“Magpies and Blowflies”

Story written by Franklin Rayeski – Please do not use without crediting me
          It was a lovely spring afternoon. The sun was radiant against the baby blue sky, with birds singing and skipping from tree to tree and all the woodland fauna meandering and mating underneath green canopies. Bees were humming and hummingbirds were buzzing between blooming, budding, florescent flowers decorating all the meadows and gardens. The air was ripe and fresh and the breeze was cool and soft.        
          We were on our pink couch over the manila carpet within our mint walls. The smell of roses drifted in with the breeze, danced around us and then flew out another open pane. We could feel the loving effect that came with spring—so much so, I was more inclined to lean as close as I could to his chest. He was a dashing man and I was a youthful woman. We fell in love many a year ago in autumn. We’ve watched the seasons go by; we’ve seen all of the flowers wilt and then writhe, the sun fade and then flourish and the seas solidify and then surge.
          I recalled our harsh winter before; we both were cold and distant from another. That, of course, made our revitalized passion in the spring that much more sacred. We forgave and forgot our troubles before—the fighting, the bickering; I moved on from all the troubles of winter; he, however, did not. Not a word has slipped his lips from that awful day. The day he grew tired of my being and came home frustrated and thwarted; he threatened to leave me and my pastel home.
          That day, I threw my arms around him, I begged and bargained and pleaded—I needed him! I eventually convinced him, I calmed and evinced to him my capabilities—I showed him how much he needed me. It wasn’t easy, but he was swayed; his being couldn’t force himself to part from his only love. Though, as much as our love ebbs and embers, his lips were sealed that day and may never utter another word. It is disconcerting, but I am converting myself to understand—the process of grief is never quick. I still know he loves me and that he’ll never again try to leave. I know that he loves me as much I love him. For he knows how much I am afraid to let go, and because he stayed, I know he feels the same.
          I remember that day, that winter, the whole horrid season that mars my mind. But then I remember back to that spring day with a smile—the day we held onto one another forever. Oh how I recall everything from that relaxing evening with my love. I recall everything from the blazing sun to the grazing gazelle; I recall the cool breeze to the calm coursing tides, too. I recall black-billed magpies on our road, pecking at rotting rabbit thighs; I recall blue-bearing blowflies in my home, picking at my beloved’s lifeless eyes.


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