Now, all is nothing but a history.

Years ago, free-spirited gradeschool pupils were running and panting under the midday sun. Hopscotch lines were drawn on the earth’s surface. They could be heard laughing as someone, a self-proclaimed clown, cracked a joke much in the enjoyment of others. The sun’s scorching heat brought negligible effect to the children who were immersed in the pools of innocence and frivolity.

The sea breeze was calm as they walked towards the shore. The venerated white sand was nothing compared to the lesser-known gray sand. It was on these grains of gray sand where they walked and ran. The sea was a mute witness to the throbbing of the hearts, calling of those who were left behind, and rescuing of those who perished. Everyone was sanguine; everything was falling into its proper place. It seemed that the heat of the sun was bearable.

Under the towering height of the trees, shouts could be heard afar off. Children were half-screaming, half-singing. The trees were not disturbed by the noise. They seemed to not care anyway. They sang together, along with the children. The gusty wind later joined the ensemble.

Children walked hastily but cheerfully. It was like Christmastime. Everyone was in glee. The nights were starry and long. The mornings broke eternally bright and fair. Every moment was ethereal. Despite the numbing of bodies and lacerations inflicted from stumbling upon something, happiness was manifest. No one bothered to break the chain. The day was just right.

The noise implied that everyone was in life, blood was running through their veins. Smiles implied that life should be lived to its fullest, and happiness comes to those who want it.

The noise. The smiles. The guffaws.

Children running, panting, walking, screaming.

Their hearts throbbing, joy overflowing.

Those were years ago.

Now, all is nothing but a history.

– 28 March 2014



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