Tulip - Part Three
The following is the final installment in a series. Read Tulip - Part One here. Read Tulip - Part Two here.
There was an argument. It seemed to be intense. At least that’s how it sounded.
“Shut up.”
“For real, man”
The voices were muffled. Jacob, despite his head still a little foggy, could make out every word. It took him a few seconds to recall what had just happened. He was looking at the Mustang and then dark. He opened his eyes wide but couldn’t see a thing. There was a bag over his head. And when he moved to try to remove the bag, he realized his arms were bound at the wrists behind his back and his legs were tied together at his ankles.
“All I can say is how do we split that money between the three of us?” It was Tommy’s nasally voice that asked.
“Don’t worry,” Ivan replied.
Suddenly he heard Tulip whimper in fear. As much as he wanted to comfort her, he couldn’t. Before he could make any attempt, Steve cut in.
“Shut up, bitch!” Steve yelled. Tulip fought to contain any sound of fear from coming out of her.
Suddenly the car turned sharply. Tulip rolled over and crashed into Jacob. He could feel her twisting and mumbling excitedly. She was bound as well. The smooth road they were on turned slightly choppy. Judging by the crunch-like noise they were making, Jacob assumed it was loose gravel or a semi-worn path. To where? He had no idea.
The car came to a slow stop. Doors opened and closed. The voices that were muffled but still audible were even less so now. The three were talking and it seemed to be heated. Jacob tried to say something to Tulip but with the gag in his mouth it only came out a mumbled mess. Tulip replied in kind. She too had a gag in her mouth but even with her struggles to speak, Jacob could sense the relief in what she tried to say.
The hatchback to the Mustang popped open. A pair of hands grabbed Jacob and lifted him out and dropped him onto the ground. Two sets of hands grabbed him by the ankles and dragged him along the ground, scraping his back. Jacob tried to free himself by pulling his legs away and thrusting outward, trying to strike one of his captors. Instead, he was flopping like a fish out of water.
“Son of a bitch!” Tommy yelled.
A hail of punches rained down on him. A couple to his stomach to knock the wind out of him and several to his face to get him disoriented. Both worked.
“Do that shit again and see what it gets you!” Tommy yelled. Steve was laughing. “Are high already?”
“Nah man that was just funny,” Steve snorted.
The two grabbed Jacob’s legs and continued to drag him around before finally coming to a stop. They were somewhere else or in some structure as the ground felt solid and steady. Perhaps a wooden floor.
A pair of hands pulled Jacob by the front of his shirt to sit him up. Suddenly a punch connected with his jaw. Jacob was still reeling from the previous punches. The hands pulled him upward again. This time he could feel one of them (probably Tommy) with their face an inch from his own. He could hear the labored breathing.
“I’m gonna fuck you up,” Tommy angrily whispered.
Suddenly the bag over his head was pulled off. The light blinded Jacob for a few seconds but eventually his eyes adjusted. He looked at Tommy and Steve towering over him. But when Jacob looked past them, his eyes settled on Tulip, a bag over her head and held standing up by Ivan. The Russian stood behind Tulip, controlling her by her wrists that were tied behind her back. It looked like he was using her as a human shield.
“This,” Ivan growled and proceeded to run his hands around Tulip’s breasts before squeezing them in a mock sensuality. Tommy and Steve cheered him on. Tulip squirmed and cried but was in no position to fight back. He outweighed her by at least a hundred pounds. Ivan then took his hand and shoved it down her loose fitting pants and began to fondle her. That’s when Jacob knew. Nobody goes through all of this only to set their prisoners free with a promise that nobody would say a word. And even if they did, there would be revenge. Yes, Jacob knew that they were going to die here. But the destination of death wasn’t what he feared. It was the journey of torture along the way (watching what else these kids had in store for Tulip) that would make Jacob yearn for death—his and Tulip’s.
Tulip’s hair swayed to the breeze like it was dancing to some song that only it could hear. Her brown, thin wispy hair responded left to right and forward to back with every slight gust, moving rhythmically and playfully. It was mesmerizing. The grass, a little shorter than ankle high, flowed alongside her in the same rhythm. They tickled her skin but in the most playful way.
The breeze found a life of its own, gently rising and falling and circling her. She could feel its cool embrace, which felt endearing and reassuring. It felt so familiar. It made her feel safe. It made her happy. She didn’t want it to let her go. Deep inside, she knew that it wouldn’t.
Tulip’s smile spread slowly across her face. It was the smile that was as warm and endearing as the person who wore it. One could say that it was a physical extension of her soul. She was loving, kind, and uplifting. Much like the breeze.
The sun was beginning to set and cast a golden glow on Tulip as she sat with her knees tucked to her chest. Typically, as the sun sets the warmth retreats, signaling that a chill would be there to take its place. Not so here. She felt every bit as warm now as if the sun was directly overhead. Her eyes were closed and her breathing was calm. She was at peace. With every bit of air she took in she could smell and taste life and love. If she were to tell someone exactly what she was feeling they’d think she was crazy. Hell, she would think she was crazy. Who feels these feels anyway? Who thinks about these things? She did. And she didn’t care what others thought. A lifetime of being different prepared her to not care.
Tulip took in a deep breath of the very air that circled and caressed her. And it felt limitless. She could take in as much as she wanted and it would continue to fill her without end. It was good to know that the breeze would always be there for her if needed. Even as the sun continued to set and dark continued to creep in, there was no worry and nothing to fear. She wasn’t alone and she knew that she’d never be alone.
The breeze pivoted to an undulating rhythm. Then it changed direction and swirled around her, not at all threatening but playful. Tulip giggled. Then came a rush of scent. It was also sweet. Vanilla. She loved vanilla. And rosemary. She loved rosemary. It was an odd combination but not to her. The two just worked and it was magical.
Tulip, eyes still closed and arms still pulling her knees even closer to her chest, tilted her head back very slightly. She made herself vulnerable, opening herself to want more because she really did. The breeze, which was moving relatively quickly, suddenly slowed. In doing so, it felt denser and actually tangible. There was a physicality to the breeze. Tulip nodded as if in agreement. The breeze responded by tightening around her. Again it didn’t cause her to fear. It moved her to happiness.
“I know,” Tulip whispered.
Jacob sat in the Mustang. As the sun set his anger rose. He was parked across the street and spent the last hour watching. Apparently, Ivan worked multiple jobs. Ivan was straightening signs and cleaning the front windows of the Clark’s convenience store. Jacob watched him pick up trash, sweep, and scrape gum off the ground. The Russian looked like it was any other day, a regular shift filled with customers looking to buy Black and Milds, Doritos, or cases of Bud Light. Ivan grabbed his broom and cleaning tools and walked back inside the store. A set of lights within the store shut off while a smaller set stayed on. A red neon “closed” sign lit up. The town was silent enough that he could hear the back door to the convenience store open followed by a loud clang of garbage being thrown in the dumpster.
Jacob took one look at Tulip in the back seat before stepping out of the Mustang. He took a looping route towards Clark’s so as to avoid being seen. It was dark enough and the street lights hadn’t yet kicked on. The Clark’s monument sign didn’t provide much as it flickered intermittently.
Like many convenient stores, Clark’s front windows were adorned with posters for all manner of items they were selling—beer, water, lottery tickets, and more. It was surely hard to see outside or in. Jacob walked along the front of the store and gently tugged at the front door. It wasn’t locked. He slowly pulled it open and he was surprised that there wasn’t a beep or bell or any type of alert that (when the store was open) would signal to the clerks on duty that a customer had walked in.
The store was dimly lit save for a handful of lights that were set towards the rear of the store. Jacob slowly stepped inside and gently closed the door behind him. With all his focus on stealth, he neglected to be aware of his blind spots. A fist slammed into the side of Jacob’s face, the force of which carried his entire body into a spin rack of cheap souvenirs. Jacob quickly shook off the affects of the punch and rolled to his feet away from his attacker.
“You’re not so good,” Ivan said menacingly. “I saw the car.”
Jacob looked around for something within arm’s reach that he could grab and use as a weapon. He was surrounded by chips and cookies.
“I’m surprised you made it,” Ivan continued as he took slow, methodical steps towards Jacob. “But we are here now.”
In the pause between the two, Jacob ran around the back end of the aisle. Ivan gave chase. He could hear the Russian’s thundering steps close behind him as he turned the corner. In a move he learned from Tulip’s stories of the Mongols—who would fake retreat so their enemies would give chase, only to quickly turn and attack them—Jacob spun and threw a punch at Ivan hoping to catch him off guard. Jacob rammed his fist into Ivan’s chest. It did little but slow him down. Ivan countered with another punch which connected with Jacob’s nose. Thankfully he had retreated back enough that he didn’t feel the full impact. But the amount he absorbed was enough to send pain from his nose to his entire head. As Jacob wobbled, Ivan took both of his fists and rammed them straight into Jacob’s chest, sending him to the ground and skidding along the freshly mopped floor. Jacob struggled to get to his feet but Ivan was on him quickly, towering over him and raining several punches to his head. Jacob took the shots and tried to gather as much sense as he could in order to react. In Jacob’s mind, when in a fight and you’re losing, never be above to take whatever opening you’re given. The opening was a straight shot to Ivan’s crotch. Jacob, on his back, threw as much power as he could into a right-handed punch, which connected cleanly. Ivan gave a yelp and crumbled to the floor clutching his balls.
Jacob got to his feet and knocked over a heavy spin rack of gift cards onto the Russian who was still on the floor writhing in pain. Jacob looked around frantically for a weapon. Anything. Unfortunately, he had given Ivan time to get to his feet. The Russian grabbed Jacob in a chokehold.
“That niggerling was a good fuck,” Ivan whispered into Jacob’s ear as he tightened the chokehold. If it was possible, even more anger filled Jacob’s heart, fueling him.
Though they were nearly the same size (Ivan was a smidge taller and probably a little heavier), the Russian was surprisingly strong. Jacob used all his might just to slow the python-like constricting hold Ivan had around his neck.
Jacob pushed backward hoping to drive Ivan into something that would cause him to loosen the chokehold. That ‘something’ was the checkout counter. The counter drove into the middle of Ivan’s back. It hurt and got him to loosen the hold but Jacob wasn’t entirely free. Jacob did it again. This time it was hard enough that he felt Ivan’s breath leave him and thus completely loosen the hold. Jacob pulled away but not before Ivan grabbed him by the hair and drove him face first into a small energy drink cooler. More blood came down from Jacob’s face to where he could barely see. Desperate, Jacob threw an elbow back in hopes of catching Ivan. It was only a glancing blow. The Russian, even more irritated, took Jacob and threw him into a display of 12-pack sodas. The corners of the boxes dug into his ribs and back. A number of cans broke from the impact of his body weight and soda began to spread along the floor.
From the corner of his eye Jacob saw an open door to the store’s stock room. He pulled himself out of the mess and ran with Ivan again in pursuit. The stock room held many cases of product from beverages to chips to candies, all meant to replenish the shelves on the sales floor. Jacob immediately looked for a weapon of some kind. Any kind. His eyes frantically scanned the room hoping that something would miraculously appear. Ivan tackled him to the ground and the two rolled along the floor. Jacob was quick to get up. Ivan, face down on the floor, was only a second behind but that lone second was enough for Jacob to jump on his back. He applied his own chokehold on the Russian. Shockingly, it was hard to pull back and tighten. Even more shocking, Ivan was able to get to his feet despite Jacob hanging onto his back like a child being given a piggyback ride by an adult. Ivan applied the same move Jacob used and drove them backward. They slammed into the freezer door. Jacob immediately dropped to the ground. Ivan spun around and gave him a left hook followed by a right hook. Jacob felt a tooth pop loose. Which one? He didn’t know. The room was spinning. Ivan punched Jacob in the gut. All the wind left him as he dropped to the floor on his knees. He felt the blood (it was blood because what else could it be?) pour down from his face. Jacob looked down at a red pool of his own blood, amazed at just how much was coming from face lacerations, a broken nose, and a cut lip. Ivan stood over him, drew back his foot, and gave Jacob a soccer kick to the face. Jacob’s head snapped back and he fell on his side. If the world wasn’t spinning before, it surely was now. Ivan walked over and grabbed Jacob by his dirtied and torn shirt. At that moment Jacob threw all of his might into a right handed uppercut that caught the Russian just right. The blow sent Ivan rocking backward and to the ground. Jacob got to his feet and charged at Ivan. But rather than jump on him and tussle with him on the floor (where he knew Ivan would prevail) he looked to a metal rack containing various items such as candies, toys, and non-food items like batteries. Jacob pulled the metal rack down on top of Ivan, who was too slow to block the rack from doing damage to him. It was far too heavy anyway. On the opposite side was another metal rack. Though it didn’t contain anything at all it was still worth toppling on top of Ivan, which Jacob did. The Russian gave a cry of pain. He pushed and kicked to get the shelves off of him but it was almost of no use. Ivan growled something in Russian. Jacob deduced that it was likely about him and it most certainly wasn’t anything nice.
Jacob looked over the situation. Ivan wasn’t going anywhere for a while despite the Russian using all of his might to free himself. Satisfied, he turned and walked out to the sales floor and looked around. Something about the checkout counter called to him and so he walked over. Jacob began pulling open the drawers and cabinets but only found various office supplies and such. Nothing of real use. The sound of metal shelves clanging (likely shifting against one another as Ivan continued to try to break free) couldn’t break Jacob’s deep thought as he silently looked through the rows of food items and passed the front windows of the convenience store to beyond even the Mustang across the street. He didn’t look at all to be the picture of one who was at peace. Not with his face and arms seemingly bleeding from every inch. He thought of Tulip. He could smell her. Taste her lips. Feel her skin. Those memories made him feel as if she was standing right next to him.
But she wasn’t.
Suddenly he heard something clang against the floor. It wasn’t at all related to the metal clanging in the back room. Jacob looked down at the direction of the sound and saw an aluminum bat. He hadn’t found a gun nestled in any of the drawers and cabinets he pulled open but here was a bat. It was probably what the employees used to deal with the criminal element. Not good against anyone with a gun. But good against unarmed shoplifters. And also good for killer, rapist Russians.
Jacob grabbed the aluminum bat and gripped it tightly. He walked to the stock room with very purposeful and determined steps. Ivan had somehow freed himself. An amazing feat, but it didn’t impress Jacob. The Russian looked on in disbelief.
“It wasn’t deep enough,” Jacob mumbled.
“What?” Ivan, confused and out of breath, asked through gulps of oxygen.
“The hell you put me in wasn’t deep enough.”
Neal looked at the back of someone’s head, which peeked just above the top of the back of his prized recliner. The television was on with some movie that he vaguely recalled seeing many years ago. The problem was that he hadn’t left the television on. And he knew he wasn’t alone when he walked into his house because the sounds from the vaguely familiar movie greeted him. Neal slowly walked into his living room and peered from around the corner. That’s when he saw the person—the intruder, the burglar—sitting in his chair watching his television.
“You’re in some deep shit,” Neal mumbled. “Picked the wrong damn house.”
The person didn’t move. It shocked Neal because he was hoping that the person would hop up and run. Actually, he was hoping the person would hop up and fight. Neal had been in many fights as a kid and he had his share of fights as an adult. It had been a while, but he was certainly excited over the prospect of giving his fists a bit of a workout and using this idiot of an intruder as the unlucky punching bag.
But the person didn’t move. It just sat there in front of the television. This infuriated Neal. He was being taunted. And in his own house sitting in his chair.
Neal slowly walked over to the recliner, his right hand formed into a fist, cocked and ready to swing. He took a wide berth around the chair in order to confront the intruder. The space between them would give him ample time to react if this person had the reflexes of a spooked cat. As he turned to be able to face the person, his jaw dropped and his fist, raised shoulder high and set to launch, slowly lowered. Sitting in his chair was the body of someone whose swollen face was bloody and barely recognizable. It could’ve been a mannequin and the product of someone’s sick joke. But it wasn’t a joke nor was it a mannequin. Neal only knew it was a woman because her breasts protruded from the bloodied and dirtied ripped blouse she wore. He squinted to better identify her but it was of no use. He could barely identify what was a nose versus a lip versus an eye. All he knew was that she had been roughed up. She sat in his chair, hands folded (or it looked like it) across her lap and her legs spread outward in a way similar to that of how little children sat if not criss-cross applesauce.
Jacob stepped out from the dark. Neal didn’t even have time to process the horrible shape his son was in.
“In case you’re wondering,” Jacob said slowly, “that’s the niggerling.”
Neal fell back against the wall. He was terrified, confused, and angry all at once. Subsequently, he had no words. He looked to his son, the youngest of three boys, for any kind of sign as to how they got here with the dead girl sitting in his beloved chair. It was as if he knew his father was asking a question through a face with mouth agape and eyes filled with disbelief.
Jacob walked over and stood next to the recliner and the lifeless body of his beloved.
“I’m surprised that you’re not more surprised to see me considering you expected me to be dead.” Jacob was gently running his hands through Tulip’s hair, his eyes not once moving away from his father. Neal certainly found it unnerving but not as much as the dead girl in his chair.
“I knew it was you,” Jacob said to him.
Jacob proceeded to share with his father how he came to this conclusion. It began with the word “niggerling” which only Jacob heard from his father but suddenly was used by Ivan. He told him how when they were in town and saw the Mustang. Ivan let slip that he bought the car from his father despite not knowing that Jacob was unaware that Neal had sold him the car or that the car was at all for sale or that it was his father who sold it to him. The difference in the higher price he charged Jacob than Ivan meant Neal was going to use the difference to pay off the kids to kill him and Tulip. Jacob knew Neal told the teens that he and Tulip were going for their regularly scheduled walk through town and the Mustang was used as bait because he knew it would draw Jacob in. Lastly, the samurai sword. It couldn’t have been just any sword because it had the exact inscription found on Neal’s sword. Unless all samurai swords were branded as such and were as common for foreigners to purchase as trinkets in a souvenir shop. And if that was the case, what were the chances that same souvenir shop samurai sword would end up in their town and in the hands of three people who would end up killing the love of his life? In a court of law, the sum of all his evidence could probably be argued as circumstantial by any attorney. But as Jacob outlined his reasoning, Neal didn’t dispute any of it.
Neal pushed himself away from the support of the back wall. He stood straight, his body filled with rigidity and tension. Despite the accusation and the damning evidence, Jacob saw something in his father that he hadn’t seen before. For a second, it unnerved him.
“So?” Neal asked arrogantly.
One could interpret it as defiant. Another would be to interpret it as someone who absolutely did not care. His father looked to be filled with energy that needed to be expended onto someone—and that someone could be him.
“Wanna know why?” Neal asked his son.
“It doesn’t matter,” Jacob replied, trying to match his father’s energy while trying to mask the small corner of his mind that was in a bit of fear. But Jacob was being truthful. Neal’s reasons didn’t matter.
“She was taking you away from me!” Neal screamed, his voice seemingly shaking the house. “You were going to leave me too!”
Neal took a couple steps towards his son. Jacob didn’t flinch.
“Brandon’s gone. Zachary’s is gone. Your mother’s gone. And now you. That wasn’t gonna happen.”
Not that it was to excuse or even forgive everything his father had done, but it did explain everything. Jacob’s brothers left for their own lives. The loss of a mother, a wife. And now the fear that the last of his children would also abandon him. The Mustang was just a device or a tool to keep Jacob near. It was working. Then Tulip entered the picture. Driven by fear, anger, and hatred Neal simply lost it. He was desperate. And the sight of the dead body of the person who he felt was the cause of it all, sat in his chair—one of the last things that symbolized a period of his life that was more a distant happy memory and was now a harsh reality.
The weight of the confession dropped Neal to his knees. His head hung defeatedly as if he knew what he had done was wrong. But it was done. It was too late. And there would be a reckoning.
“Before he would conquer a people, Genghis Khan would say…,” Jacob began. He walked over to his father and spoke with strength and confidence:
“I am the punishment of God. If you had not committed great sins, God would not have sent a punishment like me upon you.”
Neal’s entire world went black.
Blood was seemingly everywhere but really it was concentrated in the living room. It had been about an hour and yet the unmistakable smell of gunfire still lingered. The police officers stood in the living room of a house that had seen better memories than the memory it just made. On the floor was a white sheet that lay over a dead body. An officer who looked to be in charge gave a couple of paramedics a nod. They replied by gently hoisting the dead body into a body bag, zipped it shut, then pulled the body bag into a gurney. The two medical personnel wheeled the dead body from the home and into an awaiting ambulance that already held a body bag. The ambulance slowly pulled away from the curb and headed for the coroner.
George had lived next door for over thirty years. In all his time in the neighborhood he had never seen this level of police activity. What was of greater concern was that he knew Neal and his family. George was there when Carol passed away. He’d helped Neal with each of the boys. He watched as the two eldest moved away, each making some version of the same vow of never returning to their father again. And now another tragedy.
George walked over to a police man who held up his hand directing him to come no further.
“It’s ok. Guy says he can come,” called one policeman to the other. The policeman who stopped George now waved him through the barricade.
George intentionally crossed the lawn as slow as he could. As he did so, he took a long look inside the home. From the doorway, he could see almost directly into the living room. He quickly turned away at the sight of the blood. As he made his way past a couple chatting officers he heard a few lines that, when pieced together, told the whole story.
“A call was made to 9-1-1 and officers responded.”
“He threatened an officer and the officer fired several times.”
“One deceased male.”
“One deceased female. Beaten, possibly raped.”
“The other male is injured—not badly at all, just some gashes to his head.”
What a nightmare, George thought to himself.
George came to the officer who cleared him to cross the barricade. He was taller and bulkier than the other officers. The man could’ve been a professional athlete of some kind. Perhaps he previously was though not professionally.
The officer turned to George.
“He’s gonna be fine,” the officer told George before walking away.
George knelt next to Neal.
“So sorry, Neal.”
Neal had a thin gauze wrapped around his head. Judging by the location of the concentration of blood, his wounds seemed to come from his forehead. He looked like a soldier wounded in the field of battle.
“Are you okay?” George asked him.
Neal just stared at the ground. He mumbled something but it was inaudible. George asked him to repeat it, but Neal continued to look at the ground. It was as if he didn’t know George was even there. In the years he knew him, George had never seen him like this. Not through his wife’s death or through the struggles with his two elder kids. But now he had to deal with the death of one.
The officer returned and looked the two over.
“Officer, can you say what happened?” George asked. He tried to sound more concerned (which he was) than simply being inquisitive.
“We received a call about a domestic disturbance with a weapon being involved. Two officers arrived on the scene. Door was open and the male—his son—was standing over his father—who the officers didn’t know was unconscious—on the ground. The officers ordered his son to drop the weapon and put his hands behind his back and walk backwards towards them. His son did not comply. He turned around and took several steps towards the officers. After several attempts ordering him to put down the weapon, the officers felt their lives in danger and fired. His son—,” the officer paused and looked down at Neal. He took a deep breath knowing that what he would say next could be painful. “—his son was killed instantly.”
George looked over at Neal, who kept looking at the ground during the entire recounting of events. Neal didn’t react in any way.
“We believe that since the call came from the house, that it was the son who made the 9-1-1 call,” the officer finished. He looked at George with an expression asking if there were any other questions. George nodded, “No.”
The officer said Neal was going to be transported to the hospital to treat the non-life threatening wounds on his forehead. Neal would then be required to report to the police station the following morning to continue giving a statement. It seems Neal had said very little and more needed to be understood before the case could be closed.
Since Neal didn’t lift his head to acknowledge the officer, George acted as his representative of sorts and thanked the officer.
“Hang tight until a second ambulance arrives,” the officer said as he walked away.
George turned his attention to Neal who lifted his head to face him. His eyes were filled with tears.
In the following days, the police officers will tie the deaths of the three boys back to Neal. They would connect Tommy and Steve to Ivan and then connect them to Neal, through the Mustang and the samurai sword. Of course they would have phone records of conversations between the two parties. Neal hired the kids. It was really just to take Tulip and not Jacob. But they ended up taking both. It was at that point that there was no way Jacob was going to live as well. Neal was charged, found guilty, and sentenced to life in prison. He would eventually die in jail, five years into his sentence. But they were a long five years. Though they came for Jacob’s funeral, neither of his surviving children came to see Neal. Neal would spend his final years of life participating in normal prison activities, but mostly clinging to fading memories of a cherished past that were beginning to feel like someone else’s life. The last memory was of Jacob and the events that led him to the cell where he would sleep, read, piss, shit, and lose himself in deep thought. Neal was alone. And if any of the happy memories happened to remind him of the family and life he once had, he felt a sort of pinch or feeling from his forehead. It was to not forget that he had been left a reminder of not who he once was but who he currently is. The gashes put there by Jacob, which had since healed, left an unmistakable scar. Neal had been branded. Neal no longer had anyone to serve nor a family that claimed him. So his youngest son purposely inscribed a reminder with a meaning that went deeper than its definition. The word:
RONIN
The sun was setting again. In its wake was a gradient of colors ranging from a rust orange to a bright yellow. Clouds either thinned or made way so the painted sky could be received in all its glory free of any obstruction.
Tulip, sat with her arms wrapped around her knees pulling them to her chest. Eyes closed, she could feel the sun setting and she could feel every shade of color in the sunset. Even the blades of grass that surrounded her felt closer and protective.
Above the feelings, Tulip heard footsteps making their way towards her. Each closing step muffled by the soft and welcoming grass.
Jacob sat next to Tulip and put his left arm around the love of his life. He pulled her closer. She rested her head on his chest. The two sat with their eyes closed, breathing in the sweet air. There was peace. There was love. And they were together. The trademark smile slowly formed across Tulip’s face.
Thank you for reading.