Through time

Daybreak: the household slept?

BANG

My eyes snapped open, blinded momentarily by the sun. The short crack echoed through the house, emanating from the barn.

...The barn.

I dashed out of my room, rushing down the stairs, out the door and into the warm structure. The comforting scent of fresh hay was perturbed by the metallic sting of blood. The owl flapped helplessly in the dust and hay, fresh blood spilling and mixing with the barn floor. Pure, white feathers bespeckled with shiny red jewels and decorative entrails. Its eyes widening in pain, the balance of nature tipped at the mercy of the unconscious awareness of the trembling six-year-old. I sighed, looking over at my shaken and confused daughter, caught red-handed with the smoking gun.

“Papa… what do I do?”

The smoke rose, the barrel drooping as I swiped a lone tear from my dirty face.

“Mumma, what do I do?” I whimpered, the ebony crow limping to safety.

The smoke rose, the cigarette limp in her mouth.

With a soft shake of the head, she turned, leaving me in the dark pit of my mess.

I shook my head, images of my retreating mother and the intimidating weapon in my hands dissipated, my etched hands visible once more, moving to comfort my trembling daughter.

Leaning over her, I hoisted the gun back into form, straightening her back and directing her fingers. The barrel swung and aimed at the heap of pearly red feathers.

I whispered in her ear,

“End what you’ve started.”

Daybreak: the household slept.

I rose, cursed by the sun. The sounds of morning birds cackled in my ear, the dawn air sour in my nose. My hands moved to the edge of the bed, hoisting myself up from the clinging sheets.

The soft carpet grazed my feet, my body moving through the air with the grace of practised rhythm.

Move away from the bedside table, mind the wall, turn now and arrive at the door.

The deafening silence echoed through the house, maddening me further.

She’s left me to go off to her new house, leaving me in a silent abyss that grows deeper with every passing day.

What I wouldn’t give to see her face again, to show her the way.

My sweet, angelic comforter.

How will I ever see the delight in the birds, the flowers, the shivery grass?

My freshly blank eyes, clouded with tears, brimming with hot tears, the darkness around me now a vociferous silence.

The canvas within my mind was impossibly blank, an overwhelming white that stretched vast and wide, asphyxiating and leaving me in an inescapable pit.

Nightfall: the household slept.

Time was flowing like a hundred yachts, flowing incontrovertibly.

“Take my hand papa.”

The brush was removed from my hand, now held in the care of my daughter, her fingers moving with such fluidity, describing our surroundings and translating them onto the canvas.

Holding onto her arm impossibly tight, we walked along the path, silence comfortably enveloping us in decorative and swirling waves.

“There are the happy trees, rising and almost touching the starry sky, do you see it, papa?” Her voice bubbled with excitement, oblivious to the dark-cloaked shadow looming over us, its fingers outstretched and waiting.

The canvas shifts, her beautiful innocent face looking at me, pointing at the towering oaks, the phthalo blue sky dotted with white pinpricks, twinkling with the same shine as her smile. My milky white eyes glimmer with tears, scared to leave her alone.

“Ah, dad! You’ve nicked my ankle. Watch the stick!” she exclaimed, chuckling and rubbing my arm in comfort.

I smile, feeling a sense of peace swell inside me.

“I can't, my child, I'm blind,” I retorted, enjoying the snug environment.

The hooded figure retracted his fingers, gracing us with more time.