I would have gone out, but it was raining. Again. I looked at my watch with its worn leather bracelet tightly curled around my wrist. 3:10 pm. I had a lot of time left to pack my things. But I didn't want to. I wanted to go out and taste the fresh air I'd pull into my lungs. I'd take a walk just to put my thoughts into order again. I'd see the cows, sheep and horses pleased with the healthy grass. I'd see the collies barking in our neighbour's garden. I'd see the partly brown leafs curling in the pre-autumn wind. I'd see the usual houses, cars and people. But it was raining. So I'd stay inside. It was not the kind of drizzle you could go out in, it was that kind of heavy rain that hit the ground, or anything that would be in its way, a little too hard.
So I sat behind the window and looked through the wet glass and felt its melancholy. I couldn't stop wishing for the taste of freedom, but all I tasted was dust. My life was so boring that dust had already settled in every aspect of it. The melancholy intensified.
I should really pack.
I could hear the faint sounds the piano made at my brother's hands from up the stairs. My love for piano music stopped right where he touched the black and white keys with his fingertips.
I should pack, by the way.
Pulling my forehead away from the dry glass, I hopped down the icy cold window sill to the even colder stone floor. And up the stairs I went, right towards the ending of the song that was played. It felt like reaching the top of the stairs was the end. Of what? I didn't care. Maybe everything, perhaps only a chapter.
A few old coins, fished from beneath my mattress, entered my left pant pocket with a rather forceful shove. In the upper drawer of my sideboard was a blue felt tip pen. I checked on the back of my hand whether it was still working (It was), and tucked it safely behind the waistband of my jeans. I took it so I could paint the sky blue.
I slid down the wooden stairs, away from the sounds that were not nearly as beautiful as my thoughts.
Entering the big room, I pulled the newspaper from the dining room table and let it drop to the floor, letting myself drop to my knees right next to it. A few careful movements made the so incredibly aimless paper into something of a great value. I held the paper boat up against the light that made it through clouds and rain. The fighters under the sun rays.
I smiled. It would sure be able to lead my way into a new day.
I pulled on the too-heavy rain gear that didn't quite want to fit, leaving me looking like a shapeless heap of fabric and opened the front door with one passionate pull. I smelt the rain and the grass and the freedom. Two brick stone steps down and out I was. I set the paper boat down in a saturated stream of water that drew a dreamy vale into the sandy path it ran along, and knew it would lead me as best it might.
So I ran through the rain, my brother's piano melody playing endlessly in my thoughts, towards the beginning. Of what? I didn't care. Maybe everything, perhaps a chapter, or maybe only the end of the sandy path.
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Author's Note:
Thanks for the read!
#959 on Melancholy guys, yaasss!!
If you want me to jump up and down in my room, please consider giving this story a vote or even a comment :) It really makes my day!
For you it costs a couple seconds of your time, for me it's worth everything.
Have a lovely day,
Julie
