James ran faster than the wind, breathing heavily, clenching his hands through the rain—drenched, avoiding the small branches and whispers of the forest. He should escape from here. His blonde hair moved in the motion, carefree of what was happening around him. Nobody was following him. He ran like there was no tomorrow. He couldn't stop. His strides widened, touching the wet grass and mud, and his blue jeans were soaked in dirty mud and water. The wet white loose shirt had pores and holes. He may have fallen down during the run. His shirt sleeves were half, and his hands had small scars from the branches and wounds from the pointed edges. He was alone and afraid. His eyes were sharp and his face weary.
Then he saw something moving in the woods. A white figure of a girl. He stopped, looking around in despair, aching for clarity. He stood still. The world around him was moving faster. The girl appeared to be in her mid-twenties, standing with her back turned, her long brunette straight hair in a white sleeveless dress, barefoot. He slowly walked toward her, but she was unreachable. Close, but far. He couldn't get close to her, however long he walked. She appeared at the same distance as before.
Whispers. The grass moved. Trees began to shake. The earth around him began to tremble. Then she turned. Her face was oval, looking into his eyes. Her eyes were brown like autumn. Pleading or wanting? She wanted to escape—or was she trying to get close? Was she angry because she couldn't get near him, or in despair because she couldn't escape this world?
Brown met blue. Like autumn leaves wanting to meet the ocean. Like the wet soil waiting for more rain. Like the wet sand afraid of letting the waves go. She wanted him to stay and help her. She wanted him to find a way to get close to her. She wanted him to never stop chasing her.
He stood there in agony, and it all began to fade. The world in front of him died. He wanted to be there, but he couldn't.
He could only see her eyes. Wider. Closer. Pleading.
His eyes blinked.
He was in his bed, in sweat. He woke up, breathing heavily. His blond hair was messy and his room dark. He touched his chest to remind himself that it was a dream. Or was it? He had been dreaming the same thing for almost two months. The same shaky feeling. The same sense of unknowing. The same sense of wanting. The alarm beeped on his phone. Rain was pouring outside. He hadn't slept peacefully for ages. He closed his eyes and took deep breaths. He couldn't forget the eyes. The pleading. Who was she? What did she want?
"It is not even real!" he said to calm himself, moving his pillow and blanket to the other side. He had no time to analyze the dream any longer. Today was an important day. A sad day. But an important one. The pillar of his house, the bridge of his relations, the one who built this empire, the one who taught him to dream and fight, the one who held him close—his father. The one he most admired and respected had left him yesterday, and today he was going to see him for the one last time. His strength was gone. He was the closest son to him. The second eldest of four brothers. He stood up and turned on the lamp light on his bedside table and walked in front of the mirror. He looked into it. Blue eyes met the reflection. But he wanted to look at something else. He wished for someone else. He didn't know who he wished for, or what he wanted. But he knew something was missing.
The morning sun came with a glow of sorrow. The sky was empty and tangled by the angry clouds, waiting to let more rain. He stood near the window of his room, looking at the outside. Cars and people were arriving every hour in black and holding umbrellas, wet and pretending. He didn't like it. His father was admired by many, but this act of sympathy was just for show. He couldn't tolerate it. His short straight blond hair was combed into a ponytail. He was wearing all black in a suit and boots. He couldn't cry. Grief ran so deep that it refused to show itself in tears. There was a hole in his heart, aching for longer. Everything seemed hollow. He looked in the mirror for one last time, arranging his coat. He took the golden watch in front of the table near the mirror, and it gave him chills. Last present from his father. He would never get anything more. He wore it with a sense of longing and attachment. His blue eyes met the mirror again, but now a few tears followed.
"Jamie! Everyone's asking for you…" Henry opened the door slightly and told him, the youngest brother with curly blond hair and a heartbroken face. James was not close to any of his siblings. He studied abroad and never had the bond like the rest. Only the video calls and meets from his father were the one thing that kept him close to his family. It was like his siblings were there in front of his father, but he had the most connection and bond. They were in their own world, but his world was his father. He smiled pale at his younger brother, and Henry nodded, leaving him alone again. He took a deep breath and walked towards the living hall of his great house. The stairs were adorned with flowers, and there were wall hangings of his father with him, family, and friends. He looked at the family photo where he was missing. He had never taken a pic together with them. They had only pictures with him alone with his dad. The stairs had red carpet and wet footprints. The rain had not stopped entirely. The place was crowded. His father was a great businessman, and he did not expect any less. There were bodyguards standing everywhere, frozen in black suits and cooling glasses with a grim expression. His brothers were talking to people he didn't recognize. His mom was sitting in a chair close to the casket.
The casket. He noticed it now, and his heart began to tremble. He wanted to scream and cry. He couldn't walk anymore. But he shouldn't just stop. He should see his father. He walked slowly, clenching his hands and longing eyes.
The room was arranged in dim lights, and there were large windows and daylight entered through it. But it was full of sadness. Everything was sad and black. The chandelier stood above the casket. There were seats arranged, replacing the furniture. His mother looked at him once and looked away. They were not close. She disliked him for some reason, or she didn't know how to get close to him. He didn't know what to think now. Now was not the time. He looked at the open casket. His father lay straight, wearing his black suit with hands folded. He was in peace. He was smiling in his sleep. He found happiness in death, or at least that's what James wanted to believe. His grey hair was combed. James kissed him on the forehead one last time, and he couldn't stop and gave his father a soft smile. He moved from the casket, giving space for others to see. He stood on the side, and his brothers joined him. They nodded at each other, and his big brother gave his shoulder a soft pat. He felt loved and seen. It was the closest he felt to his brother. Everything felt alright for a second. He was with his family.
The rain shifted to a violent phase, and the crowd stayed in, and new ones kept coming. In the midst of everything happening, she arrived. She got out of the car, holding close her baby girl. She opened her purple umbrella before touching the wet ground. She wore a sleeveless black dress. One hand holding the umbrella, and one hand the baby. Her red lipstick didn't brighten her face today. She was in grief. Her green eyes looked around, finding shades of black going in and around. She felt like she didn't belong there. She walked in her black heels. Her baby was asleep in her arms. She closed her umbrella upon reaching the entrance, and a bodyguard took it and nodded. They knew her. She walked towards the casket.
"Freya." The youngest son whispered to the eldest. Antony stood there frozen and mouth open. He was not angry. He was not happy either. But he couldn't stop her from seeing him one last time. She was dearest to his father and always loved by him as his own daughter. He looked at the baby. She didn't recognize him—or how could she? She was just three. James looked at one of the portraits, and Freya was there standing near his brother with happy smiles, holding his arms. He looked at his brother, and he knew Antony missed her more than anything, but it was not the time for that. Their father was lying there, and everyone should see him. Everyone his father would've wanted to see. Freya didn't look at the brothers or their mother. She stayed looking at his father with a sad face. When was the last moment she spent with him? The last words he said to her? James didn't know. But he knew one thing. She didn't come for a show. She came to see his father. That was written all over her face, and he felt great admiration and respect towards her. She left after staying there for some time, and he saw her rubbing her tears as she walked. He noticed everyone, but she felt special. He never knew her or talked to her. He was far away when his brother married and during the time she stayed at home. He took a deep sigh. The people kept coming, and the rain never faded. His big brother gave the eulogy. It felt like a formal speech, which was written by some lawyer. And he didn't like it. He could've done it better, but he was not in the place to do it. Or could he? He didn't know.
As the afternoon arrived slowly, they carried their father to the church ground, which was close to their home, with hundreds of people following. His father was put in the grave that was dug. His big brother put the first soil, followed by him and his brothers. He looked at his father for the last time before the mud closed his face. He couldn't look anymore. He couldn't see this. He wanted more time with his father. He felt like something inside of him died with his father gone. He stood there as the bodyguard held the umbrella over him. He saw a purple umbrella standing still in the midst of black umbrellas. His hands couldn't move anymore. They stayed folded down. His watch was still moving. His father might be watching him close from somewhere above. That was enough for him. More than enough.