Linger

He was walking down a narrow winding road under a hill chain. The hills were green, two small ponds mirrored the sky from a small plateau on the westernmost, rounded summit. The hills were covered in trees – lush green oaks, beech and walnut trees. The eastern ridge was covered in corn and wheat crops. A small blue spring trickled downhill from one of the ponds, flowing under a small bridge in front of him. He stepped on the bridge and stopped for a minute, suddenly remembering something. On his right, across the valley, lay a quiet town with red-roofed houses and well-kept gardens.

He had been there before, that’s were he had met – her. With a brief shrug, he resumed walking. Yes, he remembered her – beautiful, awkward, dreamy and really impractical. He felt a soft breeze against his cheeks. One fluffy cloud moved slowly across the sky. He had thought he’d really liked her. She was sort of spiritual, loved the surrounding forest and had a name for every path and clearing. She used to go to church every Sunday with her family, but during the rest of the week, when she’d finished her chores, she went to her favorite spot in the forest with her “spirituality book” (some animist or pagan treaty she’d found in somebody’s attic) for a quiet afternoon. He had accompanied her often, but when he was with her the book stayed untouched in her picnic basket. Her features were so soft and smooth, and she always smelled of wildflowers. Her family seemed friendly, and he’d spent a few good months in the quiet town. 

That had been a good business trip. Of course, he was going to return to the big city he called home, to his real life. It had crossed his mind at one point to take her with him (his road was about to cross another which climbed down a saddle in the middle of the hill chain, heading for the town). But, honest to god, she was also a little boring. It was the type of boredom that would escalate to annoyance, and then to hatred, a process he was sorrowfully familiar with. He had quietly struggled with these thoughts for a day or two, but the decision was obvious. So, when the time came, he made sure she wasn’t pregnant, said his farewell to her friendly family and a bewildered, wide-eyed, beautiful her, and left… Such an old story. He was still a young man back then. He wouldn’t have remembered now any of it, had he not decided to go for a long stroll on this Sunday afternoon. 

He was wondering halfheartedly if she was alright – when something about the place felt very strange. Maybe everything went suddenly quiet, or maybe the air got warmer? But before he actually had time to figure out what was wrong, he felt a sudden earthquake which pulled the road from under his feet and made him fall on his knees. The sky grew dark, as if a vast black cloud were covering the sun. But when he looked up, what he saw froze the blood in his veins. The westernmost hill was rising and turning towards him, now looming above his head, the two ponds directed downwards towards him, large drops of fresh water falling down from above and splashing on and around him. Then the hill chain formed a new, barren ridge under the forest, and its whole western mass leaned on that ridge. As if it was propped up on one elbow, to take a better look at him.

How are. You doing. Long time. No see