Story 2 : Myn's Winter

 Myn's Winter

There is a particular trait in tonight's air. It is not daunting as of yet but it possesses a harmless, ominous quality to it. The moon glows warmer tonight with a more golden sheen to her visage than other nights. The mid June air outside is sharp with its frosty bite but inside the rooms are erroneously warm. Mellow tunes ring out throughout the small flat, mingling with the lush , orange glow from the heater ,that softly falls over the entire room. All these senses tingled - sight, warmth, sound- have danced to create the very moment that Myna exists in. 

Yet, blessed with all this surrounding abundance, she can't help but meditate on what she has lost. She has regressed into that old, sentimental persona of herself, lacking impartial judgment and purpose. Her nights seem to have fallen into a sad, sorrowful routine which involves a generous douse of burgundy liqueur and a drowsy drag of work at her desk. The days seem to blend together anyway so she floats downstream with the dreadful passage of time.

It is futile labour to establish a routine for herself now, on her own. In this unfamiliar house with its strange halls and vacated walls void of any faces of her beloved. She couldn't seem to understand why God would play such a cruel game on her. 

Myn looks outside her living room window to meet the calm, violet skyline . At a a day's end like this , when the sky paints its mesmerizing hues like the closing credits of a nostalgic film , the crackling of dancing peppers in a pan and the rush of the water pouring out in the en suite bathroom's showerhead would fill the apartment. The savoury scent from Myn's cooking would waft with the the citric fragrance of James' shampoo to blend the aroma of home. 

Their home.

But he's in another home's arms now. He shares warm, fruit desserts on idle Sundays with another. The morning sun will have to wash his face from another gradient other than through their bedroom window. His laughter she has born witness to so many times echoes within walls she will never inhabit. She has been exiled from his imprint. Their world might have been a fiction she imagined, a story to lull her into a pitiful comfort that things were once good, although it all felt as volatile as a memory.

Now, Myn sits in an empty silence, waiting. Waiting for days, weeks, it has been two months. She has surrendered her survival to the the vitality he once brought into her life. She has been ensnared in the light that gleams from his eyes. Although it burns away at her, withering peels of flesh the closer she dances towards the fire, it proves to be a better alternative to spending her waking and sleeping moments in a glacial haze. Like kindle, she has found herself to be brittle and fragile until the swelter of his flame brings her alight.

That is over now. She sits in a pool of her own frigidity trying to emulate the warmth of home she once held so close like a petal in her palm. She tries to stay ignorant of where he sits in his new home, with his wife. 

"Just give me some time to sort her out. I'll tell her soon, I promise", he once promised.

So, she waits patiently in the shell of their old haven, waiting for her fire to tear through this exhausting desolation.