War

The wind is howling, the trees ruffling along. The little cottage seems fragile compare to the fierce storm outside, as the purplish sky gleams. The rain is pelting hard against the thin glass, the curtains flare a little though the window is shut down tight. It is eerie, indeed, but her expression never wavers even once. Her eyes are sorrowful as her delicate brows tighten and her full lips twist into a frown. She is so still, almost a statue, or a delicate china doll. Her feather-like eyelashes quiver, a tear rolls out.

The clock is ticking away on the dull wall, indicating every passing second. Her heart rhymes with the ticking, her breath shallow. She looks out of the window at the howling storm, her expression varies between hesitant and hope, and somehow, she is expecting the woods will show a sign of life.

The fire is crackling softly, drawing soft, warm patterns in the fireplace. The warmth is comforting, but yet, her heart is cold without seeing. In her hands, there is a photo of her and a young, charming man. A man is fighting out there in the cold war, a man whose fate is lie in God's hand. He's alive or dead? She doesn't know, and she doesn't dare to think of the odds.

The crumpled papers beside her is marred, screaming: The War Is Over, The Peace Is Here.

Yes, the war is over. Victory, peace, harmony, happy-ever-after. Politicians laughing, people celebrating, children smiling. Mothers crying with joy seeing her son after such a long war, wives break down in their husbands' embraces, their hearts fill with gratifying. But, where is he? He is also gone, but his future unknown. The war is over, and where is he now?

She hugs the photo and feels his warmth. She remembers exactly how he smiles, his white teeth gleaming across his full lips, his eyes will crinkle up and twinkle. How he kisses her softly on the cheek, telling her that he loves her, no matter what. She misses him, and that isn't enough. Where is he?

The door creaks, her tear-stained face snaps up, her eyes widen involuntary, those violets are fill up with tears once again. She mouth drops into a small O, and the photo slips away from her hand, drop onto the couch with a soft thud.

The wind blows through the open door. Her white dress ruffles along the wind, as her long, brownish hair billows like ribbons. She stands there motionless for a few moment, to let her eyes appreciate what she is looking at right now. To ensure that she isn't hallucinating all along.

There he is. Standing right in front of her, mud-stained with the army suit on. But there he is, safe and sound. His strong jaw and tall figure are still how she remembers them. He takes a step front, and she breaks down, crying and smiling  both at the same time. He kneels before her, pulling her into his strong arms, holding here there like an infant. She grasps him in her arms, feeling him really here, safe and alive in her embrace.

He kisses her hair, and she inhale his familiar scent. He's here, he's here, he's here, she keeps murmuring to herself.

I'm here, he whispers in her ears. I'm here.

I miss you, she whispers and smiles.

A new tear rolls out, and it washes away the past.

They are going to start anew, a new future for them.