🌸Fleeting Blossoms

written ➳ August 21, 2024 1:16am

Ever since I was young, I seemed to always have a knack for the supernatural, not necessarily seeing ghosts, but the memories of those deceased and gone. And when they seem to have stronger attachments to something in particular, physical or not, the memories seem brighter and louder, more vibrant to the mind's eye. 

And as we walked through the remnants of a battlefield from the 1860s on a sightseeing tour, I felt drawn to a singular patch of grass, there was nothing special from the looks of it, it blended seamlessly into the rest of the greenery we were amidst, all it has was a singular dandelion standing up proud, beaming at the sunbeam streaming through the trees, I knelt down to poke it lightly, not wanting to steal nature's job, in a sense. As if hearing my thoughts, a small breeze picked up the dandelion seeds and scattered them all around me, some flew further away and out of sight, a few landed next to me. And one, the runt of the litter, drifted downwards and landed on my shoes. 

As it grazed the tip of my sneaker, a small ripple-like feeling churned through my body, and ended in a swirl in my mind, showing this exact spot, this small clearing in the middle of a small forest, used to just be an open clearing with nothing around for miles, there were broken branches all around, and trenches, and wooden boards. Smoke was rising around me and I fought the urge to not cough, this wasn't real, just nature's memories of the past. I could only watch, as things slowly unfold. 

Four men, no, boys. About the age where you are not yet an adult but already not a child. They grip their swords tightly, as they lay on the ground, hidden half underground and behind a thick tree trunk. As I let my curiosity take over, I walked closer to where they were hiding. And I sometimes wish I couldn't see. 

Because in the small trench in the ground, were the four boys, lying in a pool of what seems to be their own blood. One of them held half of the sword, the other half shattered and nowhere to be found. One had blood seeping from his waist all over his clothing. One had a really badly broken leg. And the last one seemed...unconscious. I shivered slightly, hoping to erase the grim crimson image from my mind, still not getting used to it. 

As I slowly backed away, one of them said to another. 

'I wish we could've been there. To see a new world. And where all the children are safe and happy and protected.' 

One grunted, and blood leaked out from the mouth. But still, they added. 'And more meat for dinner.' 

One leaned his head lightly on another's shoulder. 'Don't be so greedy, I already gave you most of mine.' He smiled, as if remembering another memory, and leaned more into the other, the face pressed into bloodied garments, and among the rustling of dried leaves with dried up branches, his shoulders were shaking. 

The other one stroked the unconscious boy's hair, and the fixing it. He grabbed his hand and squeezed slightly. 'Remember our promise to watch the fireworks together? It's only in two weeks, you know how much I hate people who break their word.'

He takes a shuddering breath, that I subconsciously copy, forgetting that this isn't my reality, he looks at the other two on his left and extends his other hand. The boys, not yet grown enough to be men, linked hands on the grim battlefield, and waited. For they were too hurt and tired to go any further. 

And in between all the smoke and fire and screams and cries, I swear I can see that boy squeezing back.