21st August 1965

‘Wake up Murphy’,

a soft alarmed voice hit her consciousness, she was too familiar with this voice.

‘Murphy, wake up’

‘It’s time to leave this caravan of remorse,

let go of this little precious breath,

pay this debt of weary soul to the land,

for eternity is yours’,

the calmness and concern of this voice brought to her a feeling of both hope and dismay, she wanted the voice to stay and keep talking to her, it felt peaceful to her ears, like a healing hand on her heart. 

She was forgetting every pain that had ever inflicted on her as if a guardian angel was combing through her hair, the pain began to seep out.

‘WAKE UP’, a painful scream caught her head and awoke her to consciousness.

‘Where was I? What’s going on? LORD!’

‘Why am I hanging from this tree?’

‘What is this place?’

Her head was too heavy with the weight of her blood under gravity. The pain was taking over her consciousness.

There in the stone-carved square kept a marble statue kneeling to a cumbersome chest, which seemed empty probably for some reason.

Terror washed over her, raising the fine hairs on the back of her neck at the sight of that place, that resembled her dreams too much!

He screamed with horror that met her terrible memories of sub-consciousness.

‘She knew this place. 

She had been here in her dreams, 

how come she couldn’t find this place over the years’

“Noooooooo. . . . . .” She squawked with the memories of the place she was in. She remembered that place, the fate of that place, it was the backyard of that palace, where there lies the grave.

She remembered all her dreams now, she could relate now. She could tell the presence of her purpose there now.

She knew what’s was coming through, it was long known by her, the stone square in which she was hanging in.

It was too late already, it was in no time that everything will fall apart.

“I have to do it. I have no other option nor another chance”, she screamed with pain and the unending series of torment that was yet to come.

Her head was heavy with the load of gravity on her cranial vessels, as she hung upside down from the limb of that old crooked willow tree, which lived that long forever just to hold her that way, to that cruel tree to which she was destined since forever.

The old willow finally met the long promised excursion, the thirsty willow wasn’t sad anymore.  

Her destiny was tied to that tree stronger than the gold shackles that were tied to her left leg.

Her leg was about to bleed at the weight of her body against the chains, to which she couldn’t reach to free herself.

“I have to end this before he does. I must do this!”, She was trembling with fear and torment that beheld her.

She had no choice. But to end. 

“I’ll have to sacrifice, sacrifice everything. This destiny of mine needs to be defeated, to bring peace to the world”. 

Gasping, mourning, moaning she couldn’t do anything except to cry louder and louder into the wildness where no one can hear, not even a wild bird to stutter by her screams in the air.

‘Untie me! Someone help! Someone! Please! Help!’ 

All her efforts went vain, the pain in her body all over was too much for her to take.

All she wanted was a relief from the agony which leeched her life.

She was awaiting something that should never arrive. But it wasn’t her choice. It was her destiny. Her blood. That brought her here. 

It was about in no time that everything will change for everyone. . . .

The air started to get dense, the fouler it started to smell. Dark clouds started to take over gently. The sun seemed in hurry all of a sudden to bid farewell. Air started to feel harsher and colder as it swished caressing her cheek. The twigs of the willow tree seemed to get turned on as in the anticipation of some higher arrival, to get something done, to bow to some vows taken a century ago.

A shiver ran under her spine when someone spoke her name in the air.

‘Murphy’. . . .

A soft and majestic voice which was clearer than anything touched her ears from a long distance,

‘Murphy’ . . .

The softer the voice was, the deeper it seeped into the heart, the petrifying it felt, she was trembling with fear, her conscious was almost lost. 

Fear became tangible, an overpowering force, which kept her immobilized, like a mind in the prison of some powerful beast.

She could hear the voice creeping into her head, it seemed that the voice was coming from inside her head.

‘Murphy! . . . . . . . . . . 

I am here. . . . . . .

My child. 

Murphy. . . . . It’s been so long playing this hide and seek, at last, we meet each other. . . . . . . My child? . . . . . 

How long have I waited for your arrival? My Murphy.’

The calmness of the voice calling her name was beyond agonizing to her ears. Her heart was acting strangely.

She felt that heaviness in her heart. The voice was too familiar. As if her heart wanted to leave the rib cage and respond to the call, the caller which has haunted it for too long and it can never stop until it has met it’s precious. 

To the soul to which it belonged.

Suddenly there was a screeching sound in the air. That maddening sound. She was thunderstruck, her heart was racing, fear overpowered all the pain in her. As she could hear the stallion neighing deadly in the air, the air trembled at the death note that was about to play.

The iron hoofs of the stallion were directing towards the beautiful garden of nothing but blood-red roses,

seemingly they showed some reflection of a blood game being arranged there for a long span.

The roses seemed too thirsty for that event to happen, as they have longed too long for it and yearned too much.

The treacherous flowers gleamed with the symphony of the iron hoofs arriving. The sound of chains being dragged over the stone floor was getting audible as the strider drew nearer and nearer.

As the blood trickled down her face from her bleeding leg, she remembered something.

‘The dagger!’

The dagger she tied around her waist by a belt, it was there.

“I need to reach to it, Just be strong, just be strong, it will help, I’ll make it before they do”

The endless torture spared her a ray of hope. Who did ever know what hope can look like?

But to Murphy, her hope was the limit of hopelessness. 

Her freedom was nothing more than, freedom of her soul from her body.