The Observer

" Untangled Strings " Have you ever woken up one morning drenched in sweat, shaking and you know that something's off about everything not in its rightful place or time? That lingering feeling in your stomach that sends shivers to your spine? That warm feeling you feel only when you're dreaming? The warmth of love, coldness of hate, blood red anger and the bitterness of sadness that overflows with great intensity you just can't help but to sit on your bed staring on your empty room; as beads of tears slowly traverse your cheeks. But every time, your mind fails to give answers on what unexplainable tragedy can cause all those feelings, like a void that's longing to be filled, with something or someone; God knows that you tried everything in your power to convince yourself that it was all a crazy feeling that everyone who dreams feels. And the best part of it is, try as you might but no matter how hard you bang your head on the wall, you just can't remember anything, and yet it felt like heaven and earth switched places, like fish suddenly learned to fly and butterflies, well they are still lovely as they always are, but the thing is, you woke up and you feel like you're not the same person as before; as if you lived on a different world you just can't remember; but your soul aches deep inside it pains you, as if something should be done but you failed to do it. And after minutes pass you just tell yourself that it is just a dream, as loud as you like; fooling yourself that this time you just might believe it. Sometimes it's easy to be torn between dreams and reality, but in our world it those two just won't touch, want to why it won't touch? I can give you a reason why; bills, projects that needed to be rushed, appointments that cannot be missed, jobs that we're trying hard to cling into; well that's four actually But my point is, life hinder us to do things that we used to do all the time when we are still a child; That is to let ourselves go, let our mind fly wander through the vastness of the sky, feel the soft blades of grass on the field, smell the intoxicating scent of all the flowers we don't know ever existed back then, As if life plucked our feather one by one as we grew older, the feathers that gives us freedom to be whoever we want to be, wherever we want and whenever we want; the moment our feathers are gone; The void in our chest starts to grow, little by little it grew, every sadness, heart breaks, lie's and almost everything that sorrows us no matter how little we might think it is; it feeds the small blackness in our chest until we can no longer feel anything; until it is too late, we are no more; no more than a living cadaver waiting for its destined moment to be celebrated and led six feet under. Only a handful of people understands, only a handful accepts and only a handful person can endure, Now let me tell you a story that made me tear that very thin fabric of dream and reality; As they touch it led me to believe that I can still live with this; that like birds feathers grow, That it is never too late to fly again this the story of Jack and Lucille tethered by the invisible thread of fate. Atop of a rocky mountains surrounded by a handful of grass and tree line, and a magnificent view of a once great lake that almost everyone that see it for the first time left them in awe, this rocky monolith is located on top of a mountain that is very well know at that time for its great views and ethereal ambiance almost it was almost like once a paradise, littered with people climbing to and fro; trails not that recognizable anymore, and once grasslands is now a dusty place where hikers pitched their portable homes ( tent ). It was a cold November afternoon the cool breeze that everyone loves this season can now be felt, As he rose from his tent pitched on the far side of the dusty campsite where people doesn't usually go, he fixed his gears; tied his shoes two knots just to be secured because it'll be a tough climb if someone going to watch the sunset on top of the monolith; he packed his worn out sketchbook and tucked it securely in his backpack; after a minute or two of preparations he now started the short but stiff ascend to the said monolith. The smell of the grass; the perfume of the mountain breeze as he calls it, calms him; as he took his last step on the rocky side of the monolith; he then reached the top, gasping for air on his knees; he smiled as if it was a great accomplishment what he did, Although there were lots of hikers on the campsite that afternoon, he found himself alone on top of the monolith, which is quite odd; he just shrugged and said " more for me then " he doesn't like the company of noisy strangers anyways, and would like to alone if he were to paint the scenery that he is eagerly waiting to unfold, so he walked a while looking for his spot, the same old spot; he used to go A place where you can sit and face the great lake and watch the sunset to come, As he sat on that boulder that almost resembles an ancient sacrificial stone because of its almost perfectly flat surface on top, he lay his pack in his side, and gently caress the smooth surface he is sitting on, it felt warm; a perfect afternoon he said, he now grabbed his rugged sketchpad and as he turned page after page he found a blank textured page; a perfect surface to paint the beauty of everything. He waited and waited, minute after minute he glance to his watch; time goes so slow when you're waiting for something beautiful " he said ", He closed his eyes for a second, left all his senses to wander but his sight, Feeling every breeze, savoring the smell of the air, touching the smoothness of the stone around him; He felt free for a minute in his entire life; free from the vast exploits of the modern civilization he lives on as if he's one with the mountain. Moment passed that he never realized the cool gentle breeze becoming more fierce by the second, and beads of water coming from the air blew in his face, the smile on his face started to fade and as he opened his eyes he just cant believe what he see as he looked around him. The nearly crimson tint of the afternoon skies is now black as if no light can get through, The magnificent clouds that he loves to look at because of the random shapes that it makes; was nowhere to be found, might be blown the harsh wind; as if a storm suddenly appeared before him, caught him off guard, he was bewildered by what he saw; the joy and excitement melted away like a candle, as fear and panic took over his body, he know not what to do; he does not even sure if he is still in the same place he is when he closed his eyes; if not from the smooth stone that now is drenched with cold rain; He stood up knowing not what to do he grabbed his pack, shaken by panic he just couldn't find his headlamp, because of the darkness there is no way he can go back without proper illumination, The weather is only becoming worse, winds circling around the monolith all he can see is the vague light that the moon provides aside from that it is pitch black; he slowly walked back from he thinks he came from, tripping every step of the way; crawling on the sharp stones but he doesn't care all he wish for that moment is to get back home as he started to lose hope he heard a sound; vague for a moment but he can tell that it is not the wind, then it calls again, gradually audible every second until like it was just a whisper into his ears, calling his name " Jack " softly, the voice is comforting and warm so as he lay there helpless he looked up, can never really see anything in the darkness but he recognize a black figure, almost like a haze slowly walking towards him, every step it calls his name " Jack ", he know that he should be scared but he's not, he felt like if he would to survive he must reach whatever it is that is calling his name. Bruised and helpless he reached out his hand as if calling for " It's" help, " it " is now a foot closer to him but he still can't see it clearly, all he knew that time it's silhouette of a woman, a woman he does not recognize but knew his name, as he stretched his arms further to the woman's direction, they're hand touched, her hand was surprisingly warm and dry, and all the fear and panic that he felt was completely washed away, as he gently stood on his feet, he is now face to face with the woman, confused by what is happening he gently pull her closer to him see the woman's face. Every inch closer and closer, he felt the harsh winds became more manageable and light began to penetrate the unforgiving void that envelops his line of sight; Face to face, as the last remnant of the darkness subsides; the light softly illuminated the woman's face; Her flowing long black hair gently flows to the wind swaying like grass on the river. A smile on her lips welcomed him, her smiling eyes greeted him as if it was to be expected; as if she knew him very well; Jack knew very well what the word " beauty " stands for in his own standards, but this woman in front of him took him by surprise, a woman in her mid 20's mestiza with a hint of Filipina heritage; her pouty red lips, light brown eyes that ever since he saw her; her did not even for a second took his glance from, and her glowing soft skin that glows into the moonlight; as it was like a scene from a fantasy movies. And once again she whispered "Jack", woken in his trace like state by that sweet voice; He gathered his depleting energy and with his low voice he replied, " who are you?" The woman still smiling replied, " I promised you I would come " He didn't know what she meant by that; his confused expression says it all, But just kept on smiling as she got closer to me, the scent of the flowers he knew very well but just cannot recall envelop his nostril as her hair touched his face, she whispered into his ear " Que, Sera Sera (what will be, will be) " And followed by " Jack, you can wake up now " as the clear image of her slowly turns into a misty visage then darkness slowly follows.