Clarity is Coming

Ajla Trumic

Ajla Trumic

Twas that singular moment, completely unaccompanied by disturbance, when the night's pristine winds steadied to a drop; leaves suspended themselves in that translucent air; the atmosphere itself—which was scarcely noticed by any thoughtful humans—was but a crisp bite as juices ran down the chin. Even the sun, stunned with anticipation, loomed over the horizon.
Not too far behind the mystic scenery of the forest was a misty-eyed maiden suspended along her windowsill. Long locks of golden strands fluttered around her white sleeping garment. With her bony fingers, she attempted to fasten them behind her ears, but it seemed nothing could tame the wilderness engulfing the head.
She reached for the sun.
An almost cold, crystalline structure reflected as her ring struck the light. Her eyes escaped it to view the landscape below. Her imagination roared wild! She rummaged throughout the berry bushes by the creek, picking off little pricks and bugs before popping one into her mouth; she climbed through the depths of the trees, inhaling the sweet scents of the America's, as leaves crunched beneath her feet; then, she moved so far into the distance, the sun was reached—the one place she could not be caught. A pesky glow arose.
That wedding band just wouldn't go!
She might have torn it off, tossing it below.
"I mustn't." A tear escaped.
Arching vines latched onto the building's age-stained bricks, yearning for the lady as if they would take her from these worldly evils. She had urged her father to cut them before, but her sister, full of a youthful spirit that exceeded the wisdom of her father, forbade it.
Moments like this and those she had missed rolled through her mind. How he set the cards for all those people, playing them where it looked like they won, but, in reality, the best ones lay stuck in those avarice hands!
Where her steadfast father had stood holding bundles of irresistible opportunities plagued with convenience, seemed a masked prison.
A door swooshed open as a young man stumbled in, his legs fumbling with every step, clearly intoxicated.
"Where hath thou sought refuge for the night?" She mocked, the outdoors trembled at his presence. She began tidying near her husband, careful not to approach quickly. He collapsed on the bed, his hands on his face furiously rubbing until it glowed pink.
"Emmeline," He croaked. She stopped at the name, hovering over a tiny table where she had contemplated the words of her sister, Emmeline, discernment beginning to unravel. His fingers pinched the bridges of his nose. The childish sobs that ensued, she never hardened to as Capella knew it was she who had taken him from her.
She sat at his side. "Philip," A gentle shake, "Philip, Emmeline's gone. I knowest thou aided her escape!"
"Thy mind could begin not contemplating the wakened nature of hers. Ye bastard." He shoved her, trying to wipe those muffled voices of society.
"Tis no fault but my own! Please, I understandeth-" She pulled him to face her; he was in no condition to fight. For a second, his eyes brushed past hers, mercy nearly found. "Ah, thou seest it now! That life is but a moment in our past. We ought to continue-" His hand struck her cheek.
Her thin frame toppled to the floor as she scooted away from the trembling figure above. "Fool! How doth thy's simple mind find gaiety? I did loveth Emmeline. More than m'self! I would stop mine life for hers. The lady couldst seeth clarity!"
His eyes lingered on his wife, whose mind saw distortion in her reality. She saw from above—her now a mere shell of the true self. As she rose to her quivering feet, a shiver began pulsating, whispering to every atom in her body that she refused to live for anyone but herself. "Drinketh hence thy life! I certainly careth not."
A long sigh emerged before he stood up and flew towards a drawer, shoving a speckled tan letter in her hand. He clutched his coat and paced out of the room. She was careful not to disrupt its delicate state as she tore it, reading it once, twice, again, until she raced down the stairs, passing dusty corridors and dark rooms. She approached a short furnace. The heat evaporated the mist in her eyes.
The letter was cast in.
The edges caught first, then a bit of the center. Rays of sunlight illuminated the burning words:
Capella,
I am immensely frustrated at thee, but this shall passeth. That sparketh of brightness in thee, soon to be clarity, must not! I hast escaped to England. At the hour societal ignorance is seen, we shall rejoice.
-Emmeline