Time Of No Reply - Chapter Ten

TIME OF NO REPLY

Copyright 2012 by Carroll Bryant

All rights reserved

This is a short story written by Carroll Absolom Bryant. Re-posting or copying this work on your blog or website without Carroll Bryant's permission is strictly prohibited and subjected to prosecution under law. All rights to this story belong to Carroll Bryant. Any or all pictures posted in accordance with this story has been done so with the permission of those who hold the copyrights to those pictures and or are considered public domain under the Creative Commons attribution laws.

CHAPTER TEN

Voice from the mountain and a voice from the sea. Voice in my neighborhood and a voice calling me. Tell me, my friend.. Tell me with love. Where can it end? This voice from above. The sound on the ocean wave. And a sound in the tree. Sound in a country lane. Say, can you be free? Tell me you crowd. Tell me again. Tell me out loud. This sound is rain.

Remy and Joey lay on the grass in the backyard. They are pretending to be astronauts, gazing at the stars above. How he knew they envied her sparkle and shine. Their heads resting next to each other, legs pointing in opposite directions. She pretends like they were the center of a pinwheel. He pretends she is madly in love with him.

There’s something to be said about the influence of a revelation. For Remy, he was now entrusting the magic would guide him to her stream. Where he could bath within her luster, and eat from her garden of Lavender.

For Joey, she just wants to continue living in her make believe world of pyramids and mazes. It is fun. Nothing to worry about. Forever is her true best friend. She loves waking up each morning and dancing with the prince of tides.

Remy may have fallen short in this life, but he is confident the next one would reward him in ways no mortal should be rewarded. If Joey did not belong to the God of sun then she was free to be with whomever was daring enough to find her. It would take a brave soul to seek out what can’t be sought. To capture that which constantly eludes.

Joey just assumes she was here from the beginning of time. She was there since the first inception of intelligence. She was where-ever she wanted to be. A unicorn in disguise as a fairytale. She throws caution to the wind. Her detour from the place she was destined might not have occurred within her bloodlines. It occurred from the back seat in a dark forest with the serpent who craved female flesh and blood.

At the hands of Satan did she meet her fate.

If only Remy knew the reality of Joey. He would have reconsidered his quest. He would have realized - he was already just as fictional as she was. If only - indeed.

I was born to love no-one. No-one to love me. Only the wind in the long, green grass. The frost in a broken tree. I was made to love magic. All its wonder to know. But you all lost that magic many, many years ago. I was born to use my eyes. Dream with the sun and the skies. To float away in a life-long song. In the mist where melody flies. I was made to love magic. All it’s wonder to know. But you all lost that magic many, many years ago.

Remy stands before his armoire. The mirror's reflection was that of a corrupt mind. He glances down at his medication, and the bottle in his right hand. With his left, he opens up a drawer and pulls out a small book. It's his diary. It has been ages since he wrote in it. He places it on top of the armoire. He opens it. He then places the bottle of whiskey next to it and withdrawls a folded piece of paper. It's an article he ripped off of a newspaper. It was the first newspaper he ever bought. In his life, he only bought two.

He unfolds it and begins reading.

 The article begins with the headline: "Missouri Girl Slain By Serial Killer"

Remy looks back at his reflection in the mirror. He takes in a deep breath. He reaches for his pill bottle and opens it. He pours all of its contents into his mouth.

Remy places the article down and reaches for another one. It's another article from the second newspaper that he ever purchased. He unfolds it and reads the caption. "Missouri Serial Killer Dead After Shootout With Cops"

Remy looks back up at his reflection in the mirror. He places the article down, and picks up the bottle of whiskey. He places it to his lips and washes down the pills.

He walks to his phonograph and plays a record.

Joey will come to see your flowers. Joey will come to while away your hours. And you may smile when you find that you've been wrong. You thought you'd found her, but she knew you all along. But Joey will come to say hello.

Cecilia woke up with conflicting tangles. Something was gnawing at her. Still, she prepares the breakfast for her son.

She enters his room like an angel of lost solitude. She walks to the side of his bed. He makes no movement at all. No sound. No sympathy.

She places herself on the side of his bed. She gently pats him on the leg. “You sleep. You sleep.”

The coroner ruled Remy’s death an accidental over-dose of his prescribed medication. Cecilia knew better. Nobody understood her son more. Not even Joey. He went in search of his soul-mates soul. Never realizing - there was a reason she was the way she was. Never realizing - she was right there the whole damn time. She just wasn’t always around.

She was transparent.

I was born to sail away into a land of forever. Not to be tied to an old stone grave. In your land of never. I was made to love magic. All its wonder to know. But you all lost that magic many, many years ago.



Joey White walks outside the front door of her home. She allows the screen door to retract on its own. Its creaking and crackling is the result of its own inertia and slams to a close. She looks next door at the empty porch swing.

The soft grass cushions her bare feet. By the time she makes it to the old, run-down looking porch, she rustles up some dirt from a dead spot before the steps with her toes. Only to her understanding does she find it to be remotely humorous. The dirt is blown away by a gentle summer wind. She stands there, looking down at the gray, chipped, painted wood. It represents her idea of life. Rotted and uneventful.

Climbing them slowly, she keeps her eyes on the empty swing. She places herself down on the brown wicker chair that nestles in the far corner. She brings her feet up on the edge while ironing her long, white dress down her shins and locking her hands into position, contracting her petite frame.

She gazes aimlessly at the vacant swing. She is beside herself with despair. She can’t believe it. He finally did it. Against everything she ever thought she knew about him, he proved that nobody ever really - knows anybody. He left her. Where is Remy?

Suddenly, she leaps onto her feet and races to the edge of the porch. In one lift, she jumps beyond the stairs and lands in the yard. She races to the edge of the road. She looks left. She looks right. She looks up. She looks down. Where is Remy?

“Buster! Go home!”

Time Of No Reply

(Written by Nick Drake)

Summer was gone and the heat died down. And autumn reached for her golden crown. I looked behind as I heard a sigh. But this was the time of no reply.

The sun went down and the crowd went home. I was left by the roadside all alone. I turned to speak as they went by. But this was the time of no reply.

The time of no reply is calling me to stay. There’s no hello and no goodbye. To leave, there is no way.

The trees on the hill had nothing to say. They would keep their dreams until another day. So they stood and thought and wondered why. But this was the time of no reply.

Time goes by from year to year. And no-one asks why I am standing here. But I have my answer as I look to the sky. This is the time of no reply.

The time of no reply is calling me to stay. There’s no hello and no goodbye. To leave, there is no way.

Summer was gone and the heat died down. And autumn reached for her golden crown. I looked behind as I heard a sigh. But this was the time of no reply.

This was the time of no reply.