Book Of Narratives

Nostalgic Tragedy

In the stillness of the wind, in the calmness of nature, in the way the still surroundings can sooth one's mind, she looks at the crystal clear lake beneath the valley, while she sits idly on a lone rock, thinking.

With how hectic her life seems to be ever since she moved to this hustling bustling city, Grace is glad she can just come to a peaceful place, where she can just stop and think, without any interruptions from her busy schedule.

As Grace looks across to the mountain, she wonders what it is like to have such a beauty as nature. And she wonders how people can contaminate our home, our world, by industrialisation. Don't get me wrong, industrialisation is good for the world to prosper, but the way that we humans did it, all those decades ago, can be degrading to our species, for the centuries to come.

She had originally came here to relax, and to get away from the harsh reality she was living back home. However, no matter what she thinks, no matter what she does, her mind eventually comes back to the tragic day, a fortnight or so ago, something she just cannot for the life of her escape from.

It is engraved into her mind, her heart, her soul, engraved like the sentimental words upon a marble gravestone, the chipped words pour out all of her emotions, playing them like a film. A film on a loop of determination, forcing her to watch, the hands of time holding her face sternly, adamant on forcing her suffering. To feel the guilt she had just about managed to suppress for all these days.

She shuts her watery eyes tightly, attempting to stop the flow of tears like a rusty tap. And no matter how she wills herself to not shed tears, a few teardrops trails out of the corners of her eyes against her will, smoothly making their journey down her cheeks.

The wind blows in her face, her chocolate coloured hair, causing her cheeks to chill and flush in the sudden coldness, as cold as a bucket of ice cold water. It is nature's call to face the reality.

She's gone. And nothing can be done to bring her back.

Delicately brushing the pads of her fingers across her tear stained, flush cheeks, a memory almost reluctantly comes to mind.

She was on the 112 stagecoach bus, on her way home. And with the condensation, grey murky sky, as well as the rain bucketing heavily outside, she couldn't tell if she was at her stop yet or not. The bus stopped as a passenger rang the buzzer to stop the bus, and climbed out as soon as it had stopped, before lifting his umbrella as he exited the bus. The bus driver closed its doors, but then opened them again. Entering the bus, was a girl of around twenty two, absolutely drenched from the rain. She honestly looked like a drowned cat. She showed the bus driver her pass, then took a seat directly in front of her. She couldn't help but crack a smile at the hilarious state the girl was in, which caused her to let out a giggle, before covering her mouth so that the girl in the seat in front of her didn't hear. Yet the girl turned to her, and she smirked slightly.

They had started a conversation, getting to know one another, all throughout the journey. And, when it was her stop, with the exchange of numbers and promising to meet up, she left the bus that stopped just across the road from her house.

Grace laughs at this memory. Ever since that night on the bus, the girl, Sonya, and Grace, became good friends, met each other regularly, and became closer than friends, the only thing separating them now, was that tragic day two weeks ago.

'Oh, Sonya.' She thinks in her mind, sobbing more loudly that they echo around the valley.

Sonya and Grace had an argument, over a somewhat petty topic, and Sonya stormed out in a fit of blind rage. Grace followed after her, called her, yet she carried on. And without having time to see, time to warn her, a car came screeching round the corner, crashing into a mad Sonya. She was dead instantly, with a crushed skull, a few broken bones, internal bleeding, and joint and spine fracture.

Maybe if Grace was able to stop her from leaving. Maybe if she hadn't started the argument in the first place. Maybe if she just left the topic alone. Then maybe, just maybe, Sonya would still be here today. And Grace wouldn't be feeling all this guilt, fear and pain. Maybe she wouldn't feel this ongoing sadness that erupts from her heart like a volcano erupts lava.

Wiping her cheeks, Grace stands up, grabs her back pack, and walks away from the valley.

She has had enough of this trip. It is time to face reality. Sonya isn't coming back. She is gone. It is better to accept what has happened, and simply move on. For the sake of her sanity...