A Blurb Of Something

Note: As the title says, this is just a blurb of something I wrote...it fits my mood at the moment...

He remembered the way she looked the night of the storm, standing on the long rocky driveway that led to his house. The storm had been raging for hours, the wind blowing his young saplings sideways and the rain coming down in torrents of never ending water. His house was lonely in the middle of nature’s fury and it seemed as if the world was punishing itself with self-mutilation. Inside the house fury raged, matching the anger outside. She had been so angry with him and left, struggling against his pleas and the rain as she ran to her car, hair flying behind her.
It was that final image he remembered most of all; her standing beside her dusty silver car, looking up at him in farewell. Soaking wet tendrils of jet-black hair clung to her wet cheeks and her icy blue eyes flashed in the lightening. Her small frame was cloaked in wet clothes and her body was shaking against the cold.
He remembered calling to her, asking her to stay, to work it out. But so defiant, she shook her head no and got in the car. He stood and didn’t go after her and watched her back down the driveway and travel down the country road and out of sight. All that was left in her place were small rivers traveling down the small incline, bending around the rocks.
Moving back inside he poured a glass of scotch and sat in the darkened living room, overlooking his property and drinking away the night. The storm still raged, but he numbed, forgetting the angry words that had transpired. It was much later that he passed out and the glass fell from his hand and shattered, the remnants of the scotch leaving a wet spot on the white carpet.
It was the next morning before he awoke to the ringing of the telephone and answering, he fell to the ground.
She had been in a car accident that night, hit by a drunk along the road before his house. It had been hours before she had been found and by then it was too late. She died while he was drinking away her memory.
That was the last time he had seen Kylie. He hadn’t gone to her funeral. He had stood atop the hill, looking down at the church while people went to her wake. Try as he might, he couldn’t gain the courage to enter the old church’s wooden doors. So, he stood and watched the people enter and leave, dressed in black and grey. The thought of seeing her without life was too much to bear.
It was later that day, after everyone had left that he approached her grave. The fresh dirt glistened in the sprinkling rain. Squatting before her newly implanted gravestone, he ran his fingers over her name and the dates. Placing a single white rose on her grave he stood and left, framed by the mist surrounding him and the promise he had made to her memory.