C.F. Bernini

To the Wind, a Recompense

 

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On the wings of the winds of a March tempest, Elena entered the world. Although born of flesh and blood, the winds breathed into her life. But they abandoned her, leaving her to dwell in curiosity as to their origins. While others struggled to dominate nature’s prevailing forces, becoming casualties to their restless fears, Elena, sated with inherited resolve, stood eye to eye with the fury. And when the breezes brought calm, she opened her arms and welcomed them home.

 

From the cliff’s edge, a phenomenal scene announced the beginning of a new day. Elena ventured from the refuge of her home and walked the narrow path where long ago trampled the grass exposed the crevices in the solid dirt, reflections of fatal earthly wounds. Brushstrokes from a drowsy sun decorated the sky, an attempt to bring color to the looming sullen clouds. 

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Now, she waited for his arrival. Avelon. The two shared a restrained intimacy, at times erupting in rage depending on the behavior of the other. Even with the internal prodding of despair, Elena thought there is always hope.

 

It took a lifetime of changing seasons to come to know Avelon, a neverending study into a determined personality. He served the Earth well, an entrusted oracle commanded to deliver her profound messages. Around the globe, he scattered snippets of this knowledge given to him. He possessed observations and answers, but few listened.  

 

Instinctive creatures of the wild understood the severity. Those of the human denomination received a similar prophecy, yet the signs went unread. Indifference proved to be a provocative adversary. Even if intimidated by the crafty employer of deception, the Avelon’s secrets would not go untold.

 

Other people had remained, and they sent off their faceless words to tell their stories. Horrifying screams consumed by the flames filled the final messages. Then–they stopped arriving.

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The world burned on the horizon, the reminiscent landscape in flames. 

 

As she stood staring into oblivion, Elena saw nothing. Woven with a false sense of security, she pulled tight the cloak draped around her shoulders. While her physical world teetered at the edge of the stony bluff, she sought understanding, her desperation charmed by nostalgia. 

 

Absolved from terrestrial misdeeds, the sun rose and ignited the sky. Elena lost herself in the comfort of the moment to dwell on her existence. She was because of a life built on compiled stories composed over the years, too many pages filled with thoughtlessness or self-individualism. 

 

While her thoughts coerced her, a dazed and vulnerable consequence, the wind rushed past to caress her cheek and whisper in her ear. As only he could, Avelon resurrected the memories of their previous encounters, a desired respite on an August afternoon, or the frosty nibbles on rosy cheeks. With his return, he carried revelations from far-off lands.

 

Wrapping around her, Elena felt secure within Avelon’s embrace. While he recounted the chronicles of his travels, she eased into the comfort of his cradling arms.

 

“I have navigated the world, crossed the seas.” Sprouting from his eye, seven appendages veiled in gossamer blossomed, and they frolicked around the mesmerized woman.

 

“Along the voyage, I became reacquainted with a long-forgotten family member who joined me on my voyage.” From the first limb outreached a dusty hand. The moistureless air rendered Elena speechless, and her tongue desiccated.

 

“The Scirocco has done his job well, leaving the Earth battered and thirsty, the damage irreversible. He now searches for lush green land, obsessed in the art of desolate transformation.”

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Avelon readied to introduce Elena to another relative. “From the first world to the third, a certain wind blows, and it matters not to it how much money you have or have not.”

 

Her calm, an illusory fabrication, the anxious woman watched as another arm billowed about until it found its mark and clenched at her heart.

 

“My dear,” Avelon said. “I beheld a deficiency wherever I passed. However, those persons who remained, I did not consider them poor. Instead, they had experienced a far graver loss than money. They chose to reside in a bankrupted repository, the one within themselves that once held spirituality, morality, and ethics.”

 

Inadequacy and emptiness weighed upon Elena, and she no longer wanted to hear the suffering cries that came entwined with the currents.

 

"Humankind had a challenge to solve, and it arrived on the back of the cyclone." Avelon's voice trailed off.

 

Another arm took a violent hold of the woman and wrapped around her midsection. Its grip tightened, constricting her waist. Elena had a hunger, not only a physical starvation but an emptiness.

 

“From east to west, north to south, I assumed the burden of transmitting the seeds of contamination. One cannot stop what rides on the wind.”

 

More vehement, the fourth arm lashed at the woman. She tried to catch her breath. Yet, the more Elena inhaled, the more her body degenerated. Weakened by the affliction, she recoiled in agony. No longer able to stand without assistance, she folded into Avelon’s haunting hug.

 

“United with my brethren, we delight in spreading conflagrations around the world,” Avelon said, his tone depraved.

 

In a rageful exhibition, a ferocious fifth arm blazed toward the victim. Saturated in embers, it enveloped her in incalescence. Already unsteady, the wind braced Elena from further collapse.

 

“My tale is nearing its conclusion. Originating from the winds that circle the poles, I have been given the gift of water, concentrations of which I have never before carried.”

 

Elena gazed upon the sea and uttered a perverse moan as the penultimate arm drifted towards her. The arriving tide knocked at the seawall door, pounding the levees and demanding entry. Powerless and nearing defeat, the guardians of the land could not withstand the fierce swells as the surf seized and traversed the jetty to flow in and conquer unfamiliar territory. Overwhelmed by the deluge, the ocean breezes clutched the woman and elevated her tattered body above the suffocating waters that besieged the coast.

 

"It matters not where I have traveled, for I have always witnessed one incomprehensible act. Conflict. I have never seen more tortured souls than those of humankind."

 

His words lingered on his deliberate breaths. Elena did not have the answer. And even if she had, it was far too late. 

 

An omnipotent, inexhaustible creature, Avelon had forever stalked the inhabitants, yet no one offered it much credence. Ignorant of its power, taking it for granted, Elena now realized they should have listened. People enjoyed the sweet floral melody sung by spring breezes but stayed deaf to the underlying forewarnings.

 

The seven arms wrapped around her. Elena struggles, twisting and squirming within its grasp. She sought an escape, but Avelon and the others constrained her in a strangulating embrace.

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The wind's whisper brushed the woman's ear. "It is time, Elena. Now, it is your time to return to me."

 

In the vanishing moment, she acknowledged an inevitable conclusion where she rediscovered the remnants of her voice. "But–I don’t want to die."

 

The writhing vortex lessened its hold, and her body languished and fell, a graceful figure transformed into scintillas of fluttering particles that danced among the airy strata.

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Avelon refused to shed any tears. Today, there would be no mourning. Before he resumed his journey, he blew Elena a final kiss as he cast her remains back to the countryside. 

 

C.F. Bernini (Cheryl Ferguson Bernini), originally from Connecticut, lives in Italy where she and her husband, Giacomo, share (use that term lightly) their home with three felines. You can read her stories (and some poetry), both fiction and nonfiction (in English and Italian), online and in print. Follow her on Facebook: @CFergusonBernini and Twitter: @FergusonBernini. Be on the lookout for a Spoutible profile and author website. Bienvenue à la danse, Cheryl.

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