A Comforting Breeze, His Story

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic
This short story is the second part to the short story: A Comforting Breeze, Her Story. (You should read the other one first, but I believe this can be read by itself if you so wish). While the first short story is non-fiction, this one is fiction and comes from my imagination. I hope you enjoy it.

[Both of the short stories and the poem Above All, Feel share the same source of inspiration. This is the last story or poem that will come from this moment of my life. Hopefully, I'll have some new stuff without such a harsh inspiring moment in the near future.]

Submitted: August 14, 2016

A A A | A A A

Submitted: August 14, 2016



“Are you the new guy who is studying the grey people?”


I looked up. It was the senior researcher of the department, Mark.


“Yes, I’m the new guy, Iri,” I extend my hand. Mark takes it, very welcoming.


“They are so fascinating,” Mark comments as he watches one walk through a wall. “They are clearly in another universe and are just a shadow of an existence here, but they have such a strong tie to this world that they actually can be seen every day by all of us. They’ve been studied for years, and the only break through that we have found is not even a break through.”


“You mean the theory that when we try to make physical contact with their entities they might be able to feel our presence if we really concentrate on the person that we are trying to make contact with?”


Another researcher came hurrying up.


“There is one crying on the second floor. We should go upstairs and run a test.”


“I’ll be right there,” Mark says and turns to me. “You should come along.”


I nod and grab a clip board with blank paper. We hurry upstairs and I’m surprised. She seems less grey somehow…. I jot down this oddity and approach. My heart feels like it is twisting – it’s hard to watch someone in pain and not do anything. She cries and then calms down several times. She pulls out a box and her thumbs tap against it. We all walk towards her to see it. We know they are some form of communication in her world, but we don’t know much else about it.


We can’t read their language, but we take pictures of her screen – the best we can. The camera spits out the photo and Mark hands it to an assistant who watches the image develop.


I stand back and watch Mark as he works to detail everything. I then brave a look at her. It’s during one of her calm moments. She is just staring out at something that is roughly in my direction.


She is beautiful. Several of them are, but there is something about her that is striking. She has short hair – just above shoulder height. She might be a brunette or a blonde. It’s hard to tell with the greyness, but I have it at least narrowed to two options. Her eyes are pale, which we have determined can be a light blue or green. Her frame is small, giving her a fragile look, especially with her tears.


She is so still.


I take a few steps forward and look at her face. It is still in this moment. She blinks every few seconds and rubs at her eyes every few moments. She seems to be trying her best to not cry. Around her eyes are wrinkles from laughing. It makes you think her face should have a natural smile when not doing anything, but it rests as a slight frown.


Something about this beautiful lady seems so sad beyond the tears. She seems to be struggling with something big. There are circles about her eyes. She must not be sleeping well. She stands and takes a few steps towards me and then leans forward on something in her world. She is about a foot from me. If she were in this world I would reach out to her and hug her.


“Iri,” Mark calls, my head turns to him.


“There is another theory about how they appear to us. I’m sure most of the grey people you have seen are very much grey, but there are some that are not quite so grey. The theory is that there is some other bond connecting us to them, and that when that bond is strong between two people, one of us and one of them, we can perceive them better. So let’s compare notes – you, me, and Ally.”


I nod, looking at the notes I’ve taken – every observation I’ve written down. I feel slightly embarrassed as Ally and Mark look at my notes and theirs.


Mark looks up at me.


“So she appears less grey to you and you can vaguely make out colors.”


“Yes,” I nod.


“Then, in that case, Ally and I will observe. What you should do is what you normally do – so just whatever you feel the most natural to try to contact her.”


Ally and Mark have their pens at the ready, so I take a few steps toward the beautiful, sad lady. The only thing I can think of is yesterday when I helped my neighbor carry her groceries to her apartment. (She’s elderly and has just lost her husband of several years). She was crying in the parking lot as she was unable to carry everything – and – what was left was normally what her husband had carried for her.


We had talked for several minutes. I had sat with her for some time, and I had given her a hug as I left.


I reached out to the woman before me, wishing I knew her name and that she could see me. If she were present, I would hug her gently, letting her just lean against me and maybe letting go of all of her troubles, so I wrapped her appearance in my arms as if I was hugging her. I closed my eyes and pictured her face.


“She’s started to cry again,” Ally commented out loud with a slightly discouraged tone.


I raise my head. I’m surprised by a small smile that appears as she wipes away her tears.


“She maybe crying Ally, but look at the expression. It’s different,” Mark adds.


“You are right. It’s different than before,” she agrees.


“She is turning more grey,” I comment out loud.


“More grey? That is different. We normally see them at the same coloring every day if we see the same one frequently,” Mark adds to his papers. “But I guess if that’s the case, then you probably won’t be able to connect with her in that way again. If only we had an easy way to track her. She would be a good subject for a long term study for Iri.” Ally grunted her agreement.


An announcement is then made calling Mark to a new location, so he and Ally hurry off. I stand there looking at the woman before me.


She really does seem different. It’s as if she has gathered courage or determination. She’s ready to continue with what she has been struggling with. The small resting frown is more of a blank expression that at any instant could change to a smile - possibly.


I wouldn’t want to study her for all of my life. I would want to try to make it to her, so that I could protect her from the moments that she experienced only a little while ago. Of course, that area of research has been closed down for several years.


I can only hope that it’ll be opened once more. That one day I will see her again, and be able to connect once more with her.

© Copyright 2020 Ellen P Luto. All rights reserved.

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