The Old Lady and the Beach
TITLE: The Old Lady and the Beach
AUTHOR: Trice
RATING: G
GENRE: AU... Maybe a "Have-a-Kleenex-nearby" kind.
A/N: I've been doubting whether to post this on Ebisu or not, since it's kinda related to LSS in a way. (At first, I even doubted whether to write this or not. XD)
It's not splendid. I am sorry Ernest
Written for hikari, for her support. ^,^
The Old Lady and the Beach
During my whole life, I do not remember such a hot summer as the one Japan is going through now.
It may be pretentious to call eighty-two years a “whole life”, certainly as now I believe everything has passed in a flash. I often wonder if it is because my memory is failing me that it seems only yesterday that I started university, or even middle school. The increasing folds in my specked skin, my white hair on my head, the drab colours of my eyes… They came one by one, didn’t they? And still, it looked like I have missed the growth of change and that once upon a morning I’ve woken up this way. That suddenly, I have faced the mirror and found out that I am old.
Are there truly loopholes in my memory stretching into wide gaps as time lapses - making me forget I once aged step by step? Is this why I can’t recall such a hot summer as this one in the past?
The heat is fading. It is little, but I am sure it does. My senses have become stronger. Unexpectedly, I feel it is needed to go on a walk, even if with my age and mobility I cannot get very far.
It is not often that I leave my residence; I hardly go to my own garden and beach anymore. Going outside is a lovely activity, nevertheless still an exhausting one. I am always coming back with cracking bones and headaches. That is why I avoid going outside - to avoid the pain.
As soon as I step out of my residence, I am confronted with a wall of oppressing scorching hot air. It makes me doubt whether I’d like to go further or not, only my intuition tells me to do so. And so I make another step, feeling hints of an upcoming evening breeze.
My memory is indeed failing me. How could I have ever forgotten how lovely the summer-breeze is? But something has changed, perhaps the feeling of it. Yes, that must be it. When young it is sensual, when old as I am, it doesn’t feel this way. What is now hanging in the air, able to make vibrate the heart of an old lady? I am left wondering.
I move on forward, pressing my cane on the ground so I can shuffle my feet forward. The smouldering sun and her sunrays are smothering me. I can feel it turning my hands clammy, how it is straining my eyes and duplicates all my usual aches. That’s exactly why I avoid going outside, exactly why. My body turns into melting plumb, my feet and spine cannot carry me sufficiently.
But of course, as we grow older, stubbornness comes along too. I don’t want to give up. My intuition tells me to go to the beach, and so will I.
It is my strong spirit that brings me so far. If I hadn’t this, I would have probably given up the ghost a long time ago.
And so I go on, putting every drop of energy and stubbornness in each step. Even if I am rather dragging my feet than walking, I am still moving - I am still moving ahead. I am not standing still; I am not a plant needed to be looked after. I can still do what I want on my own.
I can do this, I repeat to myself until I end up saying it aloud.
At a certain point during my quest, I notice that there are white grains brushing the tip of my shoes. Sand.
I lean on my cane and push me up a little so I can look up. I have reached the beach.
I let my gaze travel over the horizon, then slip to the sea and meet the beach again. My eyes fall upon a darker line in the sand, as if someone has been carving in the sand. I adjust my stance and scrutinize until I can recognise a heart-shaped drawing. I wonder who made this. The footprints around and in the heart are surfacing; I haven’t noticed them before. I am trailing the footprints with my eyes, trying to find the culprit.
Before I find him, voices are reaching me. I strain my cracking neck and tilt it until I find two youngsters running around; a boy and a girl.
This appearance surprises me, and then surprise transform slowly in panic, tingling the old nerves of my body. How did they get here? It is a private property, my property. Did they slip in just like that? Did this mean anybody could come in and go as they please?
As the questions emerges in my head, I forget what is actually the most essential point of all this. I even forget that perhaps I should have called them and remind them that this is a private property, a property holding memories, a place which shouldn’t be soiled by others.
While I keep on observing the couple, my questions disappear one by one, leaving only a blank space behind, where my upcoming emotions could seep in freely.
I watch them. The boy, donned with thick curly raven hair, seems to shout at the girl with her long dyed maroon hair. He asks her to repeat what she just has called him, but she laughs his question away. Since she refuses to respond, the boy runs behind her. The girl flees, but with her short legs, she cannot get far away and the boy soon grasps her by her shoulders. He demands her again to repeat what she has called him. And again she refuses.
He doesn’t give up and try to turn her around, for her to face him. She doesn’t let him, and tries to pull herself away - to escape, while he’s attempting to her close to him.
They are laughing at hearts content during the game; they laugh so much, that it makes me smile. I probably don’t have the healthy glow and dimples orating my faces as theirs, but I can feeling an intense happiness bubbling inside me. I don’t ask myself why, but I enjoy the moment, I enjoy their freshness and their play.
They look good together, I conclude.
The boys gets the upper hand and manages to turn the girl slightly around and have her side pressing against his body. She tries to look away, but he pushes his face near to hers, having his demand rolling out of his tongue more rapid that before.
It seems that his patience is up, and he reveals what she has called him earlier, “Cheeky Prince”. He repeats it and she nods and screams that he is a “Cheeky Prince”. He presses his face against her cheek and motions he wants to eat her up.
Their actions become wilder, though they are pretty much not moving from their spot. The predictable happens; they end up loosing balance and fall over. Their bodies are received by the sand, causing a smoke of ivory grains stir up in the air. The veil retreats slowly, I can see them again, lying in the sand with sprawled limbs.
It seems that their fall made their laughter double as well as my own amusement, until it stops abruptly and they lie still as dried fish on a grill. The whole struggle must have tired them out, I assume.
It takes a moment before one of them move. It is the boy that takes the initiative to sit up as first one. His actions are slow, but with swift. It is good to be young.
He draws up his knees and clasps his arms around his legs, exclaiming, “Pretty”. Before I can wonder whether he was speaking about his girl, he nudges her until she would sit up. She places her hands behind her back, and leans on them. She agrees with him, and another silence settles.
This time, different than before.
They are not sitting against each other, yet not too far apart. There’s space, but no room for a third person. This distance between them was marrying well with an air of intimacy. It must be odd to the ears, but I can assure that it is natural to the eyes and even easy to understand with the heart. Yes, this silence was else than the one before. Completely something else.
Their bodies turn dark, and their silhouette glow. It seems that the sun is even concealing this special moment for the outsiders like I am.
I end up looking out the same direction as theirs, to find the tip of the lower curve of the sun melting into the horizon.
The golden sun gradually shifts to amber and sets fire to the horizon. The flames are blazing, lighting the sky up to a paler blue. A few peach-tainted clouds sweeping above the sunset are being remodelled by the changing sun, turning salmon - leaning to pink. The sun is sinking further away, shifting from colour every second and affecting all the elements around her until it will be finally painted over with a pale ruby red before its final dance on the horizon.
The ripples sea mirrors the beauty of this natural event.
Soon all will disappear, soon nothing will be left. Soon the sun will fade and drag along all beauty and refreshment with her, only leaving the lonely moon behind and a cool night, I am telling to myself.
I enjoy the last sun-rays caressing my face, caressing this old crumpled skin of mine. It is tender and warm, making tears swell up in my eyes. My view blurs, but I don’t need to see the defined shapes to know which beauty this scenery holds. No, I don’t. This evening, this breeze, this sunset are forever locked in my heart and memory. I don’t need to see to know.
A tear manages to escape and curve around my cheek. I cannot control my feelings anymore and I cry without any reserve or shame. I just cry, having a heart fluttering and feelings swollen up in my throat. The simple word “pretty” the boy used to describe this seems to be so light and fleeting; lacking in depth. But during our youth, life doesn’t have as many layers as when we’re old. He has yet to be taught the nuances of life. However, he used the right word, as it probably the strongest word in the vocabulary of his youth. “Pretty”.
It is when I remark that the last seconds of light are counted, that I lift my hand and dip my finger close to my eyes, to remove my tears from my view so I can avert my eyes to where the youngsters are sitting and see them one last time.
I cannot find the heart-shape carved in the sand they must have carved together, I cannot find their footsteps or hear their voices anymore. They are gone.
All has vanished.
There’s nothing.
So that was it, I tell myself, nodding. ‘It seems I’ll be joining you soon,’ I say and lift my head up to the sky, where stars start to pop up and compete with the moon with their dim light. ‘You Cheeky Prince.’
I lift my cane and stamp on the sand once. I have to turn around and go back home. Yes, I have to go home.
As it’ll take long to return to my residence, I will have enough time to enjoy the breeze which carries the scent of my old memories.
AUTHOR: Trice
RATING: G
GENRE: AU... Maybe a "Have-a-Kleenex-nearby" kind.
A/N: I've been doubting whether to post this on Ebisu or not, since it's kinda related to LSS in a way. (At first, I even doubted whether to write this or not. XD)
It's not splendid. I am sorry Ernest
Written for hikari, for her support. ^,^
The Old Lady and the Beach
During my whole life, I do not remember such a hot summer as the one Japan is going through now.
It may be pretentious to call eighty-two years a “whole life”, certainly as now I believe everything has passed in a flash. I often wonder if it is because my memory is failing me that it seems only yesterday that I started university, or even middle school. The increasing folds in my specked skin, my white hair on my head, the drab colours of my eyes… They came one by one, didn’t they? And still, it looked like I have missed the growth of change and that once upon a morning I’ve woken up this way. That suddenly, I have faced the mirror and found out that I am old.
Are there truly loopholes in my memory stretching into wide gaps as time lapses - making me forget I once aged step by step? Is this why I can’t recall such a hot summer as this one in the past?
The heat is fading. It is little, but I am sure it does. My senses have become stronger. Unexpectedly, I feel it is needed to go on a walk, even if with my age and mobility I cannot get very far.
It is not often that I leave my residence; I hardly go to my own garden and beach anymore. Going outside is a lovely activity, nevertheless still an exhausting one. I am always coming back with cracking bones and headaches. That is why I avoid going outside - to avoid the pain.
As soon as I step out of my residence, I am confronted with a wall of oppressing scorching hot air. It makes me doubt whether I’d like to go further or not, only my intuition tells me to do so. And so I make another step, feeling hints of an upcoming evening breeze.
My memory is indeed failing me. How could I have ever forgotten how lovely the summer-breeze is? But something has changed, perhaps the feeling of it. Yes, that must be it. When young it is sensual, when old as I am, it doesn’t feel this way. What is now hanging in the air, able to make vibrate the heart of an old lady? I am left wondering.
I move on forward, pressing my cane on the ground so I can shuffle my feet forward. The smouldering sun and her sunrays are smothering me. I can feel it turning my hands clammy, how it is straining my eyes and duplicates all my usual aches. That’s exactly why I avoid going outside, exactly why. My body turns into melting plumb, my feet and spine cannot carry me sufficiently.
But of course, as we grow older, stubbornness comes along too. I don’t want to give up. My intuition tells me to go to the beach, and so will I.
It is my strong spirit that brings me so far. If I hadn’t this, I would have probably given up the ghost a long time ago.
And so I go on, putting every drop of energy and stubbornness in each step. Even if I am rather dragging my feet than walking, I am still moving - I am still moving ahead. I am not standing still; I am not a plant needed to be looked after. I can still do what I want on my own.
I can do this, I repeat to myself until I end up saying it aloud.
At a certain point during my quest, I notice that there are white grains brushing the tip of my shoes. Sand.
I lean on my cane and push me up a little so I can look up. I have reached the beach.
I let my gaze travel over the horizon, then slip to the sea and meet the beach again. My eyes fall upon a darker line in the sand, as if someone has been carving in the sand. I adjust my stance and scrutinize until I can recognise a heart-shaped drawing. I wonder who made this. The footprints around and in the heart are surfacing; I haven’t noticed them before. I am trailing the footprints with my eyes, trying to find the culprit.
Before I find him, voices are reaching me. I strain my cracking neck and tilt it until I find two youngsters running around; a boy and a girl.
This appearance surprises me, and then surprise transform slowly in panic, tingling the old nerves of my body. How did they get here? It is a private property, my property. Did they slip in just like that? Did this mean anybody could come in and go as they please?
As the questions emerges in my head, I forget what is actually the most essential point of all this. I even forget that perhaps I should have called them and remind them that this is a private property, a property holding memories, a place which shouldn’t be soiled by others.
While I keep on observing the couple, my questions disappear one by one, leaving only a blank space behind, where my upcoming emotions could seep in freely.
I watch them. The boy, donned with thick curly raven hair, seems to shout at the girl with her long dyed maroon hair. He asks her to repeat what she just has called him, but she laughs his question away. Since she refuses to respond, the boy runs behind her. The girl flees, but with her short legs, she cannot get far away and the boy soon grasps her by her shoulders. He demands her again to repeat what she has called him. And again she refuses.
He doesn’t give up and try to turn her around, for her to face him. She doesn’t let him, and tries to pull herself away - to escape, while he’s attempting to her close to him.
They are laughing at hearts content during the game; they laugh so much, that it makes me smile. I probably don’t have the healthy glow and dimples orating my faces as theirs, but I can feeling an intense happiness bubbling inside me. I don’t ask myself why, but I enjoy the moment, I enjoy their freshness and their play.
They look good together, I conclude.
The boys gets the upper hand and manages to turn the girl slightly around and have her side pressing against his body. She tries to look away, but he pushes his face near to hers, having his demand rolling out of his tongue more rapid that before.
It seems that his patience is up, and he reveals what she has called him earlier, “Cheeky Prince”. He repeats it and she nods and screams that he is a “Cheeky Prince”. He presses his face against her cheek and motions he wants to eat her up.
Their actions become wilder, though they are pretty much not moving from their spot. The predictable happens; they end up loosing balance and fall over. Their bodies are received by the sand, causing a smoke of ivory grains stir up in the air. The veil retreats slowly, I can see them again, lying in the sand with sprawled limbs.
It seems that their fall made their laughter double as well as my own amusement, until it stops abruptly and they lie still as dried fish on a grill. The whole struggle must have tired them out, I assume.
It takes a moment before one of them move. It is the boy that takes the initiative to sit up as first one. His actions are slow, but with swift. It is good to be young.
He draws up his knees and clasps his arms around his legs, exclaiming, “Pretty”. Before I can wonder whether he was speaking about his girl, he nudges her until she would sit up. She places her hands behind her back, and leans on them. She agrees with him, and another silence settles.
This time, different than before.
They are not sitting against each other, yet not too far apart. There’s space, but no room for a third person. This distance between them was marrying well with an air of intimacy. It must be odd to the ears, but I can assure that it is natural to the eyes and even easy to understand with the heart. Yes, this silence was else than the one before. Completely something else.
Their bodies turn dark, and their silhouette glow. It seems that the sun is even concealing this special moment for the outsiders like I am.
I end up looking out the same direction as theirs, to find the tip of the lower curve of the sun melting into the horizon.
The golden sun gradually shifts to amber and sets fire to the horizon. The flames are blazing, lighting the sky up to a paler blue. A few peach-tainted clouds sweeping above the sunset are being remodelled by the changing sun, turning salmon - leaning to pink. The sun is sinking further away, shifting from colour every second and affecting all the elements around her until it will be finally painted over with a pale ruby red before its final dance on the horizon.
The ripples sea mirrors the beauty of this natural event.
Soon all will disappear, soon nothing will be left. Soon the sun will fade and drag along all beauty and refreshment with her, only leaving the lonely moon behind and a cool night, I am telling to myself.
I enjoy the last sun-rays caressing my face, caressing this old crumpled skin of mine. It is tender and warm, making tears swell up in my eyes. My view blurs, but I don’t need to see the defined shapes to know which beauty this scenery holds. No, I don’t. This evening, this breeze, this sunset are forever locked in my heart and memory. I don’t need to see to know.
A tear manages to escape and curve around my cheek. I cannot control my feelings anymore and I cry without any reserve or shame. I just cry, having a heart fluttering and feelings swollen up in my throat. The simple word “pretty” the boy used to describe this seems to be so light and fleeting; lacking in depth. But during our youth, life doesn’t have as many layers as when we’re old. He has yet to be taught the nuances of life. However, he used the right word, as it probably the strongest word in the vocabulary of his youth. “Pretty”.
It is when I remark that the last seconds of light are counted, that I lift my hand and dip my finger close to my eyes, to remove my tears from my view so I can avert my eyes to where the youngsters are sitting and see them one last time.
I cannot find the heart-shape carved in the sand they must have carved together, I cannot find their footsteps or hear their voices anymore. They are gone.
All has vanished.
There’s nothing.
So that was it, I tell myself, nodding. ‘It seems I’ll be joining you soon,’ I say and lift my head up to the sky, where stars start to pop up and compete with the moon with their dim light. ‘You Cheeky Prince.’
I lift my cane and stamp on the sand once. I have to turn around and go back home. Yes, I have to go home.
As it’ll take long to return to my residence, I will have enough time to enjoy the breeze which carries the scent of my old memories.