The Whispering Husk

It’s World Coconut Day, so we give credence to a fruit that is the lifeblood of the tropics. The juice within is refreshing– but tempting to a grieving heart.

Grief can consume you.

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Henri was hungry; the call of island coconuts was too strong, even at midnight. He cracked the too-soft shell with a practised swing of his axe.

It cracked open. Too quickly. And–

A tremor of recognition shivered from within.

The white liquid moved–slightly.

A faint whisper—and memory.

His grandfather’s smile. And voice.

“Henri…”

His name whispered, strained, billowing through the palms like smoke through the frigid air. The hair on his scrawny arms stood–yet, it was a sound he longed to hear.

The voice cracked with a soft plea.

“Drink deep. The only way to end the strife.”

He took a first sip, then stopped, as though guilt had sealed his lips.

The coconut water bore odd, trembling ripples– it had the pulse of something–

Living.

Waiting.

He looked at the cup towards his lips, then stopped.

And again.

Each lift brought the cup closer to his lips.

Each time the ripples grew stronger, thickening.

Shimmering.

A hush filled the room– it was pregnant with an unacceptable–yet irresistible–promise.

Henri succumbed to the husk’s call–his young form collapsed against a tree. Its branches were outstretched, waiting to catch him.

The husk trembled violently, beating like a trapped heart.

Henri stiffened. His body began to hollow. His skin–too tight, sinking inward.

Fingers– Bent. Out of place.

Something inside the husk seemed to be answering Death’s call. Henri’s fingers curled around its emptiness, its voice braiding with his into a single, indistinguishable sound.

The husk had found its echo.

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