| guess whos an official member of the "international high IQ society"???
written by a fellow genius (haha just kidding)--- i know its long, but i think its worth it
Statue of Limitations
By Kyra Bradley
The first time he ever saw her the dew lay upon the hillside as the fog slid slowly back down the valley to the dark wooded floor. In the clearing was where it had happened. It had been a spring morning and as the rain had parted she had appeared on the wooded path. Her silk brocades and heavy velvets spoke of a wealth that very few would experience, but her face showed her to be no more than a child. She had approached him with apprehension at first but then had come to looked upon him as a friend.
He had always recalled that day with a special fondness, but deep inside each visit had troubled him more and more. When she first came to him she had found a joy at finding someone she could confide her secrets to, knowing that he would tell no one, but then she had come to rely upon him, even pray to him.
Even he, himself, could not remember how long he had stood in that clearing. Had it been centuries or merely decades? Some looked upon him as a scholar, others a hero and then there were those who looked upon him as a deity. She had come to him, never really caring what he was, just in need of a friend. In the end she had found a confessional as silent as the grave.
There were times that she came with the lightheartedness of a child. She would dance around him and lay flowers at his feet. She felt, rather than knew, that lupines had been his favorite. She would lay them at his feet and clear away the straw and bits that birds had left behind. She sang on some days and on others there was nothing but silence. He knew she was praying at those moments, whether it was to him or to God he did not know. Nor did he care, this salvation that she prayed for was not extended to him. No mortal blood had flowed through him and it took from him the one thing he had desired, to give her comfort.
In the most recent visits she had come, barefoot to him, but her dresses and her face told the story that she was not able to voice. At first it was just small stains, tiny rips, but as time progressed the tiny blood stains that had looked to be part of the pattern of her material, now covered areas in splotches of crimson, changing the tiny white flowers of her skirts, their leaves and anything else it touched to an ugly muted color. Her face had also borne the same fate. The innocence that could be seen in her untouched face when she first found him was now hidden behind a drab wash purples and blacks. Because he could not comfort her, he stood always at the ready. He had hoped the longer she had remained away from him the better it was for her. But the longer she remained away the worse she looked when she finally stepped out of the shadows into his lea.
As she slowly peeked into the clearing she had a spring to her step. Her velvet slippers and hose were held high along with her skirts. She had always tried to make sure not to mar her clothing, such actions had consequences. She came across the field bearing and armful of flowers for him with the sun catching in her hair like the little strands of gold thread in her dress. Her smile was open for the world to see, only he knew no one other than himself would see it.
She reached up to the crook of his arm and pulled away a few pieces of straw left behind by birds and cleaned the moss off of his feet. As she dropped to the ground, her skirts billowing around her, she looked up at him and smiled. She held her hand up to shade her eyes from the bright sunlight and drank the smells of damp earth. When she looked up at him again she thanked him. Her days had for the most part been peaceful since the last time she had come and, for that, she was grateful. He hated taking the praise for things he knew he had nothing to do with, but somehow knew deep inside that she didn't care, the peace she had received was all that mattered. The faith she had in God knew no boundaries. She believed that God would be with her no matter what, but she also prayed that she could pass away from this earth quite often. Her love issued forth to both him and God, regardless of the fact that she received no earthly show of affection. It mattered not what he thought, the universe still turned by God's hand and fair or not, as he saw it, God was going to continue causing the world to rotate on its axis. The sun and moon would turn and seasons would come and go and then come again. He stood in one small spot, a mixture of time and pressure and the creative mind of the man who shaped him. The world could pass him by and it did not matter, she held on to the hope that one day she would be treasured and that was all he wanted for her. It was because of that that he longed to be able to fold her into his arms like a child and tell her that someone did care. She stood after a few more minutes and then turn at the sound of horses on the grounds and ran back through the thicket. . . to her tormentor.
Time passed slowly at first, summer came and the hot sun bore down on him and the flowers that had been laid at his feet had made a hearty home for the moss that was now there. He thought of her frequently, but found a pace in the passing days that he used to convince himself that she was alright and lacked nothing.
Fall came to him like an angry child, the wind tore through the clearing razing leaves and causing them to dance like a whirling dervish around him. Then they slowly laid down at his feet and pulled up the blanket of winter. When at last the spring broke through again he feared that perhaps it was not that things were alright with her but quite the opposite. It was not like her to not come and say thank you. It was at that point he offered up his one and only prayer to be in some small way the vessel to free her of her prison if God so willed it. He knew not if she was alive or dead...only that he missed her.
The morning she returned the rain fell thick and clung to the earth at his feet in a pool of water. She stumbled into the clearing, there were no flowers visible this time, neither in her arms nor on her dress. The once lovely golden brocade had the stains of her life. She looked up at him from where she lay pleading with him for help but knowing he was unable. Her face was almost unrecognizable, if it had not been for her long hair, he doubted he would have know her. She raised herself on unsteady limbs and managed to slowly make her way to him. Once there she fell into the pool at his feet and he slowly watched the crimson drain into the water. She reached down to pull away the moss at his feet and lay her head on them. Then she uttered her only word, "Please." It was not said with a sense of begging, but rather as the answer to a question.
When the bolt struck him at heart point he felt himself shatter into a million pieces. The force gave him for that moment the feeling of freedom and movement. As the pieces drove deep into her body he could feel her life around him for that one moment and then, she was gone. He had given her all he was and she had become his eternal rest.
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