By Melissa Mendelson, a Finalist of NewsPortalSite’s Writing Contest
“The
last days of this year have reached my doorstep. I dare not look at the
pages of my life, afraid to see that I am still standing with yesterday
and have not reached tomorrow once more. Another year is about to die,
and what if my life has not yet been born? Where are the dreams of
yesterday to light the skies of tomorrow? Why must the present remain so
dark? How long will I wander lost in this world?”
As
soft chimes filled the warm, comfortable space of the living room,
Rachel lowered her journal to look at the clock. Her eyes settled on the
large and small hand over the 12, midnight. A chill shuddered through her as she blinked.
“Once
more upon this hour will he arrive with his song to tear at my heart?
Why does he do this? Why come here, come to me? Why must I be
the one to witness his song?”
A
low, soft whistle was heard. The whistle lingered in the air, creating
goose bumps along her skin. The tune echoed inside her ears, and for a
moment, Rachel found herself frozen sitting on the couch.
“Blood
on my hands while a child cries. What have I done? Blood on my face as
she closes her eyes. Her son runs away, and I am left to my demise.”
Gently
placing her journal at the foot of the couch, Rachel stood up. She
rubbed her hands against her jeans, trying to kill the chill that has
numbed her fingers. Moving slowly, she approached the window and pushed a
curtain aside.
“Blood
on my hands while a child cries. What have I done? Blood on my face as
she closes her eyes. Her son runs away, and I am left to my demise.”
“There
are times when I never see him. There are moments when I do. I see a
man pacing outside this window, back and forth and wringing
his
hands. I see the tears flowing freely down his face. He never once
looked at me like I was there. Did he even know I was there?”
A
chill raced down Rachel’s spine as the man turned to look at her. His
soft, brown eyes had a glint of something, something dark. His face
was
tear-stained, and his hands were red. His clothes were faint, but it
looked like the usual wear one man would have on during his days off
from work.
“Why look at me now? Why turn to see me? You’ve been singing this song for a long time, so why turn to me now?”
“Blood
on my hands while a child cries. What have I done? Blood on my face as
she closes her eyes. Her son runs away, and I am left to my demise.” He
now stood against the window. “Blood on my hands while a child cries.
What have I done? Blood on my face as she closes her eyes. Her son runs
away, and I am left to my demise.” His hand pressed against the glass.
“Maybe
these are the last words said before his life ended. Maybe if I opened
the book on his life, these would be the last words written inside. Now,
trapped from where he must go, he can say nothing but these words.”
Raising
her hand against the other side of the glass, Rachel almost felt the
man’s hand. The glass separated their two worlds. Yet, their connection
lingered.
“”Blood
on my hands while a child cries. What have I done? Blood on my face as
she closes her eyes. Her son runs away, and I am left to my demise.”
A
moment later, he disappeared. It was as if a wind came to steal him
away. All that was left were the words to his song and his hand print
against the window.
“The
last days of this year have reached my doorstep. I dare not look at the
pages of my life, afraid to see that I am still standing with yesterday
and have not reached tomorrow once more. Yet, if I don’t look, what if
the last words of my life are that I was afraid to look? I am afraid of
the unknown. My life has not moved ahead because I am afraid. Will these
be my last words? Will my song haunt another one day? Will I wander
lost in this world like the ghost that has given me his song?”
About the Author
Melissa
R. Mendelson is an up and coming writer and poet, whose writing has
been published online and in print. Her poetry has been included in
Names in a Jar: A Collection of Poetry by 100 Contemporary American
Poets, and her short story, Time’s Karma was recently published in
Hamptons Literary Journal. She also self-published Silent Dreams, a
prose poetry collection, through Xlibris.
(No Ratings Yet)
Loading …
Posted in 
