From the Eyes ... of a Falling Leaf

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Literary Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic

A Pair of Seven decade old pale blue eyes read a line again and again on an almost torn paper, awaiting for the impossible to appear before them.

"An early evening on a late Fall / Autumn day"

 The space below him is orangish, marking the presence of old orange leaves shed from the tall trees.

 Plenty of noise, from tens of people surrounded him.

 He tried to concentrate and observe them, but he could not.

 His thoughts are not letting him to do so. He looked lost.

Something hit his leg smoothly which brought him back from thoughts to the real world. His tired, restless eyes looked to their left. An instant spark, known only to him, lit in those pale blue eyes.

It’s a colourful watermelon sized rubber balloon, in the hands of a kid, of age not more than 2 years. The kid might have playfully threw the light-weighted ball up, which might have got carried towards him by the evening breeze. The kid might have crawled towards him following his balloon.

The kid is delighted by the flight of his toy, the rubber-ball, in the air. The kid is laughing & cheering with joy. The man’s eyes sparkled, looking at the joyous moments of this little kid. He’s now out of his thoughts. He can now look n hear around, but yet, his focus is limited to that kid.

The kid tried to stand-up, holding the man’s left knee. He slipped n fell. He did not give up. Finally, after half a dozen failed attempts, the kid managed to stand-up on his own. All these repeated attempts of the kid are watched by the man out of admiration.  By that time another person, probably the Kid’s father, came running in search of the kid.

The kid tried to run towards that person at a pace, but fell down almost at the same pace. A loud cry from the child followed the fall. The kid’s forehead and knees start to bleed. The father lifted his son, tried to kiss him, console him, tried to divert him showing something in the sky. The father and kid walked away from him slowly. The voice of the kid’s cry started to fade, but another voice is still resonating in his ears.

The resonating voice is about four decade old, but still he felt as it had happened moments ago. With the child leaving with his father, the spark in his eyes left with them.

He’s lost into the thoughts within no time.

***

He saw him for the first time, crying in his cradle, on a chilling January morning, beside his mother’s bed in the hospital’s ICCU.  His blue eyes got wet out of happiness. Happiness out of his first child, a baby boy. From then the baby has become the gleam of his eyes.

He saw him celebrate his first birthday wondering how time flies. He got his son many toys. Among them all, the air-filled rubber balloon was always his personal favourite. He often took him to a park near-by and watch him play with his favourite toy with much of delight. It’s in the same park, he watched his son falling down being hit by a stone, hurting himself & crying out of pain when he ran behind the balloon, that flew away from him.

That moment he said to himself, I’ll never leave him again alone.

Time flew much faster than he ever imagined.

 The Spark, his only son, left him for his own career, more than twenty years ago, arguing that he can stand & walk on his own feet. The father broke his promise to himself and let his boy go. Let his wings free n helped him fly-high. Though the fatherly eyes were always proud looking at his son, but they are equally worried. The cautious father always asked his son to check the speed when he ran.

For the world, he may not be a child, but for his father, he’s always that kid who is running for the balloon. The father always wanted his son to get to his balloon without any Pain.

Within no time he learnt to run, run faster than what he is capable of. Running behind the career became his passion. On a fine evening, he ran to a distant point, where no one can reach him.

 ***

 

A wrinkled face with pair of seven decade old pale blue wet eyes looked at a piece of paper, a Telegram, held in his left palm which read:

 

"_____ died on____ due to____ "

 

His eyes again started looking nowhere. They’re searching for that spark, his son, which they thought, will be there, till they see the dark, their demise.

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Note : Image(s) obtained from Internet. Ownership remains with respective owners. I claim no ownership over them.

 

 


Submitted: March 12, 2014

© Copyright 2022 VJay. All rights reserved.

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Comments

Basilia

Well crafted.I liked the details in the story.Story could have been much more indulging.I like it though :) keep writing :)

Sun, April 6th, 2014 1:03pm

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