"Contemplation (by Jill O Connell)" by Jill O Connell

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The hands of the clock move closer together as times infinite influence brings it all to an end. It begins and ends with this single tick of a tock. You can hear your heart match the clock beat and it seems to want to go for eternity.

Silence hears nothing.

People hear each other.

The earth hears the sounds of the sky.

The moon hears the everlasting cries of the stars.

He sits and understands all at once that everything has a time and a place. His hand is held against the glass to watch as he leaves an impression that will only last a few ticks. How many times has this hand held something important? Something he could grasp as solid, profound and incomprehensible. The wind gently brushed his golden hair as his grass-green eyes flickered across the room to see what was disturbing his deep repose. A silent silhouette passed by only glimpsing him with a silent eye, her hand, as impossible to comprehend as her existence in the first place. He could see her whispering her last words over and over again as if re-living each and every excruciating moment. He could see everything that was flowing through her mind, the pain and surprise as the knife went straight through her delicate neck, and he could even hear the words as she lost her reality and became something insubstantial. He wished in his heart that he could understand. He really wanted to be able to know what it was that drove this ghost on. Why it remained unable to leave this world?

Just as his mind wandered away she too dissolved and became, once again, one with the air and its intriguing invisibleness. He knew that she was still here, flittering between death and existence. Which, he wondered, would win in the end?

He pulled his hand away from the window as the cold pierced his nerves and his mind reacted. He looked at the hand print now crying on the window. The condensation which had covered the window was spreading itself like the smog of the ether. He looked out of the window to see the bitter rain create pathetic fallacy in his mind. His eyes wandered and he looked at the garden. The flowers were dying, the trees were covered in the grim reaper’s touch and even the earth itself was giving itself up to the icy looming grasp of winter’s embrace. The trees were like soldiers at the end of an inevitably futile war. They would all soon succumb to the onslaught of death. Yet, he marvelled at their effort to hold onto what little of the autumn they had left. Mostly the colours had given way to auburn, crimson and gold. The colours were awe-inspiring and fantastical to the eyes imagination. It was as if he were sitting on a hill top looking through a filter as the sun burst into flames before him. He turned his eyes skyward.  

The gray clouds above made it seem like this was all a dream that he would wake from and the sun would belt light into his surprised face. He knew that was a fantasy. Something he was making up. He wanted to stay in the fantasy as did most people. Reality was nothing but a harsher way of living but not everyone has these beautiful visions of beauty and wonder. The light breeze from the window brushed passed him again and his body shivered. Yes, winter was definitely on its way. Not faltering for even a second. Trying to hold onto the autumn was like trying to hold the ocean back or the sun from setting. Everything follows the tick and the tock of time even the sky and heavens.

to be continued...