circle

It was come near midnight.
The moon was full, since it was about the mid of the month.
September, so it was either cold or warm. But it was rather warm that night.
Yaile standed up in her room, in her own house, a house nearby the shore.
An open luggage was opened on her bed, things wretched around it.
She looked up those things before her eyes thoughtfully.
And then she started murmuring herself.
“Pain,” a word she began with. “Check.”
And she packed it in her luggage.
Then she came to another, “Suffer,” and again, “Check.”
Then she packed it in also.
“Hatred.”
“Check.”
“Despair.”
“Check.”
“Fright.”
“Check.”
“Sorrow.”
“Check.”
“Distress.”
“Check.”
“Conniption.”
“Check.”
“Disillusion.”
“Check.”
“Bitterness.”
“Check.”
“Irony.”
“Check.”
“Remorse.”
“Check.”
“Boundary.”
“Check.”
“Constraint.”
“Check.”

Those all was packed up till the luggage seemed overloaded.
Yaile hesitated for a moment or two. She still had some other things to be packed off.
But it seemed enough.
“All right,” she spoke herself.
Then she lifted her luggage up, felt how heavy it was.
She needed more time as she tried in her all effort to bring it out of her house, to the shore.
It was reflux, of course, considering the full-moon.
Her hair was messed by the wind-blow. Very gusty the night was.
Very bright, so she could see even a small part of wave’s froth.
“Perfect,” she smiled at once.
Then she came at the watershed.
She pulled up all her effort in her hands, and threw the luggage to the open sea.
She noded, as her luggage soared on the waves and she smiled brightly when it finally lost, swept away.

“Bon adieu,” She whispered, no rued at all, and back to her house lightly.


Six months later, as Yaile enjoyed the warm air inside her house, she decided to take a little walk around the shore. So wavy that day, and the sun was so shiny, made a clear horizon over the off-shore.
She took her straw hat—green-coloured—put it on her head, and started to step her foot upon the sand.
Very pefect day, she thought.
She reached the fiord after some minutes, and sat a while.
Then she saw something that ruined all her good tempers.

Her luggage! Filthy, faded, but still she recognized it.
It was her luggage which she had thrown away that day six months ago.
It was still closed, with a padlock and also combination lock which—though looked damaged here and there—still kept it.
She stared at it, and in despair, he sighed.

“Quite round indeed, the world is,“ so she said loudly, with a sour face.
“They always back to you, no matter what!”