Death's Touch

Chapter 1. There and Back Again, or stay at home.

Writer's Note:

Hello there! A few words before you dive into the story and disappear in another world. This work of mine was written a few years ago when I was not, let's say, in my best state. It does not mean that the story is full of whining, cheesy lines of ohpoorme style. Vice versa, in fact. 

Yes, it is more sensual and visual than a great deal of my works, and sometimes it can feel like stream of consciousness (in its healthy meaning); but, I promise, the whole story has actually its purpose which, I hope, you will be able to unravel by the end of it. 

I greatly appreciate any passerby who actually stops by and sacrifices their time to read my work. Feedback, criticism are welcomed as long as they are not ignorant.

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Chapter 1. 

There and Back Again, or stay at home.

The farthest corner of the room was occupied by Silence, who stood lonely out there and examined me with her cold, icy eyes. One of Her hands held a mechanical watch, which said that the time was a few minutes before... something. This pair of watch I got on a fair during one Autumn day, which was totally not what I had expected when I firstly moved in this city.

A grim, rainy day plunged the city gloomily into a lethargic state, pushing my own thoughts to immense absurdity. Every thought of mine made me think of her: Pain. How much time has passed since the last time we met? Where is She, and what is She eating? Has she abandoned me, or she will return in my life?

These kinds of questions did not leave me alone for the whole day, that's why, having thrown a dark coat over my shoulders, I trotted outside hearing the doors smashing behind my back.

Sloppy blacktop laid noiselessly while people and cars were tramping it down and roll drips of rain into it, feeling zero urges of empathy. The sky, engulfed by impenetrably dark clouds, relentlessly erupted its feeling onto the heads of those who could not care more than about their minor, pointless plans.

Thousands of silhouettes were rushing by me, talking just for the sake of talking, making noises just to be heard at least by someone. Having zipped my coat tighter, I took out my only friend – an umbrella, and slowly headed to my point of destination -Botanical Garden.

It was the only place in the city I knew since I had moved into it five months ago, and, truly, it was my favorite place. It usually took around thirty minutes – precisely, thirty-one minute and fifty seconds on a sunny day – to get there. Sounds a lot? Perhaps, but for me, it was thirty minutes of walking side by side with Commotion. You can not even imagine what it is like to walk for thirty minutes next to Commotion, listening to Her stories and magical laughter. Trust me, She is the funniest, most lively woman you can ever meet in your life – dressed up in colorful clothes, shining and playing with colors in her face, she could almost literally swallow anyone if they stop and converse with her. No matter whether you are an architect, philologist, programmer or from the poorest, most miserable district of the town, she will always find something to talk with you about. I was not an exception. She helped me pass my thirty minutes of a stroll to the Botanical Garden.

That day, when I finally reached the garden, an unusual feeling of excitement overcame me. It was closed. The garden was never closed! This is the first rule – never close the garden. Antique, metal gates a few meters high shut the entrance to the territory of the garden, and a sign said that any trespassing would be considering a felony, and punished accordingly.