Fake. Everything is fake.

"I lied to you," his voice rang like it always did from the other end of the line. A vague sound of creaking spilled from the other side into mine together with a female's sexual moan.

'Honey...done yet? Can we get back...' A woman implored seductively with a raspy, honey-sweet tone. Her voice was lovingly mild yet urging and impatient.

It wasn't difficult for me to realize what was going on on the other side.

"Who is that? Your real first love? Or is it the mistress you've been hiding from me all this while?" I inquired, my tone sounding more composed than I foresaw. But my heart was being shredded with every dripping moment.

In my clammy grasp was still the bouquet of dewy mountain flowers, alluring and pure. Similar to the young, naive fool I used to be a decade ago. But that fool was dead. The flower had wilted leaving behind an empty, forlorn shell of lingering consternation.

The other side responded with silence. The quietness daunted to cloud the fleeting light of friendship and nuptials and memories.

I finally broke the tension. "So, Joe, indeed you were like the rest..." My statement hung, unfinished. A receding hope within me begged that he would refute my remark and say it as he once did: 'I love you',

'I am not like the others',

'I'll never leave you',

'Ashlyn, you're beautiful'.

But how pathetic.

"No," his voice finally filled my ears. His denial made the receding hope be ignored, burning emotion searing my senses like a blowtorch. But then my flame was exposed to bitingly cold water.

"The others were only at best a group of dickheads. No wonder you fell for them. Lastly, kindly don't compare me with them," he concluded, and, with another moan—this time, from him—he hung up.

I stared at the fine drizzle pouring on my windscreen, my hand still holding my cell beside my ear. I watched the raindrops slide across the glass.

My hand gently lowered alongside my head.

I suddenly hit my head hard on the steering wheel.

The pain seemed to awaken my senses. I winced but still felt dead. I wondered if I was truly breathing, then...was this supposed to be 'living'?

Why was my life like this? Why me? I never hurt anyone, never said anything amiss or detrimental. So then why? Typically, I never disapproved. I always knew that he was never truly faithful to our marriage. Never.

However, like a fool, I ignored his failures. I gave him chances. I extended a hand of help to his mistress with a warm smile on my face. I lent him all that he required and accepted every affront or derailing action he applied to our relationship.

Yet. A sigh escaped my withered lips.

I gradually turned my head to stare outside at the damp streets. The moss had stretched. The rains rippled then calmed, and the gloaming spilled in from the clouds' rifts. The pavements were saturated and the stores were deserted.

A store-owner was staring through his window and looking out at the empty streets tiredly. He seemed to be disappointed by the lack of customers. His figure finally disappeared into the store.

My arm shifted to veer the window down and a cold, frigid breeze streamed into the car. The cold air filled my lungs. My ribs ached with the cold but I still inhaled every chill.

If only time would turn itself and allow me to annul every tide and ebb. Unfortunately, the world was cruel.

I glanced at my gloved hands and I knew what I had to do. Indeed, it was already so clear.

My hands moved to hold the steering wheel, firmly, unflinchingly. I coughed the engine to life and the black Pheuton whizzed into the streets.

Light was shining in my eyes as the wind tossed and tousled my black hair.

...

The Memorial was forever deserted and far-flung. A cleaner was raking the fallen brown leaves into a heap for burning. It was chilly and ebony black clouds had assembled in the harsh blue sky, rain-laden.

The cold breeze made the grizzled cleaner sneeze. He rubbed his reddish nose and sighed. Surely he had had his heydays and had seen vivid years pass him.

The cleaner finished clearing the verdant grass of the wilted leaves. He shuffled to the heap of brown lethargically. Squatting, the man was about to pick the leaves and fill them in the brown sacks beside him when a pair of fair hands suddenly reached out and helped him.

The cleaner looked up with arched brows and his vulpine, subtly azure eyes rested on a slender woman in a navy blue uniform and a Persian blue cap hiding her face. She was squatting beside him, gingerly filling the leaves in the brown sacks.

"Er... Officer, there's no need to assist me. I'm just fine by myself," the cleaner said kindly with a small smile.

The lady paused, her hands hanging over the brown leaves for a moment. Then she tipped her sky-blue army cap slightly upwards to reveal her mesmerizing countenance.

Her refulgent eyes were warm like the sun's rays as she said smilingly, "Sir, you've worked so hard by yourself. A little bit of help is the least I can do for you."

The cleaner dazedly stared at her dazzling visage. The cold, worn day suddenly seemed to be engulfed in sunshine. Finally, someone noticed his effort.

The young lady turned and resumed filling the ragged sacks with leaves. Her fluid movements were elegant yet fast. It only took a matter of seconds before the work was wrapped up.

"Thank you so much, young miss!" said the cleaner, nearly kowtowing in the process.

The young lady smiled back as usual. As she trudged away, her arm lifted to wave, bidding him goodbye. Another cold breeze filtered in as her figure disappeared amongst the numberless tombstones.

...

"Mom. It's been six months, but I'm home," Ashlyn spoke, her voice coming out raspy from beneath the army cap.

A gentle smile creased her face as she lifted her hand and removed her cap to let it rest beside the articulate, flower-laden tombstone.

Her eyes searched the many carnations enshrouding the tombstone. A deep, draining pain flitted in her eyes before she pressed her lips into a tight, thin line and looked once more at the fair face of a woman, in the photo's frame above the stone.

"...I know you're angry, mum. I'm sorry I didn't visit you once a month as I promised," she sighed, "Stuff happened."

Yes. Stuff.

Ashlyn's ebullient smile returned as she held up the bouquet of dewy lilies in her grasp. "But look, mum. I got you your favorite flowers. I always knew you liked lilies best since you always rejected having any strong-smelling flowers," she enthused and chuckled, tears suddenly rimming her eyes.

"Also, I'm sorry. I snooped in dad's old albums—from when he was a photographer—and happened to spot your wedding photos," Ashlyn paused. Her eyes dimmed. "You looked so happy back then... I couldn't believe it. And then, I was suddenly so happy, for no reason at all."

A cool, light breeze swept into the somnolent vicinity, tousling Ashlyn's flowing, glossy black hair. A smile crowned the woman in the photo's alluring face. It seemed that not even the harshest of tides could make her smile waver.

"M-mum..." Tears stung the corners of Ashlyn's eyes as she stuttered out raspily. A cocktail of emotions budded in her heart before she raised her head and looked dead-ahead.

"I...I guess this is goodbye."