This Is How We Do

As they passed us, they'd stare, their eyes cold as their gaze lingered a little longer than necessary. Some of the newer members of our group still got affected by it, but it had happened so many times to me that now, I didn't even bat an eyelid.

"Cole," says Kara, one of the newer members of the group, "how does it not affect you? What's your secret?"
"Well," I say. "At first, it affected me just the same as it's affecting you now, but once you've had it happen as many times as it's happened to me, it just stops mattering."
"Oh," she says, touching a light hand to my shoulder. "I'm sorry Cole."
"It's alright," I say, waving away her concern. "I'm tough. I suppose that's another factor."

"Ew!" a kid calls as he passes us. "Using your feet!? That's dirty!"
"Hey!" I say, glancing at my friend before stepping forward, toward his tormentor. "What would you do if you didn't have arms to use?"
"Cole!" says young, nervous Kara, scampering up behind me.
"It's alright Kara," I say. glancing at her before taking another step. "This is no big deal."

"Loser!" calls someone else, putting up a thumb and finger in front of their forehead as they stare harshly at another of my friends who is stumbling over her words.
"And you!" I call, turning the tables now. They stop and turn to face me, wide eyed. "How frustrated would you feel if you couldn't get your words out straight away?"
"I... I..."
"Isn't that a little hypocritical of you?" I ask with a raised brow, "making fun of them stumbling over their words, yet stumbling over them yourself? It's really no different to not knowing what you want to say. Just more frustrating because you know, but can't quite get it out."
I notice their shoulders slumping as they slowly meet my eyes. "I suppose you have a point," they say in a whisper. The first tormentor however, still doesn't seem to be convinced and stands with arms crossed and brow raised.
"Using your feet is dirty. They go on the ground for goodness sake!"
"What if we all walked on our hands?" I ask, challenging him. "Wouldn't they be dirty then too?"
"I suppose..."
"Look," I say, getting sick and tired of giving explanations. "We do the best with what we've got. We have certain parts of us that don't work like they're supposed to. If you were in our situation, what would you do? Because, this," I say, gesturing back at my group of friends, who are all still watching us, watching me, "is how we do."

As the two, once tormentors walk away and I turn to my friends once more, I am met with a round of applause. Pete gets up and claps me on the back, a big smile on his face. "Good going Cole."

Revitializing Winds

He looked around him, cautious yet curious. He had the eerie feeling of being watched, like something he couldn't see was around, observing him from the shadows, yet this strange new world fascinated him, and he longed to explore what it had to offer.

The old man tread carefully, keeping an eye on the young boy as he stood, looking around. He remembered fondly that feeling of fascination and wonder that he himself had once experienced. Though, he'd been in this world long enough now. Nothing surprised him anymore, and the thought saddened him. Oh, how he longed to revisit his youth, be a child again so that everything old may be new once more. 

The young man jumped at the slight, quiet sound and swirled around to look behind him, but, there was nothing. Only his shadow. A little more wary now than a moment ago, he continued to look around, slowly taking in his surroundings. His eyes wide and filled with wonder, the young man circled the small space, not approaching the curtains by the edge, for feeling told him if danger were anywhere, it would lurk there, in the shadows were he could not see. 

He winced at the sound of his footfall and froze a moment, fearing his stumble may give him away. Slowly, he reached out, drawing back the curtain a few inches and chancing a peek at the space beyond. Seeing the young man come round, he stepped back, allowing the curtain to fall back into place and pressing himself against the wall behind, hardly daring to breathe for fear of exposure. 

The young man stopped again. The curtain had moved, as if it were breathing. But curtains couldn't move on their own, could they? He was sure they couldn't, which meant something... someone, else was around. He looked around him, slowly now, studying each thing he looked at for signs of life. Maybe his mind was playing tricks on him, for he could see nothing but the still surroundings that had been there this whole time. He shivered at the sudden gust of icy cold air blowing around him. 

As the icy breeze surrounded him, the old man knew it was time. Taking a breath, he mustered all his strength, and with the wind aiding his plight, stepped forward, out into the light. 

The young man gasped at the sudden appearence of the old man. He approached with caution, curiously looking him over. This man seemed familiar, yet he was sure he'd never seen him before in his life. 

As the old man watched the young, the memories of his youth washed over him in a wave, and a smile cracked his once still, straight lined lips. He remembered the time he had been that age. He held the memories fond and dear. 

The wind was blowing faster now, as if to urge the old man in his quest. He closed his eyes and breathed in the chilling air.  He stepped forward, colliding with the young man as two became one once more. The young man smiled to himself. He was young again. 

Reunited

"Goodnight Petal," he says, pausing in the doorway to look back at his granddaughter before turning out the light.
"Grandpa," she says softly, and her only just hears her. "Please don't leave me." With a few strides, he sits on the edge of her bed, leaning over to stroke her soft brown waves. "I don't like the dark, and I'm not sleepy yet."
"It's alright," he says with a kind smile. "Why don't I tell you a story?"
The young girl nods, snuggling deeper into her pillows as her grandfather pulls the blankets tight around her. His eyes are soft as he looks at his grandaughter before turning his gaze to the window and the night outside.

"Your grandmother," he says, closing his eyes as he pictures her in his mind. "was, is, a beautiful woman."
"Where is she Grandpa?" asks the girl innocently. "I thought she'd died."
"No petal," he says, glancing at her again. "She's just... lost."

"Why Miss, you look exquisite this evening, I'm surprised nobody has asked you to dance yet," he says, not being able to help smiling as her bright green eyes meet his. "Would you like to dance with me?"
"Why, I would be absolutely delighted," she says, a big smile on her face as she takes his outstretched hand and rises to her feet.
He leads her out to the dance floor and they turn toward one another, beginning to move in time to the music.
"My name is Joe," he says,
"I'm Lina," she says.
"Lina," he repeats in a slow whisper, testing how the name sounds on his tongue. He closes his eyes, his smile a little wider than before. After a moment, he opens his eyes again and looks at her, meeting her gaze. He is no longer aware of those that surround them, only the music and her. Her, unbelievably beautiful her.

Three years later, Joe arrives home to a house which, if not for the baby crying, is unusually silent. Normally, Lina has music playing softly while she works, cleaning or cooking.
"Lina?" he calls as he walks through the house, picking up baby Olive on the way through. "Lina! I'm home!" Joe is met with no reply. He calls her name over and over again growing more and more worried each time, only to get the same response. Nothing.

"Does this story have a happy ending Grandpa?" asks the young girl, frowning at where the story seems to be going.
"Not yet," says Joe honestly. "But, your grandmother, Lina, she gave me your mother, and you."
"My mother is baby Olive?" asks the young girl, eyes wide. Joe nods.

"Hello, miss, you look lost." says Joe, smiling at a woman wandering around outside his house.
"My husband called me that the first time we met."
"My name is Joe," he says, the smile on his lips wider now.
"He said that too," says the woman.
"What's your name Love?" asks Joe, not really believing it. Not wanting to without confirmation.
"I'm Lina."
"Lina," he breathes.
"He said my name just like that too, when I told him," says the woman.
"That's because I am him, Love," says Joe, stepping closer to her. "It's me Joe."
"Joe," she asks, slowly looking up at him. She stares at him blankly a moment as her memories come in a flood, and with it a few tears.
"Joe?" He nods. "I thought I"d never see you again." Lina falls into his arms and he holds her close.
"I thought I'd lost you forever," he says into her soft hair.

"Grandpa," calls his granddaughter from the veranda. "Grandpa, who's that?"
"Brisa, I'd like you to meet your grandmother," he says, leading Lina toward her.
"Lina, this is our grandaughter, Brisa."
"Olive?" she asks as a tear rolls down her cheek and Joe nods.
"Hi Grandma," says Brisa, hugging her.
"Hello, Petal." says Lina.