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    Wolffang
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 
These are a  collection of stories and or poems from three authors ( Wolffang. K.J.Stock, Rosario). Based on experiences, sensations and miss-able moments from the pandemic and there after.

The Window of Longing - 5. Melody

A melody starts up slow and steady.

It is haunting, the colour of a fading sunset, when the clouds reflect the intermingling of orange and pink on a canvas of darkening blue. When the stars, like specks of shiny dust, start coming into focus one by one. It is the backdrop to a bustling city, with no idea of what awaits them, when even the moon hides from view, from the chaos that will soon engulf the world.

It is a world on fire, as fear takes hold, turning homes, that once represented love and safety, into prisons, where doors and windows become the bars that hold humanity at bay.

It is every morning, when the world wakes to more news of death and destruction, the melodic notes of fear and chaos holding them hostage.

It is people reaching out for each other, only to come back empty handed, when intimacy and embrace become things of the past, as every man fends for themselves.

It is the lone, masked figures, the husks of what was once humanity, walking the streets, lost and searching. Searching for something, anything, to let them know that they are alive. Their eyes document the losing battle of a world with dwindling courage.

It is the melody of wheezing, and crying, and sobs, sweeping the globe, leaving no place untouched, showing no mercy.

It is the melody that haunts dreams and waking hours. A monster under the bed of society.

It is the melody of exploding nothingness. The deafening silence of emptiness.

It is the ringing in ears everywhere, as final goodbyes are said, and souls are laid to rest. Six feet under being the only escape, like water through fingers when everyone is thirsty.

It is the clouds in the night sky, hiding the light that will peel away the darkness. The darkness that leaves the people blind, and waiting, and wanting. The hours slowing down until eventually the clock stops.

But the sun will rise, shining hope on a hopeless world. Like flowers through cracks in the pavement, the people will flower once again. The beauty of a world renewed will be seen everywhere, the colour of brightness, of love, of laughter, of touch, of electric kisses, and stolen moments.

Messages will fill the sky. ‘Don’t give up’. ‘Good news is coming’. ‘Everything is going to be all right’. ‘Watch this space’.

Casualties will occur, as they do in every war, but those who gave their lives so that all of creation could live, will be remembered, and monuments will be erected in their honour.

People will be released from their prison, having been found wrongfully accused. A crime that they did not commit. Forgiveness will spread and humanity will return to a new state. There is no return to what once was.

Smiles will return to the faces of sons and daughters, mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters, grandparents, friends, lovers, and even to those who once considered themselves enemies.

A new dawn will come.

A new day.

When the melody ends.

©Copyright 2020 Wolffang, Rosario, K.J. Stock; All Rights Reserved
Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 
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