The night the Rhymer went whack
Chapter 68

68

Nature. Always. Wins.

The rain began simply at first then a light drizzle begat a full-fledged downpour. All across the globe this took place and people soon began to take notice. They raised their faces to the sky as if to invite the cleanliness the showers were bringing.

One murderer, in the act, stopped his assault after numerous stabs and turned his face toward the darkened clouds. He looked down and watched the rain and blood mix, pooling in the street, rivering down the drainage. He again looked up and now his face was swashed with rain and tears. He dropped his knife and embraced his dying victim, hugging her for forgiveness, crying, praying and repenting. Something strange was happening, different, and it seemed like the world was taking notice and approving it.

In a remote village, a young boy had been missing for a couple of days. His family had gone to their local faith leader and he predicted that the young fellow was safe but afraid in the nearby hilltops. He decided, along with the town, to set forth to locate the young resident. It was a hard climb but the elderly gentleman insisted upon going. It would take days, they reasoned, but he was steadfast in his decision thus they began the expedition. A couple days in and halfway up just before daybreak, the faith leader awakened early. While the others continued to rest, he set out alone up a small embankment.

When the others awoke, they noticed his disappearance and quickly became concerned, so they too set off, first downhill, surely the elderly gentleman didn’t climb up, but unsuccessful downwind, they changed course and set upward where they soon found the old man laughing hysterically. “The boy’s safe,” he exclaimed, pointing toward a nearby cave. A few scurried that way but the remainder he summoned over with excitement. “Come. Come look,” he demanded. “Look!” Still laughing, he ran his hands across a few buds of flowers. He closed his eyes thinking back to when he was a young boy playing in a field of flowers. “The kurinjii,” he murmured as tears descended from his crooked smile.

Little did they know that for the past twenty five years, each spring, the old man would return to this very spot looking for the symbol of his childhood and while the world burned, it could never be found. But on this day, the sight of that sacred flower had brought him the promise of goodness and hope for the future. “Look! Ha, ha,” he blissed forth. “Joy. Joy has returned!”

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