Discretion or Inspiration? (Part 2)

A place where no one dwells, where nature is untouched, where troubles are non-existent, where dreams live and where hope is alive.

Just a quick mid week update, though the main purpose of this post is to complete the narrative as seen in the previous post.

Life never fails to amaze. Well, at least for me. I've come to realize that there's more then meets the eye to life than "making money and dying peacefully". I mean we see "death" everyday (in the media, for starters) so I guess the society's already shaped and crafted in such a way that we discredit the true meaning of life in general.

Achieving dreams might seem like something out of a novel but I can assure you that it is very real. So real in fact, that even we, fail to notice its prominence.

Its good to dream, its good to aim and its good to plan your life. But what drives it is action, motivation as well as direction.

Dreams and ambitions do come true.

Oh well, on a lighter note, I realize that there is evident change in my sleeping pattern; I'm able to draw larger amounts of energy from lesser amounts of sleep. Something tells me that this isn't exactly what you'll define as a "healthy" lifestyle.

Hmm...

Alright, now for the finale on the previous running narrative. We'll pick it up right where we left; just as the farmer was about to fall asleep (the irony).


"

The morning will bring new hope, the farmer thought to himself as he climbed onto his bed as fell asleep. A soft rumble, barely audible, vocalized in a distance just as the farmer fell asleep...

(END OF PART 1)

-

A cruel dawn broke out against the countryside and though the morning had come, the golden sunshine that the people have grown accustomed to was nowhere to be found. Instead, a huge ominous cloud of enormous statue loomed over the vast fields of the countryside, many of which ripen and ready to harvest.

It was all calm, too calm and then, it was here.

A sudden impulse, and all hell broke loose. The farmer started into consciousness and jumped from his bed. A quick glance outside revealed only one thing as emotion gripped him like a predator on its prey; fear.

So all that talk about a storm and floods were true, the farmer thought to himself as he threw some clothes on, preparing for the worse while he did so.

As if on cue, the first drop of water from the sky descended with the loud complement of thunder in the sky. A light drizzle soon followed, peppering the fields with a dash of water, signaling something of a greater magnitude to follow.

The farmer could hear the light patter of rain falling upon the shack's frail, but sustainable roof; it often leaked. The tempo of the raindrops slowly increased as with the rate of his heartbeat.

-

With rain beating down harshly upon the farmer's already soaked overalls, the farmer didn't slow down for a minute as he repeated a simple chain of actions; pluck, dump into bag, move on to next harvest.

His mind however, was involved in a mix battle of conflict from within, as question after question filled his already troubled mind, deliberating about his actions and the consequence.

As if emphasizing on the already grim situation, streaks on lightning framed the livid skyline, thunder roaring as if in accomplice.

-

Time passed seemingly slow but the rain had only beat down with renewed vigor. And by now, the farmer's fatigue reached an all time low. His movements were sluggish and clumsy.

Bit by bit, his vision clouded. Was it the rain thickening? Or was it just after storm mist which shrouded his surroundings? He mumbled to himself, obviously in delirium and much suffering and torment.

The skies struck once more. A flash of pure energy hit home and the farmer felt the ground shaking, as if shattered by the powerful force of nature itself.

The world around him turned to black.

-

The countryside saw the worse storm that day, one of the most destructive in recent years.

Homes had to be rebuilt, harvest re-cultivated, and hopes had to be re-established. That year also saw the quietest mid autumn festival in the countryside; many lives were ruined and many others stripped of faith.

Few gathered around the traditional mid autumn bon-fire, which didn't looked as impressive as it was last year.

Already the countryside prophets predicted that the torrent of rain that struck the country a couple of days ago was only a fraction of what the year's winter would encompass and rage.

A light chime made its way amongst the small mass gathered there, seeking the last source of warmth before the harsh winter.

Voices were hushed and soft for everyone gathered and prayed softly. There were no feasts. There were no decorations, nor were there any song and dances; everyone provided with whatever little they have left from the storm.

As the Shepherd stepped into the circle that has been made around the minute bon-fire, the voices slowly focused from a distortion of mumbles.

"I heard that a farm on the outskirts..." said one.

"Yes, I've heard it too." Another commented.

"totally destroyed, that one" came the answer.

"The creator blesses them"

The Shepherd's curiosity got to her as she strained to eavesdrop further (no one talked to her as they found no use for her, largely due to her trade).

Sleepless nights had eroded her; her eyes looked tired, her face looked haggard and her hands were shaky. But nothing deteriorated more then her mind. Day and night, she kept thinking about that encounter with that farmer she encountered.

Something. Something made her feel that way, as if a voice was calling out to her everyday. But she failed to verbalize whatever that was making her feel this way.

Unknowingly, the Shepherd has wandered to a desolated spot which looked vaguely familiar to her. A feeling of deja-vu gripped her tightly as she replayed the encounter in her head. There was something about those eyes.

She then saw it. Right there, as if unaffected by the torrent of rain over the period of the pass few days; an apt comparison of the persistent feelings that eluded her all this time.

She knew what to do.

-

A cloud of smoke cleared and the smell of burnt wood was pervading the usually fragrant countryside air.

The farmer was kneeling in front of what looked like the remains of the shack he once lived in, tears welling up in the eyes as he looked in agony.

His shirt was stained with mud for he had fainted just as the rain climaxed a few days back. He had awoken with the devastation before he eyes; his ruined harvest, ravaged fields and more importantly, his destroyed shack.

His parents though, weren't anywhere to be found and he wept at the prospect of them being amongst the charred ruins.

-

The clouds above soon cleared and the countryside saw the first glimpse of the golden sun's rays through the canopy of clouds that raged its anger upon the countryside.

Slowly, golden rays illuminated the countryside, the vast pastures, the lush trees and the green grass, laden with water over the pass couple of days.

A tint of golden fell on the broken farmer as he wept before the devastation, with it, a soft, familiar sound of bells rang from afar.

The farmer doubted his ears but his vision could deceive him no more; a silhouette along the horizon against the setting sun confirmed his thoughts.

She's here, he said.

(End of Part 2)

"

Alright that's all for this part. I must say that a considerable amount of thought was put into this episode so I hope you guys enjoy it as much I writing it.

On a random note, its freaking cold where I am so.

Time for dinner but before I take my leave, I would like to share a particular song, as seen below, to all my readers out there.

Feel free to feedback about the narrative as you deem fit and I'm considering a follow up quite soon.

Cya'll later.

"These words were never easier to say, or her to second guess"

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Now playing: Mayday Parade - Miserable At Best
via FoxyTunes