The Voice

“Please come back….” he brokenly uttered, his hands laid on the grave.

Memories of a kiss shared under a sea of lights flashed through their mind.

Laughter echoed as the silhouette figures flowed to the soft tune.

Eyes crinkled on the sides as a handsome face smiled at him.

The joyous partner flashed like a short film, showing as he held their child for the first time.

The one holding the grave shook his head to get rid of the memories, but as his eyes closed, motion pictures swam in.

A view from their bedroom door as the deceased held their child singing and dancing before smiling at his partner. The silent graveyard heard a wail.

Another view of his partner welcoming him home with a warm hug and huge smile. Tears stained the face of the one holding the grave. His heart fragmented as more pictures played in his mind.

He screamed into the dark mind, heart itching, body laxing, and head booming thoughts of rejoining a lost one. Hands frantically search the floor for objects to aid in submitting to his thoughts.

The grave hallowed by the priest took a turn this night as the spirits seemed to urge the person struggling for air. Laughing could be heard as the whispered words of urgency increased, head hot and booming.

The rain started to pour as if to empathise with the one near the grave.

A voice saying “ I love you” faintly rang, sounding so much like the one under his knees. A pained scream was let out at the remembrance.

Running was heard. There were multiple of them. Tiny knees crashed beside him, and hands acted as blankets. The child was here.

“Please come home”, a voice of at most five years was heard. The next voice was broken and old. It was the grieving one’s parents.

“Your child is right”, the caring mother uttered. “Go home and take a warm bath. You’ve been here since morning. It’s past midnight”

“If I leave..” his voice cracked. He swallowed and tried again. “If I leave I won’t be able to hear the voice.”

The pair of grandparent and grandchild looked at each other in confusion and pity, each with water in their eyes.

“What voice?” the mother asked?

“I can hear it. It sounds just like…” he laid his hands on the tombstone, unable to say the dead’s name. “If I leave I won’t hear the voice anymore.”