White Orchids

He focused his lenses and the reflected image he saw, gradually began to transition from a murky warp of colors to a purposeful and more solid form. Sleek and white, the form oozed of freshness, of dew drops, of cool breezes, of pleasant fragrances,…of Spring.

Spring.

Such a heavenly word, and yet such a tragedy.

Looking away from his camera, he walked over to the object of his observation, gazed at its majestic poise, and reached slowly for it. Grabbing to it, he violently wrenched it off its limb, white sleekness and all. He began to mar its flawlessness by shredding the precious pieces of severed white, in somewhat unnerving delusion. Smiling distractedly, he scattered them all over the floor. They floated to the ground like heavy….snowflakes.

Crunch.

Ah! The sound of snow under your winter boots! Can you picture yourself standing motionless under the shower of persistent snowflakes? And for that brief moment, you’re almost in a vacuum. I wish I was in one right now. No noise, no speed, no hustle and bustle, no city ....just me. Me, in fallen drops of…

Heaven.

When was the last time you said you were there? Last Spring? When you were with me?

A little flash of light and a click. The picture was taken. Having removed the roll of film from the camera, he headed for the dark room. As he moved, a sudden torrent of thoughts flooded to the back of his already preoccupied mind…

Last Spring.

You weren’t really happy, were you?

He watched as the photo-sheet swam gracelessly in the tub of clear liquid. His eyes were getting accustomed to the slow, red glow of the cubicle. Around him, hung countless amounts of photographs; pegged to lines that were strung across the room, in messy, disorganized crisscrosses. What a waste of much needed….

Space,

is what I didn’t have then. Now, there’s aplenty. Even the slightest sound, like that of a pin-drop, echoes and reverberates your name through these now seemingly hollow…

Walls.

That was what you said laid between us. Walls. I mean, what sort of reason was that? Couldn’t you just have had the courtesy to tell me you were leaving?

He clenched his fists, as the bittersweet symphony resounded in his ears.

You’re…

Pathetic.

That’s what you are. That’s how I felt – when you left last Spring.

Running his fingers through his soft, brown hair, he let out a frustrated sigh. He remembered the day – a little too clearly.

You had said, “It’s best that you leave me…

Alone.

Alone now. All alone in the world. Ah! Nobody would care anyway. Especially…

You.

You taught me to love, to cry, to hate, to lie. I’m no longer ignorant of the fact that I’m weak. So weak. I blame you.

He smiled wryly at the freshly developed photograph.

They were your favorite, those. All white and sleek. Like you, last Spring. Spring, for many, is the season of joy, laughter, merriment,…love. Mine was an utter tragedy. You ushered in premature winter. Like a child aborted, you murdered my birth of Spring. I am now destined to forever live in the cold, alone in the dark. Now – I just loathe everything, EVERYTHING that reminds me of you.

Picking out the picture from the tub, he pegged it onto a line just by his head. Satisfied, he reached for his cell phone. Finding the number he needed, he hit ‘call’.

“Hello?”
“Yes, it’s Jude. I want another one delivered to my place immediately.”
“White again, Mr. Payne?”
“The usual, Mrs. Johnson.”
“20 minutes, Mr. Payne.”

Click.

He sat there, in silence. He tried to think; tried conjuring up inspiration for his next shoot. However, his mind kept drawing a blank. Restless, he examined the condition of his camera, tweaked the settings here and there, and adjusted the resolution; as he prepared himself for the arrival of the next one.

It will be all white, perfect and sleek, just like…Wait, was that the…

Doorbell.

Skeptical, he looked at the timepiece hugging his wrist. It’s hardly been 5 minutes since he made the order.

What’s going on? Surely it couldn’t be Mrs. Johnson?

He opened his front door – there was no one there. But…what a sight met his eyes! He stood, immobile, for an hour-long moment.

“You...” he whispered, falling to his knees, burying head in hands. “Weep. Weep like the child that you are!” He chided himself in melancholic rage. “Is this what you wanted?” he yelled furiously into the darkness. Around him laid hundreds, and hundreds of white…

Orchids.

They were your favorite. I hate you.

He got up, feverishly, to go in, but stopped short. He had spotted a little card amongst the white abominations. It read,

Dearest Jude, the love of my life,

I’m sorry I had to leave. I couldn’t tell you about it, you weren’t ready.
I wasn’t ready.
It was best that I suffer alone. But, heaven’s not heaven without you.
I await our reunion with much patience. Remember our last Spring.

Love,
Martha

He wept - like never before. Clutching the card to his chest, he clumsily reentered the privacy of his home. He dragged himself past the dark room, littered with photographs of mutilated, sleek, white…

Orchids,

in hand, trembling, he placed to his head a…

Revolver.

I’m coming, Martha. I’m coming.