Page 2 of Where Broken Wings Fly

~

It took us a few hours and far too many stops to arrive in Bristol, but just as I finished scarfing down my lunch-dinner of a ham and cheese sandwich, Evan rose from his seat once more and declared our timed stop at the Clifton Suspension Bridge. Why Charlotte chose the bridge as one of her sites, I would never know. It was grand in a way she wasn’t, exceptional in a way that neither of us were.

There, standing at the edge and looking down at the river, I released the next cloud of her over the rapids.

“You would hate this place,” I sighed as I worked at closing the clasp. “If you only did this for me to look out across the currents and feel something, you were wasting your time.” With another grin, I took a deep breath and released the second necklace, watching as the glinting metal soared down and was absorbed by the water. “Site two done, you little bugger.”

Maybe she had been on to something, because as the city below was cast in a golden light, I did feel something. Just a tickling within my chest, enough to force a genuine smile to my face as I looked up at the collection of clouds floating by. There was something about sunlight that dared to bring me into the light, but it never seemed to get a strong enough hold over me to complete the task.

Yet again, bad-timing in the form of Evan blowing a shrill whistle drew my attention — and my body — back to the coach.

The third site, also in Bristol, were the Roman Baths. Instead of remaining here for a few hours like the tour promised, the integrity of Solitude in Sights was proven when we arrived and were denied prolonged entry due to the fact they were closing for the night. We were given ten minutes.

I sprinted away from the group with as much earnestness as I could muster and slammed to a stop just on the outskirts of the columned monstrosity.

Yanking the third necklace from my pocket, I flicked my eyes over my shoulder to make sure no one was watching.

“If you thought I was going to pour you into the baths, you were sorely mistaken.” Snickering to myself, I powdered another pinch of her into the grass beneath my feet and set the obscurely purple gem necklace against one of the columns. “Site three done, you menace.”

~

I couldn’t remember the last time I had spent so much time outside of my home or the clinic. My skin was unfamiliar with the feel of constant sun-beams penetrating it, my eyes were growing heavy under the gentle breeze that graced our country, and my body was spent from being around others so much. It wasn’t like I was interacting with them, really. Quite the opposite, I was actively avoiding the tourists on my trip and offering only sharp glares at Evan when he tried to speak to me. But with every minute I spent out and about on my strange task, my little black dog was lagging more and more. I knew better than to get my hopes up, though. Such a feeling never lasted.

Our last few hours in the coach were spent on the road, aiming for the motel in Exeter where we would call it quits and rest before our last and final journey.

To Cornwall.

The motorside motel that we stopped at had somehow taken every single stain known to man and made it an interior design choice. Or at least that was what I told myself in order to convince my mind to settle enough and take to the bed. ‘Bed’ might have been a stretch, I was certain that it was plywood with stuffing stapled to it and bedsheets attached in order to look the part.

Looking up at the muddling of greens, browns, and greys that was my ceiling, I let the exhaustion of my day drag me down, down, down, until I was at last asleep.

~

I had promised Charlotte that I would see to her ashes being placed across the four sites she outlined for me. For that reason, when the coach made several stops between Exeter and Cornwall that were not on my list, I remained with my bottom glued to my seat in the coach and quietly awaited the groan of the vehicle indicating movement once more.

Evan announced our crossing into Cornwall just as I finished braiding the lengths of muddy-blonde hair over my shoulder.

Tide was to be low off of Marazion — where the coach parked — as of noon. So it was with extreme disdain for my childhood friend that I stepped off of the coach with the rest of the tour group and looked across the walkway that would take us to St. Michael’s Mount.

“I haven’t had this much exercise since we were in secondary, Char,” I hissed beneath my breath as I looked across the stretching path before us.

Evan led the group, leaving me to linger at the back as I adjusted my pack awkwardly on my back. One step at a time, I took to the cobbled path that had pooling of sea water collected in the grooves. As much as I hated the thought of the walk, I would have been lying if I said it wasn’t the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. I would also have been lying if I didn’t admit that for the first time in years, I felt like I could breathe. For some reason, the sun was inclined to let me bask in it for once.

The island ahead seemed to grow and grow with every step we took. A hoarding of greenery spanned from one edge of the secluded land to the next, only a few rooftops and building spires to be seen poking out beyond the trees.

To my left and right was the overwhelming sight of every shade of blue. A light teal to the water closest to me, revealing freed pebbles and stones that had rolled away from the walkway in the years of being present. Beyond that, the blue slowly shifted to a deep navy that signalled the tremendous depths of the water. Only then did the blue change back once more to a faint azure that was the sky, the horizon only made apparent by the plumes of white clouds that breezed over the conjoining line.

The salt of the sea assaulted my nasal cavity, eventually mixing with the faint stench of freshly clipped grass as we — what felt like hours later — made contact with the island.

Evan halted in an overly-dramatic fashion, lifted his arms to the sky, and turned to face us. “Welcome to St. Michael’s Mount.” He twisted his raised wrist to check his watch. “Our tour of the castle starts in two hours. You are free to roam the island as you see fit, meet back here then.”

No one wasted a moment, our group of twenty-or-so dispersing like water across a lake. It felt wrong in a way, like we were children who needed constant monitoring. Which was incorrect, considering the sign-up age was twenty-one and I was a handful of years beyond that.

It would give me enough time to locate somewhere nice to not only release the last of Charlotte, but hopefully dig into my cold container of porridge within my bag.

Climbing to a mid-point on the tremendous green hillside, I leapt over a few stone walls, carved a path through the lush greenery, and dropped down onto my tailbone.

The small forest bordered me from behind, whereas the never-ending sea stretched out in front of me. I could see people unloading and boarding various vessels on the docks below, just as tourists made the treacherous walk across the pathway I had walked only moments prior.