The Writers Voice
David J. Collins
The day has ended along with our relationship. Now there are only memories and remorsefulness. I still see her face filled with contempt. I still hear her words piercing like daggers. The future has become overcast. I feel mentally and physically drained. It is unimaginable to think of life without Andrea. She has been my consolation during many difficult times. To think that she would allow something petty to come between us is impossible to rationalize let alone accept.
My concentration is broken. I only want to sleep and block out the events of this day. I want to get away or turn back the hands of time. Already I am lonely and unexplainably afraid. If only I could hear kind words from her or see her smile and know that I am the cause of her joy.
Enough! I must lie down now and ease my troubled mind. To dwell on thoughts of Andrea is mentally unhealthy. I refuse to become depressed. I will lie here and drift into oblivion. I hear sounds around me growing faint. Consciously I am receding inward. I am sinking down deeper and deeper into my inner being.
Suddenly! I was awakened in the night by the screams of pain. I leaped from my bed and dressed quickly. I ran swiftly to the nearby woods. I followed the moans ahead of me. I see its footprints. There are ponds of blood. Whatever its specie it is bleeding profusely. I am compelled to pursue it. What tortures could produce such horrid shrills? What on earth or in heaven would dare induce or inflict such soul rending shrieks?
Up ahead in the clearing behind the giant redwood I heard it breathing quite heavily and with much difficulty. I made my way to the giant redwood and with apprehension moved around the base of the tree to see this creature. I was gripped by empathy. I looked and was seized by paralysis. Strength left my body. I dropped to my knees because of my weakness. I beheld this creature cruelly mutilated and in despair.
There it stood, wounded. Its head bowed. Its heart torn open. But just what it is no one knows exactly. It defies description, because it is seen by each individual differently. It is chameleon-like. It has existed since mankind. It is parasitic because its existence feeds upon man, yet man is determined to make it extinct.
Yes, it is an endangered specie. It is an enigma. It brings joy accompanied by ripples of pain. It gladdens the heart, in order to sadden the countenance. It restores youthfulness, but causes premature death. It is a contradiction. It is as much enslaved by man as man is enslaved by it. It has no volition of its own. It lies dormant and inert until it is acted upon by something not understood.
It is alone and lonely, always outnumbered and hunted by Hate, Distrust, Jealousy, Envy and their kin. It writhes, shudders, and moans only to be wounded again and again. It is immortal.
It is known as Love.
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