December 26, 2010 - 10:36pm — dietywolf
A man sat on the bench of a park, it was dark; about an hour or two past midnight, and clouds had hidden the moon and stars, save for a few rare patches in the sky were a few isolated stars shone with cold pinpoint light.
The grounds were empty. Completely deserted and still, as if untouchable by time.
Of course the ground were empty, it was freezing. Ice had glazed over the white snow which had fallen earlier. No grass was visible, the trees were stripped, vulnerable to the wind which whipped at their bark. You could hear them wail and cry as the wind rushed through the limbs of the trees.
On this cold wooden bench the man sat alone, he was crying.
Hot tears roll down his cheeks, they sting his eyes, they stain his face, they drip down his chin onto his lap.
Gloved fingers clutching pale blond hair.
His body heaves and shudders with his breathing.
He hunches over, cradling his head in his hands.
Why was he crying, he asked this to himself every time.
For nothing.
And absolutely everything.
Everything brought together and delivered in one upheaval of emotion. So many things at once that one single reason would not explain a fraction of it.
His lungs convulsed, and he choked as he struggled to take in air, unable to catch his breath.
It continued for a while.
It continued until he was subdued to nothing more than a few whimpers, as a few more burning tears crawled down his face, and his hands lay numbly in his lap.
His face was flushed, his eyes were drained to a dull shade.
He lifted the bottle from the ground next to him and took a few sips. He didn't have the energy to drink more, and dropped it into the crackling ice covered snow.
He turned himself to lay on his back, knees bent so he could fit on the bench. His face was towards the sky but his eyes were closed. The cold air froze against his slowly drying skin.
He was breathing.
