Holding Hands In Hands - Flash Fiction

Reckoning is this moment on my mind while I glance at your weird countenance. I am still tasting the drink of those eternities which are abandoned long back. We both are related to each other but something is not comparable anymore. You and I have been sitting on the same crouch for years and yet enacting to perform the habit of straddling together.

Downpour begins falling again. Wetting our hands in hands through the outer layer of our fleshy surfaces. A bright flashlight tosses into my eyes from those days gone by. When we walked by the seaside for hours in that heavy storm. Laughing and gleaming in the colour of red. The very bright tint of romance. We layered our hearts with divine water of friendship and devotion. Our lips were soggy with moisture of warmth and fondness for each other. The gentle breeze was refreshing our faces. That picture of our sand hearts spreads smile on my dry lips whenever the clouds burst in the lap of blue sky to bathe the soil again.

All pushed away years before. Barely some dust of history we see behind now. Nothing pinches on. Not even damping our hands in hands in the rain. Our feelings don’t sense anything crazy. Standing up and strolling around the soaked grass is not exciting at all.

Shadows of grey and white have been lingering after for some good long periods. My husband doesn't see any rainbows anymore. Something broke down in his bony frame.

That car won't hit him if we never wandered in the heavy sleet holding hands in hands.

He saved me but was crushed for a mile long. I was moaning with pain and trauma. Somebody took him hospital out of sympathy. Paramedics rushed over to save my remained part of him. Only was left his flesh and bones to crusade against nature. He was gone the second his brain got ruffled. I stood by his side collecting the shattered pieces of this bruised reflector.

The man sitting with me holding hands in hands doesn't possess any of those emotions anymore. His brain is empty like an Oak hollow tree trunk. Deep and dark is all blank with this fungal disease of mind.

But my love for him would shine like a star over the verge of our tale forever.

His eyes are residents of a deadpan. Nonetheless, he is staring into my eyes. Performing his Rehearsal of rituals holding hands in hands. We both are digging down to get hold of some valuable memories. Our walks on the beach during those rainy days. Cycling down the hills in early summer mornings holding hands in hands. Our sleep under the shade of cool Royal Poinciana to forget the life around.

His smile is still killing me. But the warmth in his hands is forfeiting. Bitter chill has got over his heart and soul. He laughs a worthless laugh. My feelings are so traumatic at his agony. Challenging and lamenting.

But we stand in the rain today once more holding hands in hands. To explore some secrets and guilts from the decades passed.