To Follow (War is Kind)

To Follow or War is Kind

Dishes banged in the sink, soft and content humming rising in the air above them. Tiny hands were busy scrubbing small bits of an equally small dinner that clung to the porcelain circles and metallic eatery. Under her breath and red-haired girl cursed. She lifted her hand from the bubbling water and the rinsed the suds from it. Crimson drops spilled slowly from the small, newly created wound on her thumb. Out of childish instinct the girl lifted her hand to her mouth and sucked on the vermilion hued liquid drops.

Drying her hands in haste she made here way to the little bathroom of her ordinary apartment in search of a bandage. After finding on she wrapped it around her thumb and sighed, blue eyes scanning the surfaces of the interior. She would indeed need a bigger apartment... He was coming back. A tap on her door caught her attention and thoughts of him were forgotten.

Opening the door she saw two graying men, one with an umbrella in hand. Absently she thought about the sudden rain... she hadn\'t noticed the dark and gloomy weather that had taken over the sun. Smiling she looked at their weathered faces, inquiring as to what they wanted without say a word. When no answer came to the question that was never asked, she invited them inside gesturing them with her band-aid clad hand.

Offering them a seat on her old and worn couch she apologized for the state of her home and smiled, like she was forcing them to speak with the curvature of her lips or the whiteness of her straight teeth.

Eventually one of the men, the taller of the two, dressed in a suit as gray as the weather outside, broke through the silence. Gently he nudged at his comrade, the one that held the umbrella, who then produced a black leather bag. The men\'s eyes shone with uncertainty and an illusive kind of sadness.

Fiery tendrils spilled past the girls shoulder as she leaned, anxious to see what the older gentlemen wanted and hide in the bag. A smile spread across her face, being blissfully unaware of her guests\' current state of lament.

The smile fell from her lips as out of the leather slide a folded up flag. \'No! It didn\'t mean that?! Did it?!\' she thought. \'It couldn\'t. It just couldn\'t be... Logan...\' Tears overcame her turning her eyes into sapphire oceans flooded with emotions. She looked at them, pleading with those azure and aqua orbs, hoping that they would speak. That they would tell her that her inward assumption was wrong. That he was alive and well.

With the flag in hand the man leaned over, hovering above her ear and whispering a simple \"Sorry.\" His hand patted her knee and her dropped the flag in her lap. Tears streamed down her face, blurring the image of the men leaving. She clutched the banner to her chest, rocking steadily back and forth, swaying as a lunatic might, trying to calm herself before she collapsed, curling into a ball, taking comfort in the position that held her so safe in her mother\'s womb. \'Dead, dead, dead, gone...\' Her mind drifted. \'He can\'t die. It\'s impossible. We\'re supposed to get married, start a family, grow old together. He\'s coming back; he promised before he left. He promised!\'

Streams of salt water flew more heavily down her face, threatening to wash away her freckles. \'Do not weep maiden, for war is kind*.\' she remembered through her fit of deep depression and overwhelming sadness. The image of her love throwing his arms toward the sky yelling and groaning as he was gunned down falling into a sickly trench. The yellow Earth that would act as his final bed. It was just too much, too much.

She glided, chocking on sobs, from the couch to the sink. The last item that needed to be washed, peeking, half-way hiding from behind the bubbles. Looking through glassy eyes, first to her thumb then to the object in the water. She plunged her hand into the water, pulled out and rinsed the knife. She stared down at the metallic surface, the blade reflected light from the ceiling into her eyes.

Stepping back into reflective imagery she saw arms extended toward her, bearing a small gift, the man who stood proudly over six and a half feet tall bent on one knee, his eyes holding small, unneeded insecurity. A diamond sparkled in the light, just like the blade she know held in her hand. His voice rang with promises and questions.

\'\'Anne... I love you and I want you by my side. I want you to be by me forever and where ever I go, I want you to be there.\'\'

\"... Yes...yes...Logan, I\'ll be there. I\'ll follow you anywhere.\"

The tears had stopped, but her mind was still blurred and cloudy as she looked to the sharp metal. \'It\'s time to follow... I promised to follow you anywhere...even in death...\'

With one clean swipe of the blade, she was on her way, following him.

*Poem by Stephen Crane written with a sarcastic tone. All rights property of him and his publishing company.

http://www.linguatech.com/scrane/scrane08.htm