by Rachelle de Bretagne

Created on: March 02, 2007   Last Updated: May 14, 2007

NEEDS NOT FORGOTTEN

I saw the black cloaked figure looming in the distance or was it a shadow ?

The landscape was bleak, bleaker than it had been in previous winters, tinged with a deep violet from the newly flowering heather, though cold against a white sky. The trees seemed threatening, their branches swaying with no harmony. Quite the contrary, it was as if they argued against being weather beaten. Peter would not see it. Peter would not feel the winds that sweep across the hills, or feel that cold that chills to the bone. He was gone.

I had been dabbling with memories, searching out photographs of moments, when I was distracted by what looked like a man in the distance outside. Perhaps it was a shadow. I closed the shutters, in order to forget the vision of that figure, hoping that imagination had taken me into the realms of the unbelievable, and then upon opening them again, the figure would be gone.

The fire in the hearth burnt brightly, and I watched the little flames burn like memories do. How strange the coincidences were between the acts of nature, and the workings of the human mind, how we interpret events in different fashions dependent upon our mood, and that particular moment in time. I poked the fire, in order to create more warmth, more security. Peter always poked the fire and now it was my turn.

Wind was blustering against the shutters and made them rattle. There was emptiness in the house; a house that has seen warmth though now only knew where the vagaries of the mind conjure up negativity and bleakness. "Do you want to go out tonight?" Peter would have asked on a night like this. He disliked the winter. His escape was a visit to friends, or an evening in a local restaurant. He never escaped into me. I always wished he had.

Curiosity got the better of me eventually. I knew it would. I opened the shutters to see if the figure was indeed a figure rather than a figment. I felt the cold chill of the night air against my arm as I reached to open the shutters. The metal catch was cold in my hand, and my heart was heavy, not wanting confirmation that the figure was there, more curious to know if my mind was wandering into the obscurity of old age and questionable logic, like my mother's mind had done so many times.

The lights of the next village burnt brightly in the distance, silhouetting the form of trees and shrubs. I felt cold and aware of my own frailty. The figure was still there, although this time, I could clearly see his arm beckoning me towards

• 1
• 2
• Next Page >>