Okay,it's been a while.I haven't found anything much to write.Well,this post is actually a short story that I wrote during my English Language class.The topic for the essay/story was that I should end it with the following sentence:"The tears came crashing down". This is my product,give your
Timothy dressed solemnly on that fateful Friday. He wore a black jacket, black tie, white shirt and a pair of black trousers. He pushed the towering black gates open. He felt the rust on his palm. On his right hand, he held a bouquet of white orchids. He walked slowly towards the grave. The long line of graves seemed like guards guarding the path to the dead.A gust of wind blew away his hat, but he moved on.As he reached the grave, he noticed that the ground had been freshly covered. He thought to himself, "The funeral must have finished only a couple of hours ago". He looked at the gravestone. It read, "A hero, forever loyal to the flames of war and liberty". The grave did not even have a name, but Timothy knew the name very well. He slowly, solemnly and respectfully kept the bouquet in front of the gravestone. He struggled to hold his calm, but he felt a huge lump form inside his throat. There was nothing in front of the grave except his own bouquet. Just then, a lone maple tree leaf fell on Timothy's bouquet. It was then that Timothy remembered about another maple tree leaf that led him here. Timothy remembered about every incident that led him to stand in front of this nameless grave.
Timothy was just twenty-two years old when he got his first job as a nurse in the local Cancer Centre. Timothy saw sadness and tragedy every single day of his life. The dark green colour that prevailed in the Cancer Centre never got on his nerves. Strangely, he had the gift of not getting emotionally involved or affected. Two months into his job, on a warm Monday morning, the first incident which would form a part of a chain of events that would lead Timothy to that grave took place. A new patient, by the name of Christian Lewis, was wheeled into the Cancer Centre. Timothy took little notice of Christian, except for the usual curiosity about who the new patient was. As fate would have it, Timothy was given the duty of going to Christian's room every evening at six, to check the drip and give Christian his medicines. Timothy was punctual, he never got late. Two weeks into this monotonous exercise, Timothy could not suppress his curiosity. That particular day, a windy Tuesday, during one of his usual evening visits, Timothy decided to make conversation with Christian. He first made small talk, asking how Christian was. He got a strange reply. "I would say I'm fine, but then, you and I both know that I would be lying". Timothy was surprised, this was not the answer he had expected. He was silent. Then, after a moment's hesitation, he asked, "How come you don't have any visitors? You know, right, that one relative is permitted to stay?" Christian was silent, and he closed his eyes. Timothy, thinking that Christian was asleep, quietly left the room.
The next evening, Timothy asked the same question, and received the same reaction. Timothy was strangely not willing to give up. After a whole month, on a rainy Wednesday, when Timothy asked yet again, Christian replied with a question. "Why are you interested in me, son? There are so many intriguing people in this world, what have I done to deserve your curiosity?" There was a hint of sarcasm in his voice. Timothy replied, "Sir, you came in wheeled by army officers. You have inoperable frontal lobe tumour, and you are alone. Cancer is torture, sir, believe me when I say it. But Cancer becomes pure agony if when forced to face it alone. That is why I am asking you if you had any family. I have not seen you with any visitors". Christian again lapsed into silence. After a moment's thought, he replied, "I have no family son". It was then that Timothy took notice of Christian calling him "son". Timothy suddenly took notice of Christian's age-fifty six. Timothy then did something that no nurse would ever do-he offered to keep company, and stay throughout the night. He got no reply. Christian simply closed his eyes. Timothy took this as a yes, and so he stayed by the fifty-six year old stranger's side. Funny how the human mind works.
This continued for a whole two weeks, until on one clear Thursday, Christian finally opened up. "My family is my country, son. I enlisted to serve my family when I was eighteen. I have fought, served and sacrificed everything, because my country, your country, is my spouse, my parent, my sibling, and my child. I am just one soldier who is sick. My country has a lot more to deal with. I do not want any special treatment, son. I want to be just like every other servant of the nation". Timothy was speechless. The resignation, the calm, the patriotism and the love, it all puzzled Timothy. But more than puzzled, he was amazed. He did not say anything. Just when he was about to leave, Christian said something unexpected. "You know, son? I was born today". Once again, Timothy was puzzled. He could not tell why Christian had told him this. But he simply smiled and left.
Two hours later, Timothy came back to Christian's room. He said, "Do not ask questions, Christian, just come with me". Christian was used to following other people's instructions. Being a simple man, he wordlessly followed Timothy. Timothy led Christian to the cold outside. They both sat on a small wooden bench painted white. Timothy reached underneath, and pulled out two bottles of beer,ice cold. He opened them, and gave one to Christian. Christian smiled, cold beer could make even a hardened veteran smile. "To Christian", said Timothy, and both raised their bottles. They both drank, and enjoyed their little private time. All this time, Christian said little, but the contentment could be seen on his face. He enjoyed the beer, cherishing every sip.His eyes remained calmly fixed on Timothy. The hardened veteran permitted a slight curve on his scarred lips, a smile that said a thousand words. Timothy thought to himself, "Only when you know that life's clock will soon stop ticking, will you truly appreciate its simple pleasures". Timothy led the silent, but happy Christian back to his room.
After the celebration was over, and silent Christian was put to bed, Timothy stayed back to clean the messy reception area. After finishing the job, he went to check on Christian. Christian was sound asleep. The window was open, and cold breeze was coming into the room. Timothy decided to close the window. He noticed dark clouds forming in the sky. A storm was coming. As Timothy closed the window, a lone maple tree leaf managed to get into the room. It slowly settled down on Christian's open palm. Timothy went to pick it up, but as his flesh touched Christian's, Timothy felt the same eerie cold that surrounds the dead. He checked for a pulse which wasn't there. Christian had died in peace. He had died a happy man. A fitting end for the servant of the nation.
As the flood of memories receded on the dreary Friday morning, Timothy started to think. Why should a selfless man like Christian suffer? What was the limit to patriotism? He began to question Heaven, Hell and Karma. He looked at the nameless gravestone once again. "A hero, forever loyal to the flames of war and liberty". It was his own decision to keep the grave nameless. "I want to be just like every other servant of the nation", Christian had said before. Timothy felt it fitting that the grave remain nameless, for names and faces are forgotten, but deeds and personalities are not. That was the least he could do for the old man who made him feel emotionally attached to someone, the man who gave the depressing Cancer Centre a happy night. The irony never ceased to amaze Timothy. Christian was a decorated veteran, who dodged bullets and bombs, yet it was his own body that caused his death. Timothy thought about the chain of events-his meeting Christian on a Monday, his first conversation with Christian on a Tuesday, his staying by Christian's side on Wednesday,, Christian's birthday on a Thursday, and Christian's death on Friday. Timothy gave one last look at his bouquet, and at the single maple tree leaf on top of it. He turned around and walked towards the towering Cemetery gates. He bent down to pick up his fallen hat. He held it in his palms, and continued to walk. The Gray guards to the path of the dead were left behind. He reached for the same towering rusting black gate. He pushed it open, and stepped outside. He felt great emptiness, as if he had left something behind, just like how he felt when his beloved aunt died ten years ago. He stepped out. As the doors closed behind him, the tears came crashing down.
Okay,this is the story.what do ya think??? By the way, the characters are fictitious, and not a reference to anyone in this world. Also,the note on the gravestone isn't my own creation,it is taken from the video game titled "Metal Gear Solid 4:Guns Of The Patriots",as a sign of my love and respect for that game. Well,that's that,and the show's over.Goodnight dear reader :)
