A/N: This is just something that came into my mind one day. It was quite hard to write, as I was struggling on how to put the words into right places. (Believe it or not!)
I hope you enjoy!
She was never one to believe in something that wasn't there. It didn't fill her mind, it didn't come to her like a bright, shiny light she had heard of. Looking back now, she couldn't even remember thinking about those things as a child. Actually, she couldn't remember anything she thought back in those days.
There was only that one thing, which she frequently thought about. That tiny thing that changed yet so much in this little girl's life.
It all happened on a cold day in the end of January. Much she didn't remember of the day, only random images of the snow covering the ground, cold biting her cheeks and the thick moustache covering the bus driver's upper lip. He was a scary man, she remembered. Something about him was very off, something that only a small child's instinct would tell.
She didn't usually go by bus, no. Her trip home was such a short one that she could walk. This day was special, though. This day her friend would finally turn into the magical age of ten. She would be a big girl now, one of the oldest girls in their class. It was strange how you forgot things when you got older. She no longer remembered what she had bought to the girl as a gift. She only remembers that it was some sort of picture, with simple frames. It was supposed to be a nice party.
Oh, the fate, what a funny thing it is.
The day is still so blurry to her. She remembers that boy painting his finger with ink, then pressing the finger against a piece of paper. "I am making fingerprints!" He would say with a big smile. He was a blond boy, with blue eyes. A classic northern masterpiece.
Thinking now, she would not even remember how much the trip cost. Only that they were all eager to go there. There were many girls, some of which she still knew even almost ten years later. Also two boys, living in the same direction.
They were left on the side of the road, she remembers. There was no bus stop on it. It was strange, usually there were supposed to be bus stops in the locations where the bus would stop. That was only logical, right? The boys were such rascals, always rushing. Perhaps they should have waited. Then they would have seen the danger.
She remembers seeing the other boy glancing across the road, then walking with the other one right behind you.
It was a big, big car. And it drove so fast. Later she found out it was actually truck. Not that it mattered, really. Its power was still lethal.
Lethal enough to take a life.
The blond boy, who was showing her his fingerprint art earlier in the day, would never do so again. He was resting on the ground, laying with his face touching the cool surface of the road. She remembers seeing some of his skin. His pants had fallen just a bit, and his shirt had lifted up. They could not see his face, or his front at all. Instead, there was a small pool of blood, just a tiny bit that told the tale.
That was probably the last day she cried over someone's death.
It was more of a shock, actually, not the cry that you do over someone's death. She remembers how one of the girls almost started to laugh, so in shock she was. Herself? She only remembers turning around, and falling on her knees.
A car came from somewhere, and told them to go home. So they did. Each of them headed towards the girl's home, only now they would not be filled with joy, not at least the joy that would have been there had this unfortunate incident not happened.
Of the trip there, she remembers so little. She remembers how one of the girls dragged her along the road, how she cried so hard so that the tears blurred her eyes and made it almost impossible to see anything clearly, even the car coming towards them. Luckily, the other girl had pulled her to the side, saving the area from another tragedy.
The present was broken, too. Its glass surface had broken into small pieces. It must've fallen on the ground at some point. Such a wonderful end to the day.
They were silent in the party, but she could remember they had fun too. Otherwise the day is a blur. Perhaps someone called her and asked if she was alright. Some nice auntie she knew. No one really said anything. She heard people had started to cry. That was understandable.
Now, even if tales like this are not rare, there are always those moments only seen by the ones that know where to look in the right moment. Even though a death such as this is a tragedy, not only to the family but the whole town aswell, it was not specifically the death that finally made the change in this little girl's life.
To reach that moment, we need to return back in time, to the moment when the truck drove past the girl's eyes, the moment that was perhaps a second, just a blink of an eye. Because even a blink of an eye can be a huge change in life.
She hasn't told the story to many, but to me she entrusted it, describing it the best she could, even though we have to remember the psychological aspect of the matter and the changing of memories over time.
As it was mentioned earlier, there were two boys that walked across the road. But no matter what the papers say, the girl still insists that it was the second boy who died, not the first one. According to her, the first one was the one who made it. She remembers the boy's shoes resting on the ground, the power of the wind having pulled them off his small feet as the truck drove past. But the boy, strangely, isn't the main subject.
It was the man next to him.
She remembers staring at a tall man, or at least tall from a 9-year-old's point of view. He had a dark greenish, or brownish coat that reached his knees, very much like a trenchcoat. Or like the coat that famous television detective used to wear. Sometimes, in the early memories, she would say she also saw some strange coloring around him and on him, like that snowfall that comes from the TV instead of programs. That dance of black and white was exactly the same to the one she would say the man had.
He was also handsome, she remembers, even though she did not remember his looks so well. He was, however, that sort of person that instead of uneasiness would awake comfort when standing next to him. But even though she could say he was handsome, she could not rememeber what he looked like. It was like a dark mess, like an image of a shadow that covered the certainly good properties of his face.
The man had a hat, she remembers. It was made in the same color scale as his coat. It was a brimmed hat. It had to have a brim, because when the man looked up from the breathing boy he would stare straight towards her, and touch his brim with his fingers, as in a greeting. Perhaps he was smiling, too, but it is too hard for her to remember now.
It took only a blink of an eye for him to be gone.
The time that had stopped for a moment returned back into its pace, and continued to the point you already know it to go.
She never saw that man again. At times, she swore she could feel someone watching her, but perhaps it was only an imagination of a child. She would hear stories of men and women and they would call these creatures as 'angels'. Angel? Wasn't it supposed to be a pretty creature in white with great fluffy wings? Still, she would begin to call this creature 'angel', whenever she would speak of it, even though these times were few and rare.
It is only a short time ago that the boy who was apparently protected by this man died, leaving only sad relatives and friends behind. But even then she didn't see this man again, not even when she went to the spot the boy was told to have been injured at. This made her wonder if the man was really a protector, or perhaps an innocent bystander who happened to be in the right spot at the right time.
Likely this man would not come to tell her the answer.
It was only a single day in a person's life, and many of us perhaps know how fast a single day can go by. But for this little girl, that single day was one of the most changing ones, one of those that made her ponder about the meaning of life, death and inbetween. Perhaps one day she would find the answers to her questions, perhaps not. Meanwhile, she would have to wait and live, live the life which she knew and which she would become to know more and more as the years would go by.
Afterall, death is inevitable.