Winter Tale

Winter Tale

This World is full of sadness and failure; filled with people that are just not good enough for it.

I am one of those people.

I have failed at life so many times I lost count. I'm a failure to my country, because I don't stand up for other people. I am a failure to my community, because I can't get good grades. I'm a failure to my family, because I can't get a job. I am a failure to the world, because I suck at life.

I was looking out the window on a cold winter day, the sky: grey with clouds, the leafless trees rocking to the groove of the wind, it just made me even sadder. Even the weather was sad because I was a failure. The park was empty even though it's four o'clock in the afternoon. It looked solitary and alone; lonely and sad. And it made me tear-up a little knowing it's going be dark at six when the sun had came up at eight in the morning. Not even cars went by and I wondered: has life stopped because I failed again? And only the wind answered in a language I couldn’t understand.

There's a young man in a skeleton suit with a grey hoodie on top, leaning against the carousel fence, lighting a cigarette. He had the hood up and he's looking down at his feet so the hood was covering his eyes in a way I got to see only his nose and mouth breathing out the warm smoke. It dissipated curling up in strange waves, carried away by the incessant wind. He took another drag and stuck his spare hand (his left hand) in his hoodie pocket.

I was staring at him through my (second floor) bedroom window, feeling sorry for myself for being a failure at life, when it started drizzling. I cracked open my window and stretched my arm out to catch it. The thin ice melted as soon as it came in touch with my warm skin. It tingled in the palm of my hand. As I was watching the drizzle melt in my hand, like the kid who sees a 3D movie for the first time, the young man walked, slowly but surely, forward to the bench that had a roof right across my street. He sat without lifting his head, but I caught a glimpse of his eyes while he walked. They were so green they sparkled in the fall of the night. He placed the cigarette between his lips and stuck both his hands back into his hoodie pockets.

I closed my window because my nose was starting to ache from the cold and continued feeling helpless and useless because of what a failure I have been my whole short life. I had started a book for the hundredth time to distract myself but my eyes turned unwillingly to the young man sitting across the street on the roofed bench. I came closer and closer to my window until my breath fogged the glass.

And I just stared.

I was cleaning my window with my sleeve because I couldn't see anything when he looked up. But he didn't look up into the street. He looked up at me. Straight at me with those piercing green eyes of his. Mesmerizing. My heart jumped but I couldn't look away. I couldn't look away from the eyes that had a light of their own. He smiled half a smile with his smoking cigarette hanging between his lips. Inviting.

I felt the sudden urge to go sit next to him even though I knew nothing about him.

"Are you gonna stay here and sulk in your own misery for the rest of your sad worthless life?" A voice in the back of my head asked me.

It was like an echo of my own voice. Maybe it was just me thinking too hard; regretting not taking any chances; getting tired of just being not good enough.

I grabbed my coat on the way out and put it on as I was opening the front door. The cold drizzly wind hit me hard on the face when I stepped outside. He looked at me from across the street and smiled that half smile again. Still inviting. I froze. My legs wouldn't move. I just stood there until my front door shut close because of the wind and kind of pushed me a little in his direction.

I walked up to the roofed bench and stood in front of him.

"I've been waiting for you", He said with the cigarette still hanging between his dried pink lips.

He pulled his right hand out of his pocket and patted on the bench gently. I followed his lead, sitting down right next to him, his hand still on the bench. I intertwined my fingers with his and pressed my lips to the back of his hand. It was warm and it smelled like nicotine and cigarette smoke. It was delicious.

And in that moment, everything I ever failed at... didn't seem to matter anymore.

Emily Blame,

July, 10th, 2015.

If you're listening to this... you're the Resistance.-

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