I never repost pictures on here but there was a short story I wrote a long time ago that this picture reminded me of. I think it was one of the first stories I wrote ever since my Aunt Sharda convinced me to start writing.
The chill of winter’s approach threatened to chill my bones as I pulled the cloak down around my face. There was something soothing about leaving the road, wandering around the trees, the crunch of gold, reds and brown beneath my feet. The world was shedding it’s skin, transforming itself in preparation for the comming cold.
I followed the gentle pull urging me into the unkempt woods, I was drawn by the simple tug of string tied to my heart. The dread chilling cold of death hung stale in the air, I felt it’s touch upon my skin, darkness spread all around me as I approached slow. I felt her before I saw her there, among the amber gold bed of leaves, her breath short and quick. Her hazel eyes were full of fear, grasping at the thread of life that remained within her.
She had called me here, to this desolate place, tear flowed from her eyes beneath the shaded grove as I bent low to run my fingers through the flowing river of auburn hair strewn carelessly and wild. Her soft hand cold, though still posessing life grasped at my own, faintly hanging on to my warmth, her gentle lips craving to give birth to words to speak, but they were soundless rhythms, intoned verses scattered to the cold chill winds.
She smelled of apricots, and wild berries, the scent would never leave me I knew. In those small moments we connected, arms linked as one, I held her in my arms as she transcended, watched as the gentle flow of effervescent stream poured out into the chill open air. The forest oddly quiet as though it watched on, sad, patient.
I felt her touch my cheek, wiping away tears I had not known were flowing freely. The world swept away as I watched her essence saunter off into another realm, another world I could not follow. I held her in my arms, all that remained of the empty shell she left behind, cold and hollow, beautiful.
A dull ache left within, the call no longer persistent, as though the spool ran bare. I felt her leave me, as I in turn, could only watch as death claimed her for it’s own. Could do nothing but watch.