The sun drowns in the horizon, and its rays of shining brilliance burn through the clouds faintly, faintly. Darkness engulfs it; the coruscating full moon manifests in the twilight.
The cascading waves batter the cliff face. Upon the apex of the precipice lies a bench, damaged and shabby after decades of use. Resting on the worn out wood is a teenager–a girl, sleeping.
She’s dreaming about someone–someone she hasn’t seen in a while: her childhood friend, her Innamorato, her beloved.
The dream forms and her fantasies, her thoughts, her… regrets forge in her mind. People and places flash by as if she’s on her deathbed and she shifts around, disturbed by an aggressive, invasive breach of her blissful and grievous memories.
The distorted images chain together, one by one, and create a scene in the girl’s mind. An azure, clear sky fills her blank mind much like the strokes of a painter’s brush on a void canvas. There’s a tree. One single tree planted in amongst a field of liliums–a cherry blossom tree. It’s spring. The tiny, rose blossoms hover down and kiss the ground.
The girl stirs. She’s breathing heavier now; her hands are sweating.
The tenebrous clouds shield the illumination and plunge the cliff into isolation. The girl’s figure fades, but the bench… the old, old bench remains.
The flowers trickle down like a tornado, guided by the calm, smooth wind. Someone stands underneath the deciduous and magnificent tree, waiting for someone. She checks her watch, looks out into the distance, and glances back at the time impatiently.
She paces around and kicks a pile of flowers, scattering them. She reaches into the pocket of her thermal jacket and takes out a piece of stained paper. Enticed by the warmth, she keeps her left hand in as it protects her from the chilly weather, whilst re-reading the letter over and over again.
The wind intensifies and evolves into an icy gale; she loses grip and the precious letter is blown away. She tries to grab it, but she isn’t fast enough and the letter soars high up in the sky and flies off behind her.
The cliff is crumbling, eroding. There’s nothing there save for the bench sitting at the top, staring out into the black scene.
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Her heart is palpitating, panicking, pumping. Blood rushes to her head and she starts to get dizzy, light-headed.
Her eyes close and she listens to the rustling of the tree and the whirring of the cars zooming past.
Footsteps are heard. Although faint, they can be heard. The girl brushes her silver-blonde hair back behind her ears as she listens and reaches out to that sound.
They’re heavy and loud as they hit the ground as if the wearer is using hiking boots.
They’re erratic and fluctuating as if the person is giving their all just to get to one place without collapsing.
Beneath each step is a crunch; the trampled petals collect in numbers, whipped by the force of the speeding cars before the wind picks them up and takes them on a new journey through the skies.
The girl is interrupted by panting and wheezing from behind. She spins around in surprise, startled.
A boy of fifteen or so stands there. He has jet black hair that shines, swept to the left with bangs hanging down over his strange, strange eyes.
They exchange glances, but the boy can't seem to look directly at her, his cheeks a light pink hue as he scratches his head nervously.
The girl speaks up, “You know why I’ve called you here.”
“N-No I d-don’t…” the boy stutters.
Their eyes lock; she doesn’t back down, but then again, nor does he.
“I’m only going to tell you once. Stop it. Stop ogling at me like I’m the most beautiful girl you’ve ever seen.”
The boy’s cheeks are cherry red and he succumbs to the embarrassment and a single tear escapes. He hangs his head, agitated to her casual but forward answer, and clenches his fists in anger and despair.
He’s never had a girlfriend before. He’s never even had a friend.
He says in a cold and hurt manner, “What’s wrong with that!? What’s wrong with admiring the girl I’ve thought about for years?”
His voice rises. He’s angry, enraged. “What can’t you just let me be?”
The people walking by give them bizarre looks as the boy lashes out at her. She remains in her calm, collected state.
“If I let you be,” the girl says softly, “then it’ll make me feel bad for not accepting you. I’d rather reject you here than do nothing.”
Something inside the boy is triggered. His eyes widen as he realises that she is right; however, he fakes his true disposition and runs off in tears without another word.
The girl stares at the retreating boy before whispering, “Even though I don’t like him, he has extraordinary eyes, one blue and one brown–heterochromia. They’re beautiful.”
She leaves the entrancing cherry tree as the scared and lonely boy envelopes her thoughts.
The broken world accepts the melancholy it has been given–a swift and indecisive victory for darkness over light.
It is said that once you die you wander the plains of in-between and try to find heaven’s door.
The boy wanders.
A ghost-like figure appears, inconspicuous and transparent. He holds his head up and reaches his hand out as if he’s trying to grab something. A letter manifests itself in the ghost’s hand, but his life has no meaning now.
The world fades completely into nothingness much like his hopes and ambition with the girl he loves so much.
His life is a distortion–an illusion.
Life as we know it is a contortion.