THE BRIGHT SUN above my head was brighter than any sunny day in winter it was graced with a multitude of fluffy clouds whirling the sky, it cascaded down a sheen of vibrant golden yellow, milder and warmer winds brimmed in the air which was definitely much preferred than any slight day of sun shine in winter. It felt just like a renewed passion twisted with sweet serenity, totally the antithesis of what I felt.

  I felt like that single cord; the narrow wick, in a candle, the straight thin golden blue glow, burning out in the wind, diminishing every passing second, lessening it's existence, near to extinguish out and infuse the air with faint thin smoke, and soon enough when the smoke died out, it will be like it was never there.

  I sat in the heart of our crispy green rose garden, shaded by one of our oldest trees, the flowering cherry, I sat on our wrought iron seats, reclining deep into my seat, my head was crowned skyward, gazing into the nothingness, my clouded mind offered, my hands trembling, its raspy gruff voice still loitered the hallways in my mind, confusion didn't only just pinch at me, it peeled the skin right out of me, obliterating everything else and leaving me dry, just like a hollow skeleton. Everything I thought, I planned was all just behind a pretext, that little monster made.

  It kept on railing in my mind of what it said.

  

  Once again, it managed to make me feel stupid and more gloomier than I already was. Nothing I did was of any commonsensical act. What did I honestly expected?

  My hands held a tight grip on the armrest. Our common interest, was starting to look very dim and less negotiable, Trembling even more, this time, I was going to wield myself not to infuriate and toss or break things. The exasperation railed in through me like weeds on a plant.

  And the worse feeling, swallowed me, as ugly as sin, and as bitter as cauliflower, in all this what was my next move? If this was a game and I had to make a move to proceed and lose a player, or stay and just surrender to defeat of failure to think of a solution and act it out. Only THREE words answered every question I asked myself.

  - I. Didn't. Know

  - I. Didn't. Know.

  - I. Didn't. Know.

  I wouldn't. I couldn't. I utterly refused to even think of thoughts of trusting it. I felt like I was a little man in large maze lost and searching for a way out, I was confused.

  I soaked in a sum of air before letting it all out in one breath, a warm breeze, railing the leaves from the flowering crabapple tree side to side, twinkling through the crispy turf, brushing up my skin, the root of exasperation sowing up a seed in my guts spreading upward like wild fire on a Savannah in the tall dry grass, toward my lungs causing my cheeks to feel this igniting sensation, I tugged in more air to ease myself, my eyes gently shifting downward, halted to what was in front.

  The small flower pots of purple rhododendrons, that where just across the cobblestone pathway, rustled in familiar memories, that kept on dragging their way through like circles, even IF I tried I just can't seem to get away from this new rattling part of my life.

  I steadily switched from my back enforcing more pressure on my thighs folding my arms at them as I leaned forward, ultimately, noticing these legs that stood right behind the flowers, taken by aback, my mouth parted in shock. As I swung my rigid form, closer narrowing my eyes at the wanner legs, identifying, feminine and long. My gaze travelled upward to the fitting, who'd just coarsely perturbed my space.

  I noticed that she wore thin material, a material so thin, it almost seemed see through, right at the beginning of her peachy pink knees, it was mint green, I trailed it up as it held tightly to her skin, it comprised of pleats and folds, I reluctantly commenced into an outbreak of chills of cold beats of sweat, as I had a hunch of whom I knew I'd see as my view headed upward, her dress~ looking~ like outfit seemed to be a little tightened around her narrow waist; so narrow my pair of hands could fit perfectly around, it led to an oversized tea rose top, with long sleeves and a cut opening to the chest, in form of a v neck, but covering up any slight of cleavage.

  Her beautiful wild curls, coils of them spiralling around, roughly like an entire bird nest settled there, all of her springy knots and thick coil waves, all so rough but soft headlining attached to her pretty small head, their deep color that of the peony buckeye belle flowers, that flared intensely dark maroon red, glossy and lovely, with black as coal razor sharp brows, slept on etiolated misty rose skin, that had numerous creamy dark brown speckes like a starry Night sky; a constellation. On her somewhat benevolent face; on her bridge, cheeks, and slightly upper her pert nose.

  Lightningly, my eyes settled on her indulging eyes, sealed, her dark eyelashes curtaining down, on her high cut sharp cherry pink cheek bones, I had a resolute memory of what I'd remembered her astounding bright eyes looked like; The palest. Paler than any sweet summery blue sky I had ever seen, nothing compared to autumn skies, far more lighter than the cold blue skies of winter, brighter than any gleamy daylight ocean; unreadable at times but always scarpering to patterns of surprise and worry, fear at it's usual attendance. As if answering my overly question.

  They precipitated to sluggishly uncurtain themselves; with motions of awakening from slumber, I prowled, my skin crumped with various seams of abundant annoyance, to which I urged myself to resist by calming down, I impatiently wished- demanded to see her unusual sight, of blooming sunrise of the morning, I once saw a sunset so gorgeous, it slightly faded off behind the clouds and gave such a radiant beauty, the clouds amplified the glisten beauty, were her desaturated cyan blue eyes, but I couldn't shake off that apprehensive feeling, I mean how could I when she was about, whenever she was around me or I could feel her slight presence lurking at the corner of my back, dreaming was not enough for her to jut her way through my skin but she was in my reality, like a t constantly stalking, anytime I was alone she'd appear, As if that wasn't bemusing enough. My eyes widen to saucers gazing instead at something rather. . . Else.

  Her rare eyes were just all blurry and spectral, as though she had been blinded, they had this dense coat over them, a white shadow blanketing her entire eyes, with fog and misty with dark- pitch black eyeliner circling them. It had already hinted out that something was wrong rather from her abrupt arrival but something else was off, her stance had dug it's roots deep with caution and instilled petrified fear, as I paid attention to her movements, her pale long thin fingers anxiously twigged and twitched as though, she couldn't help by the crawling feeling of something creeping on her skin, she made a little twist with her forefinger and her middlefinger, folding and unfolding, and her tremulous thin figure, took a shattering step back, as she swung on her heel.

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  Like an instinct, I felt my slim weight lift up, like the lightness of a feather, and I was up.

  Her movement faltered, though she had been wounded, by her left leg, she limped, like a wounded fowl, her shadowy figure shuddered deep into the garden, skipping passed those tall rhododendrons, into the fold of the shadows by which the rose carpet walls birthed. My blank gaze had now disappeared, finally giving in to the waverly turbulence it aspired within my bones, I felt my brows meet, I hadn't noticed, my fingers trembling. I chuffed my fists, deepening them right into my palms; clenching them so deep, I swore they'd rip right into my flesh, I bit at the turmoil feeling I felt, a crackling flash of something that resembled lightening struck down my spine straight to the bloody core.

  With every fazing step I took, following to where I heard the footsteps head to, I had just passed a turn, thinking back to myself that this garden felt more than that it actually felt like a maze. My figure halted, realizing I had just passed a figure, I'd noticed at the corner of my eye, inside one of the turns. It followed by whispers of sighs. I immediately swung back, on my feet and trailed to where I heard, the noise.

  My sight fixed on the slender tall frame, identifying, masculine and familiar. He was tucked in black trousers, white shirt, light checked dallas, and one neat black necktie. They seemed to be something rather different in his stance, I didn't know what it was, but it perceived like some shade of. . .Sadness.

  It was though murk had overthrown on him, like an embrace of a thick dust cloud of grieving and anguishing mist swirling around him. He's features sketched brutally into folds of grim.

  He's mouth cut into a deep form of a frown, I cocked my head sideways, I discovered that he had his attention engrossed at something; he had something in his hands, something like a pocket watch, his famous gleaming silver pocket watch ever since I arrived back here, I had constantly seen him here and there, shooting glances at it. He's attention full on he hadn't even noticed me walk by, I peeked at his side, sharply recognizing what it was this whole time a locket.

  It a watch, but it opened and inside that vintage pocket watch, was a framed little photo. Of a fair lady, somewhere around late thirties and a boy probably in his tweens, I assumed his wife and son. He was looking at a photo of them, the lady in a navy blue dress that seemed to add compliments to her gray eyes, she had a tiny ring piercing on her hawk shaped nostrils, that rounded around turgid cheeks, her wavy soft hair of light Auburn folded down around her open pear bronze face, her angelic smile reached her eyes as she had her arm around the shoulder, of the tween who had burgundy brown locks that fell at his shoulder in form of waves, like an open curtain to his freckled beige face, deep brown eyes as familiar as Albert's eyes, a commissure smile, resided with a touch of bliss.

  I could only see a half amount of his side view, it was enough to captivate the arduous he had in his eyes, all fixed at the photo, I also noticed, something else, that he's features, told a story of everything he shielded his bold face, at all times, the hollow folds, unfolding. And if you looked hard enough, you could tell that he was holding back tears. He's face scalded melancholy with blood drained, pale like an invalid.

  I had never seen him like this, he was usually in a bright mood, brisky, equanimity and sometimes stolid never sad, it was like something foreign for him, to be down in the dumps, I know it's a normal thing, and supposedly no matter how hard we try, we always seem to meet sadness, for a reason I thought Albert didn't have any. He was a good man, I know, and I think, I judged by that too much, and fixed him in a position- to a part that he didn't deserve any sadness, he was too good for that. But that's Not how reality works, in reality everyone, in some sort of instance goes through pain and sadness, even the undeserving~ good ones.

  ''Neat watch.'' Words slipped out of my mouth. I could have left him so that he could have had this moment and just walked away, unnoticeably. I just had to ascertain, I wanted to know, to find out why he looked so dejected. It just kept on nudging at me to not leave things as they are.

  He finally noticed me. He's eyes moved at the speed of a heart beat, and he blinked back the tears, he was holding back, as he forced his face to return to his usual but I felt he couldn't forge it to, he couldn't take away that frown, and a dragging dreary sigh brushed out of him, long and apologetic, he's eyes never leaving the sight of his watch.

  His voice hummed lowly, ''It belonged to my son.'' He said grimly and incisive, It sounded like he didn't want to say but like he just had to, and I immediately noticed his voice cracked, lacking the confidence it always had. He sounded impaired and filled with seams of sorrow and pain.

  I looked down at my foot, moving the little rock I found under my shoe at small volumes; back and forth. Memory of him brimmed along, enthusing about his son, many many years ago.

  ''Saint, right?'' I smiled, recalling his son's name, he named him after his grandfather, he had told me once.

  Dear Albert, I remembered all the affection he had for his son, whenever he'd be fanatically talking about him, all the time and everytime, he referenced me with his son, many times, saying we were alike, behavior and tantrums. Wherever he'd get stuck trying to make me do something I didn't want to do, he'd use the tactics he used on his son on me, it'd work out, and hence he'd relate us. Although it had been a while since I heard him speak about him.

  ''Yes.'' He said quietly gratuitous, his unnerved voice, so haggard and flat like the dryness of his mouth, as though he had been deserted in a desert with nothing to imbibe, he's thin lips, dry and pale white; bloodless, soaking up a large volume of air, his chest rising a great deal, though bracing himself for the worst, he's firm grip on the watch tightened. And his eyes flickered back a fresh thin layer of hiding tears; he's eyes glassy and turning red, it seemed like he was longing for something- someone. ''He's birthday, was last Saturday.''

  ''He's a few years older than me, isn't he Albert?'' I purred, priding myself that I could remember all these little details, from a distant time. Whiting at the gravity of this conversation.

  But he didn't seem impressed at all, his stance was still, on the layers of gloom now tending to sullen. He's lips stretched horizontally, not in the form of a smile. He merely nodded.

  ''Twenty.'' He gasped breaths out trounced, in tones of letting a long grudge go or something like longing words, that he had to get off his chest.

  His words unwittingly, became a modifing cadence, it felt like it took all within him to speak it out, when he finally did they were devoured by grief. ''He would have been twenty.''

  The cognizance finally settling in like a blow to my stomach. My form tensed, every cells, in my body, felt like I had just been frozen stiff with bloody snow, I felt a knot in my stomach churn, so tightly, it made my legs numb. And my eyes raced to him, wide like I had just witnessed a bloody slaughter, the blood drained off my face, stricken strews across my face, as I furrowed in shock. My smile was gone, like the top soil swept over a wave that hit a shore, replaced with a gap. And for a moment, I disallowed the words.

  About a few days ago. We were driving back home, from school. Cosmon had used a different route, to get me home, on the long way back home, they were multiple buildings, stores, mini marts, and a gas station. Near by the gas station were we stopped to get refilled, was a cemetery.

  As Cosmon was refilling, I was staring out side my window, across a road, a little down street. At a man, I took notice of, he was in a black suit with a black hat on, his face hidden, he was placing flowers on a grave, as he knelt down to acknowledge it, pausing for long seconds, just staring at it, they was a lot of tension battling within his figure, as if still mourning, in denial, shaking his head and pinching his bridge roughly. With one more Final glance, he's shattered form, stood up, and when he did, tricely, I noticed how familiar he looked; the body structure, he held his hat as he stood up and I recognized him. At first I wasn't sure if it was him, I didn't believe it was him, but it was Albert.

  I didn't bother to ask him, later, when I saw him, because I thought he was probably leaving flowers, for his deceased parents or distant aunt, but. . . Had I forgotten. Already, mentioning his son, like that. And. Just. Like . That. My neck felt like it snapped at an awkward angle. Like a brick had found it's way to my head. I remembered. God, I remembered. And the stupidness and pang I felt afterward for being so insensitive and careless. My skin tightening and getting clammy and sweaty. Goosebumps scoring a wide length over my skin.

  After we left all those years ago. I remembered a yard, so distinctively, so clear and sharp, Dad got a call from a familiar number, I sat next to him at a dinner outing, I recall it was after a hockey game we had watched during the early hours together, I remember this quite well, because it was the first time we were spending time together after our lean times. I remember that face he had, it almost mirrored one face I had seen him wear during our funeral, and so I asked him, what was with the change of his mood, he couldn't recommence or shake away that exasperated feeling he had after that call and so, we left, a couple of minutes later, he never did tell me who it was, he only mentioned later that week, that one of his employees back in Hevellyn Hills had just lost a relative. I now know who it was exactly, Albert.

  He used words to make references about these characters, but his somewhat encrypts had got to be this.

  Albert's son, Saint had gone missing for a few weeks, after he was finally found, he was found. . . . Dead.