat was dry.

I made a face as my tongue clove to the roof of my mouth like an old slab of rusted lead.

I was thirsty and helpless.

Millions of sun spears interrupted my trance and the emptiness in my soul matched the spiritless graves around me.

I was startled by a refined melody.

One as old as Abraham's descendants ghosting over my head.

Bees from a nearby hive flitted from flower to flower and a sol-fa of words erupted as they faded away, buzzing to the ancient alchemy of the dawn chorus.

Horny winds sighed and fell down an army of brown foliage which spiraled across my feet.

They flew on stale paths, drifted to the roof space beyond the burnt-copper skyline, and slow danced amid a modest flock of snowy doves.

Self-centered, rigid, and prideful like a dictator; the leafy army swayed in the buckled-up clouds of neon-blue veils.

The beaked chorus of House Sparrows filled the air but vanished to candy attics.

I blinked at the graveyard floor laden with goldenrod-yellow grass and adorned by silvery fritillaries of serpentine murmurs.

Evelyn's tombstone gazed at me in stupefied wonder, but then narrowed its ever steel hypothetical eyes and not-so-literal mouth twisted with amused irony at my apologetic dismay.

My ears sprung above the haze.

Our folk treaty restrained me from mourning Lyn's death.

Tears clouded my eyes.

Earlier this week, I'd dropped by to say, "hello," yet being here today seemed like an eternity.

Would it be keen of me to discourse Orlando's reveal?

I shifted my weight from side to side around a historic loyalist monument, eyes hooked, and breathe breathily.

In the farthest slit, at the back of my washed-out blue jeans pocket, laid a new beanie.

Evelyn's to keep.

She would choose a bouquet of white lilies over a dozen of blue beanies.

Due to a mad rush of anxiety straight out of hell, I didn't purchase the former.

My brows knitted and a worried frown grazed my cheeks.

I hunched forward and kneeled at the crest of Evelyn's tomb, clueless.

Slow-paced with shaky fingers, my thumbnails brushed each letter of her name and caressed them to infinity, while hot sniffs held me captive.

"You sang the song of life." I sniffed and clenched my fist. "The confined beauty of your mesmeric harmony fluted across the oceans, breezed into the cliff of the sheltered cove, then pause, and pounced onto its ankle, slamming the rock before releasing. Cuddled up by the water banks, I waited for the rebound of your symphony to spur but..."

Electric waves ambushed my spine and crashed my words.

"It juddered and was muted. Over a blanket of seagulls, flying beneath my feet, it crashed death." Waterworks arched and wheeled down the gears of vulnerability. "If you stayed with me just a little longer, we should have made memories. Please twinkle in the sky so that I may watch you at night."