Providential, Never Confidential.

Monstrous sub-zero nights, squalls of wind shadowed the throes of the darkness, the lamp post was the singular light that shone a dimmed vision for us.

I pulled my brother as close to me as possible, swilling away the cold with our combined body heat. We were shivering, quivering, jittering, cocooned ourselves tightly, making sure every ounce of heat that we produced was not lost into the vicinity of coldness in the dingy alley.

“I’m… col…d…” My tone writhed as violently as our bodies.

“Ha… Ha… Is… That…” he coughed that of a senile man, waiting for time to tick him off. “Don’t… worr… y… so… mu… ch…” He is dying. I thought, clutching him that of a blanket when we each had a bed to sleep on, and a roof on top of our heads.

“Live on… Evie…” his voice, his life force was draining as he spoke, “Have…”

“Hope.” I reiterated his advice deliberately, nonchalantly. Holding on to his soulless shell until dawn, breaking off from his aegis, his torn up wings of protection. I strided exuberantly, flamboyantly, into the gauntlet of life where nothing abides to the human will, but rather to Providence.

Craving for more? Down below:
Harmony, Strangers.
Two of A Whole
Once More…
A Portrait of A World

Published by zeckrombryan

Hope. Joy. Feelings cloaked as words.

3 thoughts on “Providential, Never Confidential.

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