A short story; a rekindled interest encouraged by a dear friend. Originally the story was about an athlete, collapsing from exhaustion after strenuous exercise. His interpretation was much more beautiful… so this is for him.
His interpretation reminded me that once a writer’s thoughts have been transcribed to a page and presented to a reader, the understanding rests upon that reader. They become the creative directors. Their interpretations and perceptions, past experiences and philosophies, create the lens through which they see and perceive. Life is like that, (sometimes) people perceive us and our actions differently than what we had intended. That’s their prerogative. It’s not our responsibility to restore their vision or grant them the divine sight through which they can understand us.
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder and life, if we choose to see it, can be beautiful. We can be surrounded by love or hatred. Pick your glasses and frame your mind.
She stood at the bottom of the stairwell, her hair damp and darkened in color from sweat. Beads of perspiration trickled down her forehead, stroking her cheek before falling to the ground. They reminded her of his touch. She nervously looked up the flight of stairs and cautiously attempted an ascent. Her hand grazing the railing beside her as a precautionary measure; her body tense, vascularity enhanced. Her heart was racing. Thoughts of him cascaded. She mustered a weak smile as her gaze fell upon a familiar face. Exhaustion had compromised the expression of her enthusiasm. There was tightness in her chest, discomfort overcame her. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Her ears perked as she heard him say her name, but her eyes did not open. As he stepped down to embrace her, her knees became weak. She collapsed into his arms, her body followed soon after. Face buried into his chest, her weak smile turned triumphant. His embrace overwhelmed her, for a moment the pressure was too much, but she had neither the strength nor the desire to push away. He lifted her legs, feet hanging loosely, and carried her limber body up the stairs. Her smile unaltered, her body dissolved into his as she entered a silent euphoria.
She was home.
Thanks Mr. H, for seeing beauty in destruction…