Yui-chan Posted March 17, 2004 Report Share Posted March 17, 2004 Friends, Please forgive me if you've seen this before. It's not quite new, but when I came across it in my archives today I realized that I couldn't remember having ever shown it to my friends here in the Pen. It seems unlikely to me as this place is always the first stop for anything new I write, but I couldn't find any evidence that I'd posted it. Thus, in case I forgot to share, here's 'He Never Broke a Promise'. I think it might have special meaning to a few of us... Thank you, ~Yui He Never Broke a Promise 4 April, 2003 One day... She sat in the gentle curve of the bay window, warm from sunlight and the heavy air of summer, a small figure in an overlarge shirt and a pair of white socks. They were his, of course, and wearing them as she'd slept had been like cuddling in his strong arms all through the night. His scent, that musky cologne he loved combined with the spicy tang of his aftershave, wafted all the stronger in the heat and swirled around the window alcove on the currents of what little breeze flowed. It was enough to let her imagine that he was right behind her, standing there as he had a thousand, thousand times, as much to look out the window as to grin at her reflection in the glass. For one moment, she entertained the fanciful notion that if she turned her head, she'd see him there, his hazel eyes twinkling with his smile, his perpetually-disheveled hair gleaming with auburn highlights in the sunshine, and his ever-ready hug just waiting for her pleasure... Ah, but she knew better, and so she kept her gaze fixed on the dirt road leading away from the house. She forced herself to remember the sight of him as he walked away, head high and wide shoulders squared, his bag slung comfortably over his shoulder. She'd cried to see him go, of course, but there was pride beside the sadness, pride and the comfort of his promise to return as soon as he could. He never broke a promise. Ten days... The sun shone with its usual vigor on the cushions of the bench that lined the bay window, lovely and comfortable though cooler than it had been in the days before, and she sat as she had every morning, gazing out at the green, summer day from the folds of another of his shirts. It was the last that he'd worn, and today she would have to wash it and suck the scent of him from it as she had with all the others. Without that comfort, she knew it would become harder for her to avoid the longing she felt for him, but she was resolved to face her longing with his courage and confidence. He'd be proud of her for when he returned, because no one would be able to say that she'd moped or complained when he'd been away. She would take care of things and keep them well in order, and when she missed him so very badly, she'd write him happy, reassuring letters to make them both feel better. She knew she could persist, because no matter how long it was, he would return to her as he'd said. He never broke a promise. One hundred days... The lively yellow of the sunlight had shifted weeks ago to the fragile grey of hard winter, but it still shone through the haze of thin winter clouds with determination. The warmth in the bay window now came from within the house instead of without, and she could feel the frigid air outside trying to leech it away through the thin glass. If the weather had its way, she would be shivering there in her favorite seat, but the ever-constant hard work of the heaters kept her warm despite the challenge - those and his oversized sweatshirt, of course. What a delight it had been to find that! She'd nearly forgotten the scent of him in all the time since last his shirts had shared it with her, but now she could look forward to its comforting embrace once more from all the winter clothes she'd pulled from his closet. Now, she could almost imagine that he stood behind her, again, his smile reflected in the glass. Almost. It was just that the window had never once been cold when he'd been standing in it, and yet today it was utterly frigid. Still, she was warm and worked hard to stay that way until the day he returned. He had promised that it was only a matter of time... And he never broke a promise. Three hundred days... The dead-grey light of the sun fought and clawed its way through the cloud cover to just barely struggle in through the bay window. Where it rested, a shadow hint of warmth blossomed in the cool air, but it was a fragile and fleeting warmth that barely held true in the gentle circulation of the house breeze. She sat quietly as she had for so many days that she'd lost count, wearing the overlarge sweatshirt that had long ago lost his scent and staring out at the snow. If the summer had seemed a bit cooler than normal, the renewed winter had proved bitterly, dangerously cold. The simple dirt road on which he had left so very, very long ago had been hidden beneath winter's white ice for day after day, and even the desperate struggles of the loving house could barely keep her warm. The cold was no longer gently leeching the heat from her; now it sucked it away voraciously, consuming and destroying all that she struggled to create and then leaving her uncomfortable and bereft. She could leave her window seat, but in truth there was nowhere to go that was comfortably warm this bitter winter, so she stayed and stared out at the grey world, holding the image of his face before her. If she often had trouble recalling the warmth that his smile always held, at least she could still imagine just how wonderful it would be to feel the strength of his arms, the solid warmth of his embrace when he returned as he'd promised. He never broke a promise. Six hundred days... There was no sun that morning as she sat her seat in the bay window, the clouds of deep winter had long since defeated it, blocking out not only its light but its vital, life-giving heat. She shivered as she huddled deeper into his sweater and sighed to realize that she couldn't remember the long-gone scent of him. It was the way of things, now, after so terribly long... The road upon which he'd gone and the memory of his silhouette in the sunlight were both equally hidden beneath the weight of winter. The dream of his smiling face in the panes of her window had been consumed along with the heat; her mind's eye now only saw a shadow-man, vague of feature and devoid of familiarity. That the memory of his embrace had become similarly empty was a source of unyielding sorrow in her, and that sorrow had come to define her life in those cold, dark months. Hope and faith both dangled from her heart on the end of a fragile sinew, and she despaired. When they, too, fell to the encroaching ice, she would be finally lost. There was no struggle left in her, no fight, and very little life. But always she reminded herself that he had promised to come back to her, and he never broke a promise... Six hundred and one days... The sun had died in the night, of that she was certain, and warmth was only a memory. There was no light in the bay window, a fitting reflection for the dark shell that had once been her heart. She had not slept the night through, but instead had kept silent vigil over the death of her last ounce of strength. Like a puddle of water in her hands, the harder she had tried to hold onto it, the faster it had flowed between her fingers until now, in the midst of a morning that was no different from the night it had been born from, she watched the last drop strain to fall away. With it would go her life and her hope and her will until there was nothing left but the empty place he'd left behind, but truly she was too numb to feel the grief that knowledge should inspire. Instead, she lifted her eyes from her misery to gaze one last time on the place where that hated road that had taken him away from her lay buried under the snow... ... and there she saw him, limping towards the house with his bag slung over his shoulder, his crisp uniform adorned with a bright Purple Heart. In that moment, the sun burned through the dark clouds and hit the world with all the comforting warmth at its command. Winter shattered like the glass that stood between them, falling away before a joy so profound that it seemed as if even the deep snow would melt beneath its power. She will never remember the seconds it took her to get outside, for the next thing she knew she was running barefoot towards him through December. The cold could not touch her. And then she was in his arms, again, feeling the strength and warmth she had nearly forgotten, breathing in the scent of him that she had lost so very long ago. She clung to him with the strength that had nearly fled and marveled that she could ever have lost sight of the radiant warmth of his smile. His voice, soft as he whispered happiness into her hair, was a song played after too much silence, and his embrace was all she could ever need to feel safe and loved. There was no more winter within her, no more space for cold or despair to fit amidst all the warmth and love, because he had returned to her... because he never broke a promise. 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Peredhil Posted March 17, 2004 Report Share Posted March 17, 2004 Gives a short fierce nod A male may lie to get his way Sincere empty words to in her arms lay But a man's word is an absolute thing And into winter's death will summer bring. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
WrenWind Posted March 17, 2004 Report Share Posted March 17, 2004 I had to get out the tissue box for this one. Well told story. Thank you for sharing it. *hugs* Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Yui-chan Posted March 18, 2004 Author Report Share Posted March 18, 2004 Peredhude, Integrity is a word too seldom used in this time, I think. But luckily, there are still some who know it and use it to define themselves. They give me hope. WrenWind, I'm sorry to leave you fishing for the tissues. Those bleak emotions can be a little too infectuous. Thanks for reading. Yours, ~Yui Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Wyvern Posted March 20, 2004 Report Share Posted March 20, 2004 I think that this is a really excellent story, Yui-chan. I particularly liked your (typically) excellent uses of vivid and original details, and also thought that the manner that the tone slowly shifted to a more depressing one as the days passed by was very well done. There never seemed to be any sudden shifts in the principal characters emotions (at least not until the end of the piece, where they were meritted), and the ups and downs of her feelings all seemed to run very naturally and smoothly. I think this sense of realism made the story all the more emotionally evocative... Anyway, I think this piece definitely gets it's feelings and message across... not much else to say except "congratulations on yet another wonderful piece of prose." Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Yui-chan Posted March 20, 2004 Author Report Share Posted March 20, 2004 Thanks a ton, Wyvie. In some ways I feel like this was a bit of a 'cheat' on my part since I've been through the other side of what the character in this was feeling. I can only assume it was so realistic because of that, but as long as it's good for an enjoyable story to share with others, I'm happy. Thank you for yet another thoughtful critique. You da bomb. Yui waits 'till no one's looking, then passes Wyvern a nice, shiny geld under the table. "Next time use 'amazing' more, Scaly. I like 'amazing'. Oh, and maybe if you jump around in jubilant glee or wave your arms around or something more flashy, that'd be good. We gotta attract a lot more people before I can get my droves of screaming fans established. Step it up a notch." "But Yui," Wyvie whines in response, "you're not paying me enough to--" "Eh, eh! Don't forget who knows just what was in those 'high-quality Almost-Draconic Brand veggie burgers' you sold to the monastery over the hill. Do you really want me to let the Warrior-Monks of the Sacred Squirrel know why the Pen's trees have been nice and quiet lately?" The almost-dragon blinks and grimaces, showing a mouth full of jagged teeth that would be frightening on anyone else. "... so, do you want girlish squeals of delight with your jubilant glee or just the glee?" Yui grins triumphantly. "You're so good at girlish squeals. Go with those." >:} (Purely a joke. Don't worry... I don't really pay him a whole geld per glowing critique. It's more like a 5 for 1 deal. ) Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Rahsash Geldich Posted April 6, 2004 Report Share Posted April 6, 2004 Very powerful just doesn't cut it. The piece is moving in its simplicity of human feeling, particularly remembrance and how what we love can fade and leave us fading with it. Wonderful and definitely worthy of tissues. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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