Eternity

Story about an old couple. The woman suffers from Alzheimer's, that's about all you need to know!

Eternity 

It was nearly half-past noon. The rain beat down on the cobblestoned pathways, bare and dimly lit by the dysfunctional guttering candle-lamps. Although nearly all residents were tucked in cozily within their confined rooms, there was no silence. Seattle was surrounded by the passing tracks of rushing steam locomotives. Echoes of shrieks and cries never ceased to go off day and night from the archaic edifice she inhabited.

They sat out on the veranda, an elderly couple, watching the droplets monotonously tremble and surface.

He ran his finger over the last page, held his breath and longingly gazed into her green eyes. Their golden rims, scintillating in the faint daylight. Unaware, so hopelessly unaware of the perils and joy those eyes had witnessed.

“Why'd you stop reading?” She questioned, perplexed.

“I'm afraid theres not much left to say” He lamented.

“But- but the story was left incomplete?” Her eyes widened, “Closure is crucial!” she exclaimed vehemently. As she bit her chapped lower lip, a tremble quivered, surfacing a hesitant pout as she gulped, anticipating a response.

He shut and flipped the book, placed it hesitantly on the table as his arm quivered. “My love, it is with great dysphoria, that I say, some stories-- most stories, in fact, end abruptly, with no substantial closure, with an absence of solace. Bends to the mercy of the grim reaper. This journey known as life pokes and prods, and as you glance, it snatches. We are merely vagabonds.”

She stared forlornly at the crack on the wall. The melancholy was lucid.

“But they went through so much, they- they survived”

“Ah yes, because it is some stories, that need no conclusion, that require no “closure” as you might say, for they are eternal, they know woe and sorrow, they are bred from loss, and thrive on turmoil but they stand, they conquer, they, are the ones that bear the most honor. For it is those stories that apperceive and recognize joy, surpassing the superficial aspect, focalizing the unadulterated, pure joy. Those are the stories that breed eternal misery, yet contemplate an undying love, passion, vigor. People lament the unknown, what they fail to comprehend is that knowing often deceives.”

She gazed at the white ribbon knotted to a reedy branch, as it danced with glee in the piercing wind. The shriveled skin under her eye twitched as the tears glistened.

“Do you know what it feels like, mister? To not know? Most days are a blur, they come, they go. When I sit on a chair my knowledge lingers of much more idealistic comprehension. Writing of fears are what I mostly diverse myself into thinking, for it is the only thing I know. My fears, my deepest desires. I don’t remember much more. My morbidity always topples over my knowledge over the time of written prosperity and tranquility. I cannot go back to the confinement of my room. My thoughts yet settle over the strangeness encompassing the room of pure hellish atmosphere. It tries to talk. The objects do not remain as others who are silent, instead they resemble sounds of unknown antecedent. But they all sound so familiar. I fail to reminisce. Its exhausting, i'm exhausted. A deep black chasm is all that remains. I cease to exist most days.”

His eyes filled with tears, as he exhaled silently.

“But, I do know, I wish I didn't. You, my love, addressed me as “mister”, I repeat this daily, a mundane chore, is all this remains. But your entrancing beauty drives me, this monotonous pattern, transitions into a more sonorous form. For we vowed to bestow our lives to the mercy of the other, in good times and bad. Tomorrow, day after, soon, you will fail to recollect this, but uttering these words will never be any less harder. You have been in this home for the last 18 years, and I will stand by your side everyday, read your incomplete story to you everyday, love you everyday until we find a cure for Alzheimer's, my love ”

He reached for his shirt pocket, revealing a sturdy black pen, the faint light reflected on its gold rim as her stealthily handed it to her. She looked terribly confused, the perplexity on her wan visage was a reason for amusement to him after almost two decaades, justifying the low murmured chuckle that followed.
“Continue your story, let us continue our story! But beware, you have fallen in love with a writer, hence, to me, you will never die, your story, my love, will remain. For eternity.”

By Aalia F

Reviews

[max_vonnegut]

Have you read the Bear Came Over the Mountain? I read your description and thought that it bears resemblance. Anyway, I liked this story a lot. I liked that their conversation was meaningful, although the dialogue is kinda difficult to follow..somewhere towards middle.. I think it's kind of a bit too saturated with big words.
I love the beginning and the end, they were very well written! Good story, you're a good writer.