AMACon 3: Oikos Omnibus

Adagio Sostenuto

She has always been like this, devoid of any emotion.

Her eyes reflect an unfathomable depth which one could not entirely understand; surrounded by shadow, a hollow shell of herself. Emotions always fail her, affection isn’t her strongest suit. She was born that way and she has accepted that since the beginning; but not everyone will. Whispers of her “abnormality” keep floating about: she was judged, ignored and even frowned upon.

Everyone mocked the way she stood motionless as her parents were lowered six feet under; how she never even shed a tear while throwing roses to their graves. Some looked at her with pity while some even shower her with love and understanding but she could not return the favor; could not return the affection they crave for.

So, she isolates herself; away from the world, far from everyone.

What’s the use of being with people when your heart could not even recognize fondness? What’s the use of trying to be normal when your heart feels like its not even there?

But habit takes her right in the middle of a town which she constantly wants to escape from. Everyday without fail, she walks through town in a familiarity she wants to ignore but chooses to acknowledge.

Everyday without fail, she walks through a path to a place she feels comfortable the most; a place where they reside.

Maine looks at the sky and lets out a sigh.

She has always loved sunsets. It reminds her that she is capable of warmth even if its impossible; that that she could allow herself to feel even it its close to nil.

She is fond of the hues it creates: of warmth that gives her the illusion of a dream, the appearance of happiness even for a short while. All she could do is stop and marvel at the golden splendor only for her to continue on when dusk finally arrives.

She is used to doing the same thing everyday, to wait till dusk comes, but not today.

Today is an important day.

Today is the anniversary of their death.

Maine pushes the rusty, old gate to the town’s cemetery. She walks through a path she knows by heart; a path she of the goes through whenever she feels the need to talk. Through he grass in a place where death is the norm, she finally sees them. She brushes the tombstone for the first time in weeks; lays the flowers, of carnations and stargazers and lets out a ghost of a smile.

“Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad. Little Maine is back.”