Blowing In The Wind

Joseph had been to the nurse with a rather substantial ear infection, and stood beside the middle aged, considerably over-weight nurse was Jessica, a student nurse on a placement. He only wished the circumstances were different, and so departed without informing the nurse of his rather unpleasant condition, and chose to seek medical help instead from the internet, resulting in a dramatic decline in his condition. Predictably, the infection worsened, and became rather grotesque, until finally, Joseph resolved to return to the nurse, and confess his tale of treachery. Jessica had found the whole thing rather amusing, and seemed to take pleasure in telling him that he would need to return to the clinic on a weekly basis to check on the progress of the mutation forming within his ear. After six long weeks of regular syringing, substantial amounts of anti-biotic drugs, and ear swabs, Joseph left with his hearing intact, and a ‘follow-up appointment’ with Jessica at Portofino’s Italian restaurant, which offered an impressive deal of two courses for just seven pound. After several ear-related jokes and fungi risotto puns from Jessica, the couple had shared their first kiss, bathed in the flickered ultra violet blue of the of the ‘Portofino’s’ sign strewn across grey breeze-blocked front of the building. Jessica jumped into the taxi, and Joseph had handed the driver ten pounds, and made him promise to get her home safely. The two continued to see one another on a regular basis, until Jessica graduated with honours, and settled into a well-paid nursing job, at which point, they began to rent a two bed roomed flat with a balcony overlooking the city, where they would sit during the evening time, and enjoy the splendour of a view that would be rarely accessible to people of their age. It was outside Portofino’s, some two years after Joseph had suffered so terribly with his ear that he had descended onto his knee. ‘Will you marry me?’ He had said, gazing into up into her silhouette, black in front of the same ultraviolet sign that had adorned the wall two years ago.

Their hands were clasped, damp with sweat, but set fast within each other. Her oceanic eyes met his hazel ones, and he smiled at her reassuringly.

‘I, Joseph, take you, Jessica, to be my wedded wife. With deepest joy I receive you into my life that together we may be one. As is Christ to His body, and to the church, so I will be to you a loving and faithful husband. I promise you my deepest love, my fullest devotion, my tenderest care. Come what may, I will forever be your protector and provider. Ever honouring God's guidance by His spirit through the Word, And so throughout life, no matter what may lie ahead of us, I pledge to you my life as a loving and faithful husband’...

The sun sparkled on the silvery blue of the bonnet like a snippet of the ocean as the convertible sliced through the breeze. Driving the car was Joseph, wearing a white vest, with two dog tags hanging loosely from his neck, his hair, dark and spiky remained rigid and immovable in the wind. His tanned legs protruded from the bottom of his khaki coloured canvas shorts, and his feet, bottomed by sandals were sat either side of the three pedals below. Behind the wheel, he glanced sideways at his wife, her blonde locks dancing in the wind, caressing the lenses of her black shades. She smiled back at him, her teeth reflecting the suns light like a row of moons, dazzling him. She looked away, out onto the plains of sand surrounding them, her elbow resting lightly on the doorframe of the car. Amid the symphony of the wind and the purr of the engine, music streamed out from somewhere, the crotchets and quavers lingering momentarily, before floating away like bubbles in the breeze. His right elbow rested on the door, inclined inwards slightly to hold the wheel steady, mirroring his newlywed. They had married just two days previously, and were now cruising through the idyllic Croatian countryside in an impressive hire car, perhaps twenty miles or so from the ocean. His left hand was spread over the gear stick, its fingers limp, like a spider exhausted by the sun. Jessica stretched out and wrapped her fingers in his, rousing the spider, who responded, and gave a gentle squeeze. The pit of his stomach squirmed pleasurably, and he glanced at his wife once more, only to find her eyes, barely visible beneath the darkness of her shades already gazing at him. Like two flowers, leaning towards a sun hovering somewhere between them, the pair leaned in, their lips meeting briefly.

With thunder, the right wheel collided with the rock sat basking in the sun in the road. The car flipped and span rapidly like a fly at a spider’s mercy, the inescapable cocoon of silky web thickening with every rotation. The melodic whistle of the breeze had been drowned by the shattering of glass, the crunch of metal on granite. Their screams were inaudible, trapped in the metallic prison, now creased and crinkled like a giant paper bag, kissing the pavement as it drifted and danced along in the wind. The progress of the car slowed like the final seconds of an avalanche, coming to a halt as the wheels hit the earth with a resounding crunch. Dust hovered around the wreck like fireflies, lingering lazily in the thick summer air. The cloud of dust began to disperse, and wreck that it entombed became visible. The car had landed on all four wheels, buckled and battered by the relentless collisions with the earth, all veering off into a different direction like four blades of unkempt grass at the front of some desecrated cottage. In the car, the two occupants had maintained the exact position that they held just twenty seconds previous, only now, the posture of the two had changed. They were no longer two flowers leaning into one another, curving elegantly and symmetrically, but instead, two wilted roses of the deepest red, their heads touching one another, the two tributaries of blood mingling into river of crimson that pooled on the torn leather of the seats. The melody that poured from the stereo moments before crackled and forced its way out of the remnants of speakers, the serrated edges of the metal butchering the music.

Her eyes twitched and flickered like the last embers of a fire before snapping open. She sat upright, and the limp figure of her husband slid into her lap, forcing her to let out a scream. She continued to scream for a few seconds, or perhaps longer, as the magnitude of the situation grabbed took hold, each detail of her new surroundings rousing panic and dread in her heart. In the wake of the terror that had first consumed her, logic presented itself, and she fumbled around frantically searching for her mobile. Beneath the corpse of her seat, she found half of it; the screen of her flip-phone. Her breathing increased rapidly, as she shook her husband furiously, whose head still rested on her lap. ‘Wake up Joe! Please please please wake up!’ She begged through the cascade of tears and blood that continued to run down her face. With tremendous effort, she managed to dislodge the warped metal of the door, and squeeze free from the lifeless figure of her husband like a new born baby, collapsing on the floor outside, landing on all fours. She struggled to her feet again, looked around the vast expanse of sand around her. The first thought that occurred to her was how remarkably isolated she was; it was like a giant chess board of rock in front of her. The descending orange sun threw king, queen, rook and pawn shaped shadows across the acres of sand on which she stood. It would have been beautiful, save for the mangled heap of metal and smoke that fouled the scene. Terror and panic grabbed hold of her, shook her, squeezed her. She felt weak, and fell once again to her knees, pain pulsating across her body, causing thick, murky clouds to float across her vision, obscuring her view as she looked briefly towards her beloved. She didn’t see him stir as she fell, with a soft, yet resounding thud into the sand, which shot up into the air in its thousands of grains, before settling gently over her body, veiling her in dusty gold.

21 years had passed since Joseph had lost his wife. She had died from internal bleeding, the doctor had said. Joseph had been rescued, ironically, by some other honeymooners, who came across the wreckage, and telephoned immediately for an air ambulance. He was cut free, and revived at hospital, where he lost his left leg, his sight in his right eye, and a great deal more. He collapsed into his living room sofa, disturbing the billions of particles of dead skin that occupied the material, and reached for the one small bottle of whisky that still contained a few inches of amber liquid, in front of the 7 or 8 behind that were drained. He fiddled with the top, cast it aside and lifted the bottle to his lips. With this good eye, he ingested his surroundings, enjoying the deep burn from the whisky. There was nothing of any worth here, he thought. All the room had accumulated over the past decade or so was filth, glass bottles and presumably all manner of vermin. Looking again to his right, through the forest of empty bottles, a few inches behind, was a photograph. It depicted him and his wife on their wedding day. Stood together, their bodies inclined to one another, Jessica draped in white, looking as though she was missing her halo, Joseph had always said. He exploded into tears, his face contorted with the guilt and rage that had plagued him for so many years. He pulled this picture so tightly into his chest it cracked, and shards of crystal sprinkled across his lap, joined occasionally by the serrated tears of glass that fell from his face. He looked down at the picture again, now lined with cracks that ran in lightning bolt shapes directly down the middle, carving a line where the two met. Joseph howled with agony, his eyes closed so tightly that it hurt, his entire body shaking violently. With his right hand, he removed the half of the glass that sat in front of his wife, unveiling her. He stared at her for a few seconds, and the corners of his mouth quivering, forming the shadow of an uncertain smile. Closing his eyes once more, he held his left hand aloft, pressed the shard of glass firmly against his wrist with the other hand, and dragged it swiftly across. With nothing more than a grimace, blood streamed from his hand, cascading from his veins, washing away with it the guilt that had racked him for so many years. He switched hands, and repeated the action on his other wrist, letting out a gasp this time. He sat enveloped by the cushion of his sofa, whose springs had long since perished. His hands lay by his side, docile, deep claret still flooding from his wrists. His focus remained with the picture on his lap. He stared into the eyes of Jessica, smiled, and his heavy head fell limp, his chin sat comfortably upon his chest.