The 14th Shade of Irreverent Blue
The 14th Shade of Irreverent Blue
Chapter One.
Long ago, in a time past -
Such pleasant quiet, the still breath of fragrant myrtle on a summer’s day…
Small birds flew in the light-blue sky, golden sunlight beaming down over the wide expanses of equally golden wheat fields, harvest-ready. The perfect vista spread all around as far as the eye could see and Jala Ressan picked small, indigo kimlli flowers with his six year old daughter Risa. He had chosen these fields filled with ripe ears of shimmering wheat grain to the west of Davascha their home town because he knew how much Risa loved the colour golden; he teased his daughter that she must be a gold miner in the making or destined to own one to be so enthralled by the colour associated with it but Risa always enthusiastically stated that it was the colour of sunlight that she loved.
Which was just as well as the day was blessed abundantly by it; all
the more for Risa to enjoy as she played with her father and called with delight to her mother Azinia not far from them, sitting at their picnic spot to the edge of one field. Risa waved a handful of kimlli flowers at her mother and Azinia beamed, waved and called back to her daughter and husband. Jala waved back at Azinia, whispered something to Risa who giggled; Jala moved off a little way from Risa, turned and called back to her then moved forward again. He bent into the fields of gold for a few moments then straightened up and lifted his hands up and outwards towards Risa; she nodded and called to him, obviously happy with the contents of her father’s hands. He walked over to Risa, turned the tiny animal in his hands over to her and walked back to the grounds of his exploration, further this time, scrutinising as he walked. Azinia called to Risa, most likely about eating, and Risa walked towards her mother, clutching her prize in her hands as she did. Azinia watched Risa’s progress smiling and calling to her, Jala turning occasionally from his hunting spot to look at his family. He studied and picked at the ground and moved a few paces more to the left - as Neen DeGos knew he would.
The clean, fresh scent of myrtle clung to Neen from its source, the evergreen shrub he was still and concealed in. His hands expertly grasped his drawn bow, arrow in trained direction, aimed at Jala. There was no danger of hitting either Risa or Azinia, they were far away from Neen’s aim and Jala’s exploratory efforts for his daughter had doubled as affording her more distance and therefore protection from Neen; there was no one else around to get caught up in the mayhem he was about to unleash in the beauty of this day.
Neen watched Jala, Jala bent to retrieve some treasure for his child for the last time for it would happen when he stood back up. Neen braced, waited, unblinking, focused, Jala stood, holding more indigo kimlli flowers and Neen relaxed his fingers, the arrow released; flew; pierced Jala’s jugular vein. Blood erupted forth from his neck in forceful flow. Jala’s eyes were wide and frozen as he clutched his hands desperately to his throat, to his neck in a paltry attempt to stem the gushing blood flow, falling to his knees along with the dark blue flowers he had picked only moments before.
Neen watched the certainty of his kill as Azinia’s scream of horror arose on the silent, sunny day. Azinia's emotion-filled cry evolved into continuous, terrible wails as she looked all around desperately for the source of the attack, Neen, but did not find him, pushed her daughter down towards the ground to hide her for safety and ran across the shimmering field towards her husband, now, so quickly in his last breaths from the gushing blood loss spewing from his neck. Azinia fell beside Jala, screaming his name, pressing at his neck with her clothes to stop the blood flow, futile attempts, as Neen glanced over at Risa from his position within the shrubbery and saw the child watching her parents in silent confusion. Neen looked back at Jala’s body; indeed it was his body now, Jala was dead but Azinia’s desperate attempts to save her husband continued, alongside her loud, wild screams. Once again with trained expertise, Neen moved, disengaged himself from his perfect hiding place, climbing silently, backwards, into the next field behind the myrtle shrubs, without being seen.
Neen glanced once more towards Risa, over the side of the wide, myrtle shrub. The young child was panicking now at her mother’s distress and her father’s immobility, taking shaky steps towards them. Neen watched her for a second more then turned and retreated soundlessly away from the family torn apart by his hands, Risa’s burgeoning cries and Azinia's full ones the accompaniment to his every unseen step away.
“He smiled but it didn’t seem to touch his eyes...”
"He smiled but it didn't seem to touch his eyes..."
“Cressida –” began Edwin Ronells, moving to take a seat next to the young and sparky Cressida Orovie.
“It never does,” cut in Cressida, crisply, staring straight ahead of her, at the painting of a winter sunrise in the Ronells’s living room, the painting she had seen dozens of times and smiled at each time. But not today.
She turned to face Edwin and saw the worried look on the concerned father’s face. “He smiles at me,” she continued, “and it’s blank. He’s empty. At least where I’m concerned. I can’t keep ignoring it, Mr Ronells. I’m not going to fight a battle that isn’t mine to fight, not at this stage of my life.”
“Cressida, if you only knew -”
Cressida stood up abruptly. “Yeah, pain, I know. But Mr Ronells, your son’s not the only one who lost something, who lost someone. And if he won’t try to fight for me, I need to stop fighting for him.”
Edwin stood up. “I think you should talk to him again,” reasoned Edwin. “I think the two of you just need to talk this through, properly, without any extraneous factors.”
Cressida pointed at her D-SLR on the coffee table. “This… isn’t extraneous,” she said, her tone hard. “It’s extremely relevant.”
Before Edwin could respond, Cressida swung her jacket on and grabbed the camera off the table. She rotated the power switch on the camera, turning it off and exiting the evidence of Rai’s actions.
She looked up at Edwin. “I’m sorry Mr Ronells,” she said. “I just came here to pick up my camera. I forgot I’d said you could look up the pictures of the dinner. You’re really nice but… I guess this is how things are. You can tell Rai that from me.”
Cressida tucked her hair behind an ear; the action reminded her of how she always smiled whenever Rai did it for her. “With much love,” she murmured.
She made her way to the door and walked out, leaving her past and the future she had wanted behind.