Flash fiction- On My Own

randomchild

3rd story in little over as many weeks. Quite proud of myself! Reviews, as always welcome.

On My Own
By Jonathan Shortall

The car energetically roared into life, the engine’s playful growl akin to a newborn’s bawl. It hastily pulled out of the parking lot, after some hours of basking in the deep heat of blistering warm weather. The intense heat had baked the all black car, warming its leather interior till it had become unbearably arid. The sun had been beaming down unchallenged for some days and the whole country had joyfully flocked outdoors to embrace it. The woman, the sole passenger of the car, would come, in later years, to bitterly remember this cruel irony of nature: that the sun dared shine on such a day.
As the car lurched to a stop on the order of a red light, the woman glanced out the window. She was surrounded by picturesque scenes of unbridled joy. Children enthusiastically flying kites, fervently licking ice creams or playing football, all in the unrestrained ecstasy of youth. Alongside them, adults her own age watched on expectantly, cheering their young offspring on and chatting amongst themselves, the wine flowing freely from the picnic baskets. An elderly couple completed the landscape, as they admired the serene flowerbeds, which stood to attention on either side of them, like a colourful, fairy-tale honour guard. The sun became a welcome companion to every man, woman and child in the park; a comrade who seemed to have scorned the woman’s friendship for some time now. Distant memories of her being included in the picture crept into her mind, but were quickly routed by her present woe. Happiness. Joy. Serenity. They seemed like alien and distant tastes now, well extinct from her embittered palette.
As the lights turned green, the car youthfully rushed past this blissful scene. The woman followed suit, turning her head from the window and returning her view to her lonely carriage. She was used to being alone; ostracizing herself from her family for all those years had ensured a life of solitary introversion. However, this was the first time she had made this particular journey alone. She searched through the melancholy memories of her mind; replaying all the previous times she had travelled in this fashion, each time with one less person to accompany her on the cheerless expedition than the last. This process had continued to its logical end: her alone, with no one to console her or for her to console. She tried to brush away these depressing thoughts, but her own long experience gently taunted her over the futility of such a notion. The lengthy drive, ever since her first one had always accommodated a slow, painful and torturous trip through the valley of her grieving mind. The memories of the preceding journeys adding their own burden, making their forbearers even worse ordeals. At least this was the last time she would have to do it, she thought to herself with an ironic, tearful smile.

********************

The car crawled to a lifeless stop. The driver killed the engine and stepped into the forlorn abyss outside. Moments later, he opened the woman’s door to allow her to escape from the hauntingly lonely carriage. The empty graveyard served little solace to her isolation. Even the setting sun, smothered by the overbearing clouds that had recently manifested, could not keep her company. The driver stood motionless at the car, not a scant of emotion escaping from the dark prism of his sunglasses. Apart from him, the entire area was forsaken by human attention. Maybe it was better this way, the woman conceded. The only thing that could make this scenario more tragic, she considered, was if she had to endure the empty sentiments and condolences of the swarm of people like times passed. Even through the naive eyes of an adolescent she could see those parasites that had enveloped her family for what they really were, as they sucked every last inch of blood from her family’s dying husk. Besides, if she had wanted that ordeal she would have done this in the morning, with the rest of the “mourners”.
The woman continued on the lonely path, the wind blowing hard into her tall frame, pressing her black satin dress against her, tightly wrapping it around her. As she looked around at the familiar setting, it dawned on her just how much the place had fallen into disrepair. Graffiti stained the walls. Cans, bottles and needles were strewn around the grounds, many on top of decrepit and decayed headstones, relics of a long deceased age. Weeds ran rampant, thriving in the new neglect of the past. As the woman walked through this venerable tribute to the past, she became keenly aware that she was possibly the only person in the world who still visited there with respectful intentions.
As the faint sun finally sank out of sight, she completed her journey and came to a highly ornate series of graves, each one a mile stone on a walk through sculpturing fashion. The ambitiously climbing moss on each statue acting almost as medals, signifying the seniority of rank each one had over the other. She walked through the ages, reciting the names of the graves of her distinguished forbearers. She had always done this, since the first time she terminated this journey as a child. Even after so long an absence; she could still recall the many names by heart. The further she went through the time line, the stronger her acquaintance became. From Great-Great Grandfathers she had only read about in the family annals, to Grandaunts who raised her on their own laps, to finally her own generation: those she had known intimately. Cousins…brothers…her father…
Finally she came to the freshest grave: the crescendo of her journey. It was covered in bright, playfully colourful flowers, that seemed so out of sorts in this morbid landscape that it seemed almost comical, almost insulting. She solemnly gazed down at the slate, which was acting as a temporary substitute till someone took the effort to erect a fitting memorial. She doubted anyone but she would bother. What would there be for them to gain?

These were thoughts that passed through her mind, as she stood over the grave of her mother, the last member of her immediate family…

© Jonathan Shortall 08-06-08