Blowing In The Wind

Blowing In The Wind

A young boy sat outside on an old tree stump. That old tree stump had been his companion for many years. He could hardly remember anymore when it had been a whole tree, but he knew the story well, for his mother recounted it to him and his brother almost every night before they went to bed.

‘One evening, in the spring, there had been a violent storm. The storm had raged on and on long into the night. Why, it had almost seemed as if God was punishing their small town for only He knew what. The old oak tree that stood 14 feet taller than the house had swayed and bowed. His father had watched that old oak from the living room window for hours. He heard the shriek of the wind whishing through the branches of the old oak as if it tried to end the old oak’s life. But the old oak, though battered and beaten, bowing and bending, stood tall and rooted against that devil’s wind. His father admired that old oak and said to everyone, many times during the night, that the old oak was a representation of his newest son into the family. For during that storm, his brother had been born. His mother had experienced a difficult birth. His brother wanted to stay firmly rooted in her womb, she had said…for he knew of the violent storm outside of his haven and did not want to enter into a world of raging violence and ceaseless noise. Mother said, he always, from the very beginning, was a boy that wanted quiet and peace. He only ever wanted a soothing place to rest his frame. When his brother was leaving his mother’s haven and he opened his eyes for the first time, he screamed a piercing scream that made the midwife cross herself vigorously. At that same time, a long, stout branch had broken through the bedroom window, shattering glass over his mother and brother. His brother completely slipped out of his mother’s womb while the midwife had rushed to the other side of the room to avoid the demon branch. His father had tried to catch his brother before he hit the floor, but his father managed a tenuous grasp at best of him and then his brother slipped out of his father’s fingers and fell to the floor. Before his parents and the midwife could get the baby, the massive oak was finally brought down by an arc of lightning thrown from the sky to aide the demon wind. His mother said it was as if an earthquake had seized the land for their house had shook as though nature were trying to take it down. His mother had said they were plagued by demons that night. The tree had fallen on the opposite side of the house than what they had been in, but it had still caused much damage to his mother’s keepsakes. When they were finally able to stand aright, they swooped up his brother, who had rolled to the edge of the room by the door. His father had held him in his arms and cried for he was sure that his son had died. His mother convinced his father to bring the baby to her so that she may look upon him. His father, trembling violently, had brought his brother to his mother. His mother had looked down into his brother’s face and seen him staring back up at her, mouth slightly agape. He blinked and it seemed as if he tried to gurgle, but no sound would come out of his mouth. When all of the adults had crowded around the baby and watched him, he then spasmed, and to their horror, began to spit up blood.

His mother says that his brother was struck by demons that night. He had spit up blood well into the morning and then afterwards, no more.’

The demons had still wrought their fury on his poor brother that fateful night. His brother would not speak and seemed to have a slow frame of mind. He was, however, of the sweetest disposition. He was artless and kind and loved to be with his family.

During a normal day, the young boy watched over his brother while his mother cleaned house and his father went to do his butchering. His brother was now 5 years of age and showed no understanding of letters or numbers. The young boy’s mother wanted him to work with his little brother on them, but it was no use, so he never did. He and his brother would run through the woods or splash around in Thompson’s Creek. His little brother had an eye for nature’s beauty. He was constantly pointing out a Monarch with striking markings or a squirrel leaping from tree branch to tree branch above them. His brother loved to wade into the creek and wave his short and stubby arms in the air, splashing around in glee. He would throw his arms out wide and twirl around and around. Smiling, his brother would present the young boy with some new rock that he had found that was smooth and rounded like marbled glass.

Occasionally, the young boy would have friends play with them and on those occasions he knew his brother didn’t have as much fun as they normally did, for his friends were mean and coarse children who would poke fun at his brother. Knowing that he should stand up for his brother, he frequently did get into a fist fight with some of them. But, eventually, it became so bad that he was losing friends. The young boy warred with what he should do. He loved his brother. He did. Sometimes though, he was a might annoying when he just had to climb the same tree that he and his friends were climbing. And, of course his brother would be too small, so he would have to stop and help him and then make sure that he didn’t fall. Then there were times when his brother couldn’t keep up when they were racing or playing tag. He always had to wait for him. True, he was always rewarded with a thankful and loving smile from his sweet little brother, but he had to admit, his little brother was still a bit tiresome. Thinking that he could surely find a way to make both situations work to his liking, he explained to his brother his problem. He took his brother to the middle of the woods and sat him on a round and heavy branch that had fallen during a recent storm. He told him that he understood why he didn’t like to play with his friends. He told his brother that he knew and understood that they were mean and coarse children and things that they said and did against him were mean and cruel. He appealed to his brother to see his end of the story. He did not like how his friends treated his brother, no. Of course he didn’t. Hadn’t he, on many occasions, bloodied many a lip with his fist for their treatment of him. It couldn’t be denied that he had stood up for his brother. He wanted to have friends though. He wanted to be able to run and play and do the things that the other boys his age were doing. He wanted his brother to understand that it wasn’t being disloyal.

His brother listened to everything that he said and frowned at some parts. He waited anxiously while his brother pondered what he was asking of him. The young boy felt relieved when his brother ran to him and threw his little arms around his waist, love shining in his eyes. His little brother nodded his head, yes, and held on even tighter to him. Shrugging off feelings of guilt, the young boy hugged his brother back and told him thank you.

Later that day they were headed off to Thompson’s Creek with his friends when his brother pulled on his hand and stopped him. Looking down at his brother to see what was wrong, he was surprised to see his brother wordlessly mewling in what appeared to be fear. Squatting down to his level, he tried to understand what had frightened his brother so. His brother latched on to him and held him tightly. Understanding now that his little brother was frightened of being alone while he went and played with his friends, he tried to soothe his brother’s fears. He told him that he would only be gone for a couple of hours. The young boy pointed to the stump that he had told his little brother earlier that he would rest on, until he came back to get him. He told his brother that he would be able to see him from the creek and that there would be nothing to worry about. He also told his brother that he would have been too small to go to the part of the creek that were going to anyway. The young boy waited until his brother’s breathing evened, and then hearing his friend’s calling to him from a distance, began to walk his brother to the stump by the creek. Settling his brother in, he wrapped his brother in his favorite blanket and gave him his favorite picture book. Telling his brother that he would soon be back, he turned away from him, began running towards the creek and slipped further away into the woods.

The young boy walked closer to his friends and was glad to be able to play with them, but his brother weighed heavily on his mind. He wished his brother had not been so afraid. He had a brief, niggling sense of doubt that maybe he had done the wrong thing when he looked up and realized he had already reached the particular part at the creek and was among his jovial friends who were all happy to see him. Promptly forgetting about that twinge of guilt, he threw himself into playing with his friends. He played and played and played, without need of checking on his brother or leaving early because his brother was catching a chill. His friends included him in everything and he had not one argument with any of them. They were playing king of the mountain and he had beat all of the other boys to the top of the “mountain.” Yelling and beating his chest, exhilarated and free, he felt like the king of the world. Knowing that this was what he had missed from carting his brother everywhere, he clung to it tenaciously. He wanted it to last for as long as possible.

Dusk had entered the forest when the boys had finally decided they had better head home. Drunk with giddiness, the young boy followed the other boys through the woods and would have forgotten his little brother if one of the other boys hadn’t asked about him. Remembering with a guilty start about his brother, he told them to go ahead, that he would see them tomorrow. Heading back, the young boy shivered as the dusk-chilled wind pushed its way into the sleeves of his shirt and slid down to embrace his torso with cold. As he walked towards the spot where he had sat his brother, he increasingly felt a sense of foreboding doom. The wind continued to assault him with its fury. It raked across his hair with such force that the wind abraded his scalp. As he walked doggedly toward his destination the wind whirled bits of dirt and debris into his eyes causing him to cry out and fall to his knees as he violently wiped his eyes to stop their stinging torture. The wind howled loudly as if speaking to him. It slapped his cheeks and chafed his lips. He began to fear for his little brother for this truly was the devil’s own wind. Rising to his feet, wrapping his arms around himself as far as they would go, he tripped a couple of more times and the wind stayed with him, punishing him with its vicious glee.

When he reached the beginning of the break in the woods where his brother would be, he felt his heart’s tempo begin to increase with anxiousness. He couldn’t explain it, but he was worried. He had not gone to look in or check on his little brother as he had promised. He had been having too much fun with his friends. Rounding the bend that shielded the tree stump where his brother sat, he stopped abruptly. Abject fear pulsed through all of his veins. His blood ran cold and he was temporarily struck dumb by the fear that paralyzed him. Closing his eyes and opening them again he focused on the barren tree stump that was to have seated his little brother. His little brother was gone. Running towards the stump, he stopped in front of it and breathing hard, tried to will his brother to come to him. Terrified indecision plagued him. He didn’t know if he should wait for his brother to come and find him if, indeed, he had wandered off and gotten lost or if he should go and search for him. Turning around, he quickly scanned the creek bed and the immediate woods around him. His eyes darted to and fro feverishly. The darkness of the woods was descending and he knew that he needed to find his brother. He could not wait for the possibility that his little brother would come bounding through the woods towards him. If he was in these woods, the encroaching darkness meant danger. Leaving the stump, he ran into the denser part of the woods that stood closer to the creek. Scanning, constantly scanning, he felt his heart drop as he saw, from a distance, his brother’s favorite blanket hanging off of a branch, blowing in the wind. Like a beacon, it transfixed him. Fear-filled thoughts clouded his mind. His brother loved his blanket and carried it with him always. Walking towards the blanket as if in a trance, he held his arms out in front of him, beseeching the demon wind, to not have taken his brother. As he got closer to the tree he saw that it loomed over the deepest part of Thompson’s Creek. He slipped and slid over rocks, scraping his knees and elbows, yet he paid the abrasions no mind as he came closer to the blanket, closer, he somehow knew, to his brother.

When he reached the great tree that hung over the creek, shielding the jagged rocks beneath it, he looked up at the blanket blowing in the wind. His heart rate, now slowing to the point that he heard every sound, saw every movement that nature made in stark relief, caused him to feel light-headed and slightly unfocused. He slowly took his eyes away from the blanket and skimmed his gaze down the great tree, to the rocks below. There lay his little brother, face down in a shallow part of the creek, with his blood pooling around him. He watched with a sense of horrified detachment as a gust of wind raked through the tree and the blanket floated down to his brother and in his brother’s eternal sleep covered him as it had always done.

He sat at the base of the tree, staring at his brother, for what must have been hours when he vaguely heard familiar voices calling him and his brother’s names. The wind continued to assault him with unnatural force, continuing its raging. His ears twitched unconsciously as he heard it clearly. The name of his brother woke him from his trance and hit him with so much force that he jerked forward and his stomach spasmed. The pain of his brother’s death whirled in a frenzy through his heart and his mind. It was of such an intensity that he momentarily suffered from blindness. But still able to clearly see his sweet little brother’s face before he had left him on that stump, the young boy’s mind shattered. Clawing at his hair..he screamed. Gouging his eyes…he screamed. And he screamed and he screamed.

THE END