My Dear Shy - Rick's Lament

Three weeks after the remembrance of my dear Shy...

Here in the fall -- November it should be -- the weather schedule has been pretty awful for the past couple days.  Nothing but hard, downpouring rain, wind and massive storm clouds -- all you can see is a dull grey sky.  Chances are there might be a flash flood if this continues.  Luckily, my house sits on top of a steep hill; I don't have to worry about a possible flash flood.  Can't say the same for the city folk, though.  They're probably going to need rafts and vests.  Sucks to be them.

Here I'm writing this log entry in my journal, slightly depressed.  Not even the misfortune for the people in the city seems to be brightening up this gloomy day.  It's rather dim-lit in this office; all the lights in the house are off, all except this banker's lantern next to me, raining light down upon the journal I'm currently writing on.  The pen's tip scratches the surface of the paper with each stroke, thorough so that no mistakes are to be made.  I must be diligent, for the smallest screw-up can cause a few minutes into this log a waste of time; I would have to rip out a page and make a new one.

Tiny beads of sweat irritatingly trickle down the side of my sideburns, encouraging me to reach over a box of tissues I keep nearby in case stuff like this happen.  Pulling off a single sheet of tissue, I gently wipe it across the left side of my face.  Before I could clean the right side, a droplet of sweat parts itself and tints the corner of the journal's page with a fervent circular stain.  As the paper soaks the substance in, I resume wiping away the right side of my face, relieved nothing got ruined or tarnished by that single droplet.

With one last careful stroke, the log for today is finally finished.

I close the cover and push myself away from the desk to stretch my aching limbs. Surveying my digital watch wrapped around my wrist, the glowing green numbers read 7:14PM.

Once more I stretch my arms as wide as they can go.  "Man... I've been sitting here for a measly hour!" I say to no one present.  Letting out an agonisingly slow and deep yawn, I stand up from the computer chair and hobble over to the window.  The office's hardwood floor faintly creak with each heavy step I take; the only aggravating sound that echoes throughout the entire house besides the winds howling outside.

Halting at a few inches away from the maroon-colored drapes, two of my hands each grab an end and tug away from one another, revealing a vast field of waving wet grass and leafless maple trees beyond the window's glass.  Focusing on one specific tree, I spot a lone yellow leaf still hanging on to a branch.  It's so yellow and nice... almost like...

Just stop it, Rick.  Just... stop it.

Ever since that nightmare, I try repelling the thoughts of her, praying in the later run I won't have to dream something that horrid ever again.  In a way it helps, but every damn time I see something resembling to the color of her fur, eyes, or mane, reminiscence butts in along with grief.

Forcefully pushing those memories aside, I resume surveying the lonely leaf clinging on to its dear life as the wispy gusts threaten removing it from its rightful perch.  With another sudden burst of wind, the force manages to tear the stem off the branch.  The leaf glides elegantly through the air, never to be seen again.  Almost like a memory that's almost forgotten.  Shortly after that interesting observation, my eyes glance back at the maple tree which the leaf recently parted from.

The sight then causes a depressing frown to form and deepen across my expression.  Crestfallen, staring down at the floor, I exhale a pitiful sigh and close the drapes.