A Not So Pacific Moment : A Short Story

This is my second contribution so far, hope you like it and as always critique is very much appreciated

I must have missed the warm breeze that used to engulf my face every time I pushed the cracked heavy gate before taking the two stairs down to what used to be our small garden. Lined in pots along the path to the terrace, withering flowers didn’t bother to raise and salute my hand as it brushed through them. They just sat there, looking down in shame at the state which they have arrived to. This is no shape to meet ancient sun rays or embrace a breeze of air. In the shadow of each other they await there to fall and bond with their roots. It was there that we dashed up and down the pathway playing different, always inane games. Whether we were chasing each other or mainly throwing ripe raspberries, our giggles would always echo in a rather nostalgic manner. But it’s only the laughter that I hear, for no matter how precise my eyes examined the landscape, I failed to find the children running while their parents sipped tea from golden ornamented glass cups. Occasionally a few would gather around a hookah while we stood there in utter astonishment gazing at the smoke as it looped before it became one with the clouds above. Relentless, we would try to steal a swift eye contact with one of the smokers, hoping they would notice us and offer a quick puff away from our parents’ ever watching eyes.
But today, the air didn’t smell of flavored molasses. It was way too deceitful to be that sweet and soothing. Mutiny was evident, and the only memory I hung so hard to, started to fade in a hierarchy. The only thing that stood there was the swing tied to the old fig tree; ironically it was waiting for the algae growing on its chair to become heavier and eventually fall. You can’t help but recognize the sarcastic tone when you mention the ground. No matter how far we get and how high we reach, gravity proves victorious in every single aspect. The potential and inevitable end of all things is usually related to that element we were all made from. It’s like an equilibrium nature always manages to maintain, for once you are no longer needed you become a burden; and slowly you join with the soil you used to step on so recklessly. Despite the boring length of such a gradual process, in the end you become one with what you once considered tainted or dirty. Foreign to this immortal element, we soon decay and become its molecules.
The effect of such an unexpected shock rammed me with drowsiness. My hand couldn’t find the old green light pole to lean on so I found myself coming to a rest on the old bench that was always beneath it. I wondered about those violent whirlpools I started to feel deep inside my head. The ripples were colliding in an epiphany. All the falling pieces were snuggling up in place next to each other, and what seemed a riddling puzzle never looked so vivid. At the receiving end of this scathing dagger was a note; in bold red characters it said: “You are no longer welcomed here!” I realized the only reason I felt so distant was because I no longer belonged to this place. What was once a beautiful daily moment is now a memory. And that’s how it will always be; a recall of a time where laughter and joy seemed to exist. I had no right to step into the past to harvest what I never truly sowed; the past should never be tampered in an impotent attempt to alter the present. I was gullible to think I can retain lost parts of happiness here for it belonged to the child in me but the grown man has to fight his own demons.
I wondered who was insensitive enough to take the green pole out of its place to add it to their own collection. I remembered all the summer nights and the small moths dancing around it under its flickering light. The unreadable scribbles we managed to etch before they would scorn us. Strangely my hand stretched out to an unseen pole, my finger started to feel the edges of a carefully carved heart. The letters were not important; it belonged to every love story that boomed through the orange trees every evening when a couple would find their way away from sneaking, curious but welcoming family members. No one seemed to be bothered by the innocence of such entwined fairy tales, we were young and we only sought love to feel safe and belong to someone. It gave us the reason to do and make, it made the daily walk around the garden’s fence seem so divine. We did everything we thought about to prove the righteousness of our fragile love stories; to us it was about walking with each other every evening, laughing at silly jokes, and drawing imaginary hearts as our fingers ran across the fence. We had no idea love would be that complicated, that deceiving and mutinous. We never experience such a pain until we truly comprehend the real meaning of love, as if such a thing existed in the first place.
The bench kept reminding me of my disturbing stay; it never felt so dry and rigid. But I couldn’t blame the wooden structure. The logs were already trying to part from each other since the holes around the nails grew bigger and spacious now. I felt one of the rusty now green nails, a strange chill traveled down my spine. It was a dreary moment when my eyes met with the pond. Some rain must have gathered in it last night but it never looked so dead. A few dry leaves danced to a swift breeze as the ripples reflected the overcast sky. The walls on the inside were aging and in the middle stood a rusty pipe of a fountain that never really worked. On the outside were engraved some primitive fish and floral figures, fed into the stone by some exhausted amateur during the last hours of some cold night.
More ripples started to form inside the hexagonal pond and before my eyes met with the clouds a rain drop tapped my nose. Avoiding disturbing the rest of my bleak host, I made my way between the old metal chairs to the main gate. Water drops from a tap on the wall nearby splattered on dry leaves and broken twigs. I hesitated before getting in the car, but I took one final look. As I turned my back and looked, the monolithic house stood solid but the windows howled something I couldn’t comprehend. I looked at my dad, he could tell all what raged inside me during my stay. And as he started the car I heard him murmur: “let’s take you to that airport."