“Transition is like autumn”
It was a clarion ante meridiem, the azure was naked displaying its turquoise tint skin unabashedly, ether and august in its own terms. The July sol was lashing out on the concrete under me. I was revising through the nitty-gritty about the neoteric and transient locus I was going to enter still scrupling about it.
“It’s gonna be okay Diganta. You will absolutely love it there.”, she forenamed lang syne in an assuring timbre as tears rolled down, ebbing down on the pillow underneath, the padding imbibing the teardrops, the white hue of the cushion turning into grey reflecting my doldrums.
The after hours went sleepless, with me staying up, my mind encapsulated with the thought about tomorrow. Inevitable.
I gaited down the endless boulevard, towards my fate, expecting a cul-de-sac to rescue me from my already inscribed destiny. I gripped her metacarpus taut as an eerie of uncertainty hanged above me as a cloud stalking me in the luster. She patted my shoulder, reassuring me for a second before I subsided again to my fears. I was defeated. But I didn’t surrender.
We finally arrived. The sarcoline ziggurat standing beanstalk(tall) before a stretch of Coquelicot land graced with Smaragdine barley. A loop of steel frame bulwarked the fortress, fortifying my foreordain, my imminent offing. The lunettes sewn to the fabric of the cement of the edifice, were the only barrier blocking me from my freedom.
I rubbernecked around, scrutinizing the hundreds of prisoners setting foot behind these metal bars waving goodbye to their loved ones as lachryma trickled down from the fissure of our oculus.
“All the best”, she said as I entered the premises of the architecture.
The board above said “Elementary State School“.
17 years 234 days later:
I traipsed down the finite avenue towards my kismet. I could recall the clime forecast for today.
“Grey skies with high probability of thundershowers”
She grasped my hand tight, while I tried to elicit a smile from her. The dark circles underneath her eyes revealing all that had happened last night. Her raven hair flowed down like a cascade, a strand of which falling in front of her hazel eyes still embracing the Moirai as an Ignis fatuus.
We finally arrived at the junction. Junction of separation.
I left her hand and walked down the aisle towards the architecture as torrent rain graced the earth underneath. Among the millions of raindrops, fell down the teardrops from her eyes echoing in the silence, as she wiped her eyes with her wrinkled palms.
I exclaimed silently as I walked towards the building.
The board above said “Forward Operating Base”