The Party Is Over

Walking along the sun burnt blades, sucking in the night air. I felt a tingling in the pit of my stomach, something about to cross my path. A faint hissing sound seemed to permeate my space and I cowered wanting to find a safe place to rest my weary feet. Whispers, faint whispers took the airway and I choked back the need to cough. A cramp held tight in the back of my leg and a dull ache caused me to limp while pain increasingly climbed toward the rear of my knee. My chest burned as if on fire and my body trembled in fear of the growing stillness around me. Tired and fearful, I quietly quivered. Alas a trickle of light appeared in the distance and hope of encountering friendly people was plausible. Standing still, breathing deeply, I slowly pulled in that soothing warm air, taking the deepest breaths possible as if adhering to a doctor’s instructions. It was then, I heard a scratching sound and a whistle, almost simultaneously. In amazement, I hung in my space holding on to a branch of a poplar tree, that grew massive in height, bent slowly to the side as if ready to topple to the ground. I held tightly to its offering hand. Voices, muted sounds of voices swirled through the air. I wondered, how many voices linger here. Perhaps a choir of Angels abound. A humming sound entered the symphony of the wind and the sound of rustling leaves added the background. Quite a rhythm coming forward and I… well I was the only audience, that is, me and the blinking eyes of a white owl boldly perched on the strong arm of a tree branch. Her eyes glistened that diamond flicker in the moonlight. She was fixed with silent emotion as she blinked often and covered me with her curiosity. I felt someone tugging at me, they seemed anxious and became more and more aggressive, shaking me, rubbing my arms. I can’t see them, the darkness is full bodied and now that trickle of light dissipated. Oddly enough the voices became more apparent, and I recognized them. The words were strong, wake up, it’s time to wake up, you must go home. The aftermath of a night spent consuming numerous concoctions of that dang fire water. Wobbling on the line of insecurity and wavering on the bridge of innocence. O my head, a throbbing mess. O my it’s morning, the party is over and I have to face the day. Written by: Melvina Germain Date: July 6/2013