A Precious Gift

Not all gifts given are blessings

The Eastern wind drove away so much sadness; much sadness that none is left for him. Days felt like scrolls of emptiness waiting to be written by no one. Void and plain, an ecstasy of pure austerity smeared in a tint of nakedness, blunt and bold, on a barren unknown. Stark of this lonely night, when shall his self be him?

Seconds before dawn, he gained something he can be proud of: a precious gift. He acquired a profound inevitable that exudes an aroma of hours’ past.  Nostalgic. Time came so swiftly: its big arm conquered what its small hand has shunned. That same time that took away his yesterday, that feared old basilisk, snared past through an old cabin just to hand him a precious gift.

Looking on the figure that stands below, astonishment kissed passionately like a lover. It is ironic because he never had one. Wrapped in figures of gold and lust, the sight banqueted. The shadow slowly devours his eyes in whole. Creeping outside the inner silhouette, its sound broke the silence’s din.

Hush.

 Hush.

The gravity of the ache that licked below invited him to contemplate the nefarious within. Such divinity rode seven thousand resolves, of virgins and aces, to a place where its actions require. Luxury and fame then hospitably opened an entrée of which every soul would sacrifice to stay there. Every soul that was witnessed by tainted eyes. Truly, a sight that only a beholder can behold.

  Though he regained a little consciousness, it is far better that he have not.   What stood before him appears like the night’s phantom though its mask can no longer hid the escalating grim. He looked at the window and the sight took away his breath; the moon was ripped in half, yet, each piece was greater than the other. Then, it came without pity, crumbling away what’s left from his night. As he seeks every mercy, everything but mercy was granted to him. It gave him more than the gift he thought he could have. Every lick of pain and humiliation slowly dampens his skin and this caused an unbearable discomfort. His eyes flickered with disgust but his body can no longer resist his journey’s imminent conclusion. He was angry. He is angry. But to whom shall he vent this anger but to himself, who allowed such tempest to touch him first?

Regret is darkness dressed beneath the human skin. After the deed is done, it slowly creeps out from the depression on his navel down to the tips of his fingers. His senses are no longer with him. And as I wrote this piece which I no longer possess, the stench of my own betrayal suddenly lingers the room and made me grin, for the turmoil I felt yesterday and today echo so sweetly. This, I believed, he experienced since a hysterical laughter escaped from his lips and broke the eerie silence of the night. He finally woke up. Beads of sweat broke from his forehead and from his mouth, a sigh. His expedition has ended. And as he continues to start the next pages of his life, a glimmer not far away caught his eye. He stood from his bed and, in the obscurity of his chamber; he picked up a medley that shook the balance of his being: a precious gift.