The Knife

The Knife

He sat by the stream and wept. His salty tears mingled with the waters of the mountain stream that leapt over the stones. But he did not see the beauty that surrounded him. He did not smell the fragrance of the woods, did not see how the wind played in the grass and did not hear the chirping of birds.

The wind played with his hairs and kissed his cheeks wet with tears. The pain in his chest was raging hot, and threatened to crush his heart. No one could alleviate his suffering. Even his parents, they had tried everything to rid him of that grief, with consoling words, with comforting arms. But all in vain.

Despair was spreading in his heart and made it cold and colder.

My love, he thought. It had already been many days since he had been holding the ashes of his love in his arms. The lifeless body of his love burnt to ashes.

For long he had loved her, for long she had been a part of him. Until one day, a stormy day, the sky was overcast with gloomy clouds, the wind was furious, the dark black night which took her away.

"I'm sorry, I could not save your wife." said the doctor. Like a sharp knife came the words to him. His world crumbled with her death. Her face disappeared behind a red wall of pain. A connection broke off, leaving emptiness, a black, all-consuming emptiness.

"She went to a better place," said his parents with consoling words. Pain. Pain and tears. Endless tears.

Since that day he used to come here everyday, sit by the stream and cry. Cried endlessly as his salty tears mingled with the waters of the cold mountain stream. He did not see the beauty that surrounded him. He did not smell the fragrance of the woods, did not see how the wind played in the grass and did not hear the chirping of birds. He saw only his hands and long, sharp knife in it.

The pain, the anger and despair had given way to a dull emptiness. With slow motion he pulled the knife on his wrists and watched as red blood oozed from the wound. He looked up, his eyes clouded and a warm darkness enveloped them. And he felt nothing more. No pain, no sorrow, no despair.

And slowly the blood mingled with the waters of the mountain stream that leapt merrily gurgling over the stones .