June 22, 2009
By SamantaSuheen BRONZE, Dhaka, Other
SamantaSuheen BRONZE, Dhaka, Other
1 article 1 photo 0 comments

The unnatural greenness was dreamlike on that day. Even a rain hit evening could not compare with the especial greenish hue that encompassed the cottage. Cirrus clouds hung overhead, wispy threads of infinite embodiment. The silky breeze wafting from the east held magic in its soft grasp as it blew through the ferns, which grew at the bank of the stream, and made them laugh. The idyllic occasion was frozen in time and the elements, though continuous, felt numbed in response.

Summer sat cross-legged beside the creek which ran parallel to the cottage, humming a tune that complimented her surroundings. She weaved a necklace of jasmine petals with rose leaves appearing in arithmetic progression. The needle was unmerciful and Summer pricked herself umpteen times, sucking into the perforation to draw the salty yet non-existent blood. She looked busy and happy even though her inability to wreathe briskly bothered her plenty. At intervals, she would dip her pallid fingers into the cool waters of the creek and watch how normal her extremities seemed underwater. She would smile then and immerse both her feet in water to test the assumption.

The cottage stood alive behind Summer, two bodies so beautiful that it hurt to look away. Ivy spread unkempt on the face of the shack, the yellow flowers looking almost orange in the faint sunlight. Wildflowers of some strange reddish tint had grown bountifully on the rooftop radiating a fiery glow on the cottage. The wooden black door was coated with moss so thick that it appeared a dirty green. A dirt pathway stretched from the entrance gate and led to the world’s most astounding garden. The colour made every ache in the universe tolerable. The garden was unconventionally oblong with violet wildflowers enclosing the eclipse at all sides. The middle was a cornucopia of luxurious flora blazing with orange, red and yellow. The center was simple, green grass grown to the same height as all the flowers. Summer sat separating the stream from the enclosure, a white border that must not be crossed.

The breeze changed intensity while Summer remained preoccupied with her flowers. Nature was not still anymore. The gale shook the trees lined on the far side of the cottage with such vivacity; it seemed they would be ravaged soon enough. The current in the stream increased noticeably and the radiant flowers in the garden swayed dangerously. The orange blob in the sky shrouded itself behind stratus clouds. The sky was momentarily alight and almost white. Thunder rolled slightly, it seemed, infinity later. The windows of the cottage banged to and fro on its hinges like the wings of a bird new to flying. If seen keenly, the cottage was in danger of being uprooted altogether.

The wind whipped Summer’s hair wildly and slapped her harshly on the face. She opened her eyes widely and took in her surroundings all at once. She forgot all about her wreaths immediately and jumped violently. She pranced about happily, not at all bothered about the needle on the ground. She ran the length of the stream gathering pace with every step, a fairy in her white dress and flowing black hair. She danced a little jig, the dark weather peculiarly making her delighted.


The voice startled Summer out of her trance. It was the familiar effeminate tone that compelled Summer to look at the black door. But nobody stood at the open doorway. She had to obey that voice, had to answer to it. She knew even if she bellowed her answer the chances of being heard were slim, what with the wind blowing in the opposite direction. She had to leave her personal haven and join the sanctuary of familiarity inside the cottage.

She looked overhead. It wouldn’t rain today, she decided. The clouds were just having fun. She was sad she would not play any part in that amusement. She made for the door, head lowered in a morose manner. Now, as she trudged her way back to the cottage she looked ghostlike, pale and white.

The wind would not let Summer leave. It rocked her slight figure so much, she stumbled a couple of times. With every stride, the wind moaned in her ear, lamenting its loss. Thunder rolled again, a booming bark this time, showing its disapproval. The flowers sent their delicious fragrance towards her, hoping to lure her back. The water from the stream lapped her feet in a grasping gesture, but only managed to touch her skin. There seemed no way to hold her back, to keep her, to make her stay forever…

As Summer reluctantly entered the door, it began to rain. Heavily.

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