Hand of Hawk
‘Fear’, the cruelest thing in this world, it would never tolerate you to live and to die. And it played in her life too. Her mind became restless. She promptly reflected everything that had occurred in her life. Loving mother and her death, brutal father and his affection, ruthless brother and his harassment ……… ah her heart ached.
There was more to think but she restricted herself from doing that, those thoughts were enough to kill her.
The hawk had almost finished the salmon. Then it was trying to assume what she was doing. It watched her slowly and suddenly its sharp sight detected something familiar inside the woods. It made a weird cry.
Natalie, spooked by this unexpected cry she came back to the reality. She stared the hawk and again looked down. How deep it was!
‘Is my death going to change anything?’
“Never” the words flow from her cherry red lips. Her mystic voice added more mystery.
‘Will it pain?’
“No”, again she opened her thick red lips. She would die before she reason out. She stood there without any movement, and then she decided.
She decided to wait. Let it come to her, ‘Death’.
The hawk understood what that familiar thing was. It cried more viciously than before. It harshly spattered its wings, and tried to fly. Shook by this rapid event Natalie loosed her grip and slipped on those wooden blocks.
That old bridge couldn’t bear the pressure given by her delicate psych. It lost its bond with the ropes, and in one side the rope got slashed. Then the bridge was depending only on one rope. She managed to hold the unworn rope firmly and yelled for help, though she knew there was none to help.
The hawk still kept spattering its feather. The girl who came to end her life was trying to save it at any cost. A sudden love on life made her strive for life. She cried, yelled and screamed. Only her throat ached but none came. The hawk flew inside the dark and vanished. She could still hear its cry.
“HELP….” She used her full might.
The hawk returned. It flew and landed on a large old tree that was as old as the bridge. Followed a shadowy figure covered with coarse and ragged cloth, behind the hawk and then the hope.
He raised his hand as a sign of help and the hope disappeared. She would have accepted the help and saved herself, if that hand was from an ordinary peasant or even from her brother. But…that hand…. With that mark of a hawk belongs to a HAWK.
© Copyright 2016 Nithya. All rights reserved.
Book / Historical Fiction
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