February 29th - Leap Day

This is a short story that I wrote because I couldn't get this idea out of my head ... so I emptied it onto paper!




His boots left ridges in the mud where they sank into the earth. His red velvet shirt and fine golden hair flapped wildly in the wind. Mud sloshed onto his pants up to his knees but he paid no attention, he just kept running. Running from or to, no one knew. The few people around the area watched in petrified horror as he sprinted across the landscape; muscles straining to keep with his determined speed. He dipped his head back, the sky peering into his soul. His eyes were closed and his teeth were barred.

"No!" whispered a few of the onlookers, but none of them could possibly stop what was to come. He sped towards the cliff face with tears now streaming from his eyes, creating small invisible trails of his past pain and suffering. He slowed and a few strands of hair came down over his face, landing with a soft prick when they met his wind-burned skin.

His hand dove into his pocket, and after a few seconds of tossing and turning, came out with a small piece of paper. He raised his hands up to the sky, paper in hand, and closed his eyes while muttering something into the wind.

The wind retrieved the paper from his hand and softly placed it on the grass. It started to flutter around on the ground, but the tall blades of grass would not let it escape. He looked down at it, with hurt in his eyes, one last time. He whispered something that the crowd could not make anything of, because his hair was now flapping around his face again, alive with the fleeting beats of the man’s heart.

He began to run again with vicious impetuosity towards his shelter from pain and sadness. He saw the vast expanse of murky blue ocean ahead, and soon, the water crashing against the rocks jutting up from the sea floor. He felt himself leave solid ground for the last time, but he did not look back ... the pains of the world could not trouble him anymore. The wind whipped around his face, and made his clothes press against his skin. He closed his eyes, and was at peace.

They all stood, watching in silence as he lifted off of the cliff face like an angel, and then plummeted down to the waters below. An old man with a gray moustache walked over to where the paper still fluttered on the ground. He bent down slowly, with pain in his joints, and picked it up. He saw a shadow come over the paper, and looked up. Dark clouds were now overhead and letting loose heaven’s tears once again. He focused his attention back on the paper. He turned it over and realized it was an envelope, with a lipstick smudge acting as the seal. He pried it open with his index finger and a small note slipped out into his hand. The note read:


Dearest Jim,
Our life together has been wonderful, and I could not have hoped for better. You treated me with kindness and I felt so loved. Whenever you held me I felt warm and safe. I am sorry to tell you, however, that ... we just weren’t meant to be. There is someone else; Patrick, yes, Patrick Emoiré. I will be leaving on the 29th of February, oh yes, it’s a leap year this year, or did you forget?

Goodbye,
Sophie




I hope you enjoyed it

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