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Madness

He had been standing there for quite a while now, unable to understand anything; unable to see anything, but white. Yes, when you think about it, you realise that black cannot be the only colour you can relate with blindness! When you are standing there surrounded by nothing else but one single colour, you tend to lose the sense of distance between you and the last point till which you can see. At times, they overpower you; so much so that the boundaries seem to close in on you and you have nowhere else to go. It plays with your mind and your eyes, the colour; it drives you crazy. And all you want to do is to get out of it.

But this is new to him. It wasn’t like this. There used to be demons around. It wasn’t so lonely. The demons used to talk to each other and laugh at his face; stare at him, all at once. The things around him glowed, of different colours; and at times, it was very difficult to differentiate between things. He did not understand the world around him. It was so strange. There were times when the fireball above would disappear and things would stop radiating the light which hurt his eyes. But then the strange beings of the night would cry at nights and scare him enough to take his sleep away. Sleep, yes; it had been very long since he slept.

And then these demons, they caught him; brought him here, to this place which had no limits; and left him there, alone. There was nothing there; no demons, no angels, no one, nothing else either; not even walls. He ran. In one direction. But everything was the same. It felt as if he wasn’t even moving. But it did get him tired after a while. It’s harder to reach a place when you can’t see your goal; or anything else for that matter; you tend to give up sooner. And so he stopped. And looked around, again; failed to understand anything at all and sat down. He cried, for as long as he could and then closed his eyes. He was tired, so tired. But he felt something; someone standing near him. He opened his eyes and looked around. No one, nothing. The white seemed to hurt his eyes now. He screamed; and screamed, and screamed but heard nothing back, not even the echo of his voice. So he banged his head on the floor, harder and harder. All he wanted was to see was those demons now; the radiation of the colours from things, if only there were any. He banged his head harder on the floor, to see the little bit of red. But all it did was hurt and not make him bleed. He tried to scratch his face with his nails but it did not help either. So he placed his tongue between his teeth and banged his chin on the floor and shrieked with pain and then opened his eyes to see his blood on the floor. Red! Finally, a colour other than white. Something that made him smile. And while he smiled, he saw that red spread around him and cover every single inch of the white that was there. He turned around to take a look in every direction.

There was nothing around him. He just stood there, unable to understand anything; unable to see anything, but red!

 
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Posted by on August 7, 2016 in short story, Uncategorized

 

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Imprisoned

Theirs was just like ours; only, a lot different. They wandered, endlessly; among the heavens. No boundaries, no borders, no restrictions; not around the place they existed in, nor in their existence. They were knowledgeable; knew the secrets of the universe; aware of the purpose for their existence and yet again, they existed harmoniously; helping each other, loving each other; a sense of right and wrong, a sense of what should not be done, a sense of what they really are. Freedom was the essence that they thrived on. They were not bound by the limitations that we face. Such adventurous beings, always in search for adventure; who do not stop, do not rest, are not hindered by weariness; a perfect creation. They could do anything, be anywhere, at any time but the laws of nature should be not interfered with and so they existed in balance with the laws of nature, of the universe. But then again, there will always be the ones who are devoted to rebellions, who defy everything that has been and everything that should be. But a balance must be restored. And so it was done.
The ones who did defy; the ones who needed to be taught to mend their ways were punished, confined to being something much lesser than what they really were. Imprisoned in an astounding infrastructure which itself was a work of art; complete with characteristics that made every single one of them different from the other; each of them, unique. But of course, it is an imprisonment. Thus, infrastructures, filled with limitations. Limitations that were obscure to them since they knew themselves. Inability to exist so freely, in collaboration with the universe, at the mercy of nature. Reduced to something so less, so powerless. But that would be brutal, even for the defiant ones. To take away everything from one and yet confine him to something so much smaller than he has been his entire existence. After all, pain is harsher when it is followed by comfort. But this exceeds even the harshest of all. This would not be acceptable. So the memory of its true self had to be forgotten. And so it was done.
The prisoners were confined to something which was so much smaller than themselves, in every sense. They were bound by limitations; things that they could not do anymore, knowledge that could never be deciphered with the capacity that they possessed, a body which would get tired and wounded so easily, a body which was not immune of pain. Bound to live, and die, and follow the same course of growing and learning and forgetting and being forgotten, just like everyone else. Their limited vessels casted out by the rest, to suffer through a sentence fit for their crime, in the prison made specifically for them; a place they called ‘Earth‘.
And so they live their sentences, without knowing what wrong they had done, that they were outcastes or that this, is a prison in which they so happily live; and their bodies, which they so dearly admire, merely vessels, containing their larger selves. Unaware of the shrieks of the captured soul, silenced by such an ingenious technique of nature which cause the vessels to draw in air instead of the other way around. How limited their knowledge is that they do not even realize that the shrieks are viral only because the shrieks of one soul stirs the feelings of the other, reminding him of the freedom, of the limitlessness of their existence and yet again, they are devoid of the realization of that knowledge. How naively, they call them ‘yawns’.
How limited, their knowledge is, that they spend centuries deciphering the secrets of the very vessels that they occupy; its anatomy, its functions, its limitations. And yet, they fail to fully understand it. Not to mention the thousands of years that they have taken to even make themselves capable of trying to decipher their own selves. Not even realizing that the soul is a free being that is captured within this vessel filled with limitations. That every time it shrieks, it does so for the want of adventures that the vessels are incapable of fulfilling. Not knowing that all it takes to free his true self is to merely go through a certain pain; a certain pain of death, for death is merely a door to get out of this vessel, prove your worth and exist as you existed before, in your true form, in all its limitlessness.

 
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Posted by on April 9, 2016 in short story, theory

 

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Diary of a werewolf II

It was so powerful, that beast, when it overcame me. I remember the strength that I felt running through my veins, the gushing of the blood through my body; and with it, anger, fury; power and barbarity that knew no limits.

I did not have a choice. I had to let it go. I had to let it take over me. There’s only so much time for which you can subdue the monster inside of you. There’s only so much time for which you can bear the pain. You think it will become a part of you, the pain; that your body will ultimately accept it; that you will get used to it and it will not hurt anymore. You expect it to at the least become bearable; a pain that you can live with. But the monster does not let that happen. It does not give up trying to take over your body, your mind, you’re entity. It just does not let you be your own self. You cannot imagine the pain of experiencing the growling of the beast within you, a sound that is heard over the loudest of noises, the shrillest of your own screams when you shout your lungs out, screaming, begging it to stop. But it never gives up. How can it?!

You live your entire life learning to subdue your emotions, your desires, you needs; your wants. This monster, knows no limits. The amount of power that it takes to keep it from coming out and taking over me; the amount of power that it takes me to bear the pain and not give up; is inexplicable. They say that if you try, nothing is impossible. I don’t think they have ever gone through this pain; and so I failed; I let go!

I remember every single thought that came in it’s mind. I know every part of the only emotion that it felt; hunger. I don’t think it is possible to explain the hunger of this barbaric beast. It does not understand fear or good or bad. It longs for the flesh and that is what it craves for, every single moment. The visions of it’s hunt; they do not leave me alone. The fear in the eyes of that woman when she saw it flash out of the darkness and consume her in a moment. Those eyes will never stop haunting me. How soothing was the smell and taste of her blood and how beautiful the very emotion of that moment when the beast had done it’s deed. The feeling seemed to compensate for all the pain that I had bore in subduing it and the suffering that I went through during the transformation. How every single part of my body arched and how every single bone in my body made me scream as they changed their shape within me. How I screamed louder than the beast then. How powerful I felt; how unconquerable; how beastly.

One can surely imagine the guilt of having taken a life and the misery of living with it for the rest of his life.
One cannot imagine the guilt of having taken a life and enjoyed it; felt good about it and the misery of living with it for the rest of his life; especially when he knows, it wasn’t the last. It was just the beginning.

 
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Posted by on February 21, 2015 in short story

 

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Darkness

He opened his eyes to the light that shone directly above his face. He tried to move his head but he realized he was in bonds. The light above his face made it almost impossible for him to see anything around him; the darkness in the rest of the room made it completely so. All he did see were shapes, in the darkness; trying to figure out what the things were, where he was and how did he come there. His head hurt. He struggled to unbind himself but the bonds were too tight. He struggled to free himself after every few minutes and failed. How pleasing a vision it was to see him suffer like that. He stood there in the shadow like the rest of the things in the storage room except for that stretcher that held his prey under the influence of the only light that glowed right above his face.

“Why are you doing this?”, he yelled at the top of his voice. “Please! I beg you; please let me go!”, he almost cried.

He waited for a reply trying to look at the person who had abducted him from that lonely parking lot by turning his head towards him as much as the bonds allowed him to, which wasn’t enough. He could only see the shape of a head in the darkness of the storage room but that could be anything. It could be anything at all; maybe even one of those unclear shapes that we see, made up by my our minds, by our fear of darkness. He was scared. Drops of sweat trickled from his face to his ears. He could not figure out what was going on with him or even why he was there. His mind could not completely reason what had happened to him in the last 8 hours, but that was merely an approximation. He knew it was 9 pm when he got out of his office to go back home to his wife and son and he knew he was struck by something from behind when he was unlocking his car and the only other thing he knew was that he was unconscious; and that he woke up in a dark place bound to this stretcher and it had been long since he got back his consciousness completely. He had lost track of time and of anything else that could have been going on out there. He could not even tell if it was day or night. For him, it was a long dreadful night.

“Somebody please help me!!”, he shrieked at the highest intensity that his lungs and the remaining energy in him allowed him to.

“They can’t hear you. No one can.”, a voice came out from the shadows.

He tried to turn his face but the bonds wouldn’t allow him to, so he turned his sweaty face back to the bulb again that had started to hurt his eyes long back.

“Who are you?”

He gave no reply and stood there looking at him.

“Why are you doing this to me?”, he asked restless after a few seconds.

He got no reply this time either.

“Let me go!!”, he struggled with all his might trying to free himself of the bonds. One tends to never give up.

“It is useless!”, he finally spoke. “It is well tested. You cannot get away.” His voice was heavy and calm. A little too calm. So calm that it gave him a strange fear.

He lay there with his eyes closed. Hearing the footsteps of his abductor moving in circles around him and then away from him, which made him restless and he shouted, “Hey, hey, don’t you go away. Don’t you leave me here again. Please! I beg you! Please!”, tears of desperation finally came out!

“Oh no my friend! I’m not leaving. I’m here with you for as long as it takes. I’m not leaving until I’m completely through with you.”, his smile was almost visible in the darkness. His eyes reflected the light from the bulb. He came back to the stretcher with some kind of a container in his hand and kept it down and held the head of his victim between his palms. He looked up trying to see who it was but the light bulb behind the person’s head made it impossible for him to do so.

“It’ll be over soon. Don’t worry my friend. Just relax.”, he said with a smile on his face. He was clearly enjoying this.

He started with his work. He picked up the container.

He couldn’t take it anymore. He closed his eyes and waited for what was going to happen. A very familiar smell came to him with the sound of spilling of a liquid. Petrol, he realized at once.

“Hey! Hey! What the hell are you doing?! NO! Stop it! Stop it! Help! Help!”, he shouted and shouted and was stopped by a palm being placed on his mouth.

“You’ll wake up the neighbors!”, he smirked, “I’m just kidding. I told you no one can hear you! Now calm down; it’ll be over before you know it.”

Helpless, he lay down there; unable to move, unable to do anything to free himself, to save his life, to get away from this psychotic person. He closed his eyes and waited for whatever was going to happen; going over his whole life back again, remembering his family; his wife, his three year old son.

“Are you remembering you family?”

He opened his eyes and spoke feebly, “My wife and my son.”

“Oh! A family man. I had a family once, I remember. But then they sent me away; my father, my mother and my elder brother. My elder brother, I remember, he always picked on me.”, he stopped speaking for a while and continued his preparations.

“Sent you away? Where?”, he tried to speak.

“Keep your questions for the end of the class”, he said with a grin on his face.

“I keep having this vision you know,” he continued, pausing his work and looking into the darkness of the room, “of things burning, my room, my house, my toys; my parents.”, he stopped again and spoke after a pause without the calmness that was there in his voice the entire time. “But it did them good. They probably deserved it, for treating me the way they did; and for sending me away. They never did accept me in the first place.”

“Was it an accident?”, his eyes found their way back from the darkness to his face.

He searched for something in his pocket and took out a match box and lit a stick saying, “Oh no! Not remotely! I burnt them down!”, with a sense of pride in his voice.

His eyes widened and he lay there speechless.

He raised his hand to throw the burning matchstick in but stopped; and then blew out the stick.

“Oh! I completely forgot. You asked me where had they sent me, didn’t you?”, he paused and said, “I guess the class is over. You should get your answer.”, he smiled.

He took out another stick out from the match box and lit it, “To the asylum.” He laughed as he threw the burning matchstick in, relieving the entire room of darkness.

 
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Posted by on November 28, 2014 in short story, Uncategorized

 

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Dark Love

She merely saw the bright side of it in the darkness that she sat. Her smile, her face, brighter than those headlights that were on the outside of the cab that she sat in. Those posts that ran backwards so fast only seemed to glow brighter now, probably to compete with the glow on her face. The rest was just darkness; darkness that seemed to freak her out before, made her lonely; but not anymore. She felt safe now, she felt the companionship of someone. She felt that there was someone who would save her from everyone else, everything else that would try to harm her. Someone who will always be there. Those were the promises that were made by those few texts. She will never be able to forget them. She will never be able to explain them to anyone either. How stupid and silly; yet so deep and beautiful. She rested her head back and closed her eyes and went back in time.

*beep beep*

1 unread text message.
The light from the cell phone lit her face up like the sky of 4th November. It was him.

“It was very nice meeting you!” She read out loud to her friend.

The girls smiled at each other and quarreled at what the perfect answer would be. But before they could finish, the phone lit up again. Yet another message.

“Gotta tell you something!”

“Hmmm…” she wrote.

“Roses are red.”

“Oh I didn’t know that! :P” she wrote and overflowed with giggles.

“Facebook is blue.”

“Tell me something I don’t know”

“I love you”

Her eyes widened at the screen. Her friend moved her eyes to her friend’s face. She herself, was stunned. Her face showed a mix of all the feelings that one could possibly imagine; all of them, all at once, on that young little face of hers. She blushed and half smiled and fear filled up in her eyes. She could hardly breathe. How exciting, how terrifying; the million possibilities filled her up. Her face lit up once again with the smile and then the fear took over; then came the comfort of some sort that she had never felt before. It is as if we are born with the depth of love; only in need of someone to show it to us, to make us feel how deep we are. How deep our feelings can go!

Oh the comfort that she found even his absence; the feeling of safety in this crowded little world even when he wasn’t holding her in his arms. It was inexplicable. She was too young, too inexperienced, too short of words to even try to speak of it; so she settled for tears. Words were kept safe in her for she could not let those feelings out; feelings that were a result of him and he, was too precious now.

But she only saw the bright side of it. The beautiful expectations, those dreams that take over someone’s mind along with the heart and take you to great heights are not always fulfilled; but she did not know that. How could she know, she was only a kid; a kid of 16. How could she possibly know the darkness of love. How could she know how black it becomes when the intensity of red increases. She was unaware of the lengths of the nights that one cries through. Unaware of the sufferings you bear when your love doesn’t understand you; when he walks out on you, when he gets over you. How could she possibly know the wicked schemes of the cupid or about the evil that resides within the beauty of love. She was unaware of the darkness of love.

She opened her eyes and stared at those three words. They made her smile. There was only so much she could do now. She replied back.
“I love you too!”

 
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Posted by on October 1, 2014 in short story, Uncategorized

 

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The Fight

He strolled down the lonely road filled with emptiness and darkness except for the occasional suns on the sidewalk by the street lights above. Life hadn’t turned out exactly the way he had imagined it would. The love for numbers had slowly faded away, they drove him crazy in his office now; the woman who waited for him back home did not seem very attractive anymore; the children merely seemed a duty; stood for the love that they had once shared. How monotonous was life, how unattractive; empty. He found himself in need of something different; something that would relieve him of this monotony, and offer him something interesting for a change.

When he got clear of his thoughts, he found himself in a bar. The wooden colored counter on the right stretched to the very end. The broken jukebox occupied some space and the dart board stood so gallantly occupying the wall. On the other side of the bar were lain a few tables which provided for groups that were crude, both in nature and in looks. He made his way to one of the stools at the counter and felt insecure turning around and finding himself being pointed out by a group and being called a drunkard and laughed at.

“That’d be me mate.” He turned his face to see a middle aged man with a glass in his hand and a bottle in his front. He looked at him and said again, “Perhaps they are referring to me.”

“And you say nothing?” he asked in a tone which proved him to be not one of the calm ones in the world.

He smiled and turned to the bartender instead of replying to his question, “A pint for my friend here.”

He did not look like a man of a bad reputation. He was dressed decently enough to sit among the finest of the city and his voice had a tone of command that would overpower anyone; and yet he sat there drinking, all by himself.

“I would be a liar if I say they’re wrong you know.”, he said finally breaking the silence between them.

“So you drink a lot?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

He looked at his face with a surprise in his eyes. No one had ever asked him that before. They had called him a drunkard, advised him not to drink, even maybe avoided him at times. But no one had ever asked him this before. His red eyes came back to their own shape and he turned his face back to his glass.

“Why did you start?”, he asked again, “When did you start?”

“Almost a year. I lost my wife and my two sons to a car accident…”

“And so you drink in their grief?”

“I drink mate,” he replied with his hand on his shoulder, “because that is my thrill.”

“Your thrill?”, he asked not completely understanding his point, half thinking to himself to be the whiskey talking and not the man himself.

“You see mate. Everyone of us has a thrill, a passion that they so profoundly love that it drives them crazy. You will do anything for it. You see the man seated in a brown jacket behind you”, he said pointing at someone, “he is an editor. His thrill, on the other hand, is to observe people. To deduce the lives of strangers. The diary on his table that you see, is his life long work, filled with assumptions of every stranger he has ever met.”, he paused and then asked, “Don’t you have a thrill too mate?”

He thought a little and then replied, “I don’t think I do.”

He smiled at him said, “Everyone does mate. Some of us just don’t know what is yet. Have you never loved something that you would do anything for it? Have you never loved someone that profoundly?”

“I have. But…”, he stopped realizing that he was only talking to a stranger and then started again, “So that’s your thrill you say? Losing your senses and being called the drunkard by others?” he asked rather sarcastically and enjoyed it, covering his smile by taking a sip of the whiskey in his hand.

“You get me wrong mate. It is not the unconsciousness that I long for. It is certainly not the reason why I drink.”

“You drink in grief, don’t you? Of your wife? Of your son?”

“I have their memories, yes. Pictures of the beautiful times in my mind that do not give me even the momentary reliefs. But you get used to it over the time. You see mate, it is not a healer; the time. It is rather a harsh reality that you have to face and time gives you that exposure. It makes you face your fears, your wounds, things that had hurt you so much once that you thought you would never be able to go through them again. It gets you used to that pain, to that harsh reality.”

“So you do not miss them now?”

“I do. It makes you numb, the time that you spend with all that pain within you. It makes you indifferent to the world around you; make it seem like nothing else matters to you. It kills you. It makes you accept the pain. But I couldn’t allow myself to betray the ones I loved the most. What kind of a father would I be if I let myself out of the pain of their absence?! What kind of a husband would I be mate?!” He stared him right in the eyes which bore the pain of parting from the ones he loved so dearly. “You see mate, this keeps me alive. The thrill of being in the darkness of their memories. The liquor tries to take away the consciousness and with it, the memories. I, on the other hand, strive. I strive so hard and cling  to them; to my sons, to my wife, to my consciousness, and to the pain, as a token of my love to them. I fight the intoxication mate. I do not give in. The world spins with all its might and people talk things that I do not understand anymore and my eyes betray me as well. The body fails to struggle with my spirit. It becomes heavy, and shaky. The spirit never fails me though; my heart, never fails them; my beloveds. Love, you see, isn’t about showing it off. It’s about the battle that you fight for them, for the people you love. It’s about the fight.”

And he rose up from his stool and turned around with a glass in his hand that he held higher than his head. “Mates” he shouted, “To the fight!”

“To the fight Mr. Mayor”, came a reply from the people in a loud support. He turned around after placing a bill in the counter, smiled at him and said “It was nice talking to you mate.” And then he turned and started to the door while he sat there going through the words of the man in his mind when he was disturbed by a beautiful face. “Are you alone here?”

He thought to himself of the wonderful opportunity that brought a smile to his face. His eyes fell on the ring on his own finger and then came to his mind the thought of his love that waited for him back home. He stared at his wedding ring.

“Hey mate.” came a voice to which he turned to realize it was the man that sat beside him earlier, “It’s always about the fight.” he winked and turned away.

 
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Posted by on April 9, 2014 in short story, Uncategorized

 

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Third

The suitcase in the back seat spoke for itself. The emptiness in the air was filled with the echoes of the memories of their time together. She stared outside through the transparency, at the beautiful lake that reflected the sun and appeared like diamonds. The two swans that floated among the diamonds reminded her of herself and him. The thought brought a smile on her face that overcame the excitement and fear of what she had started to do. He, on the other hand, was too mesmerised by the beauty that sat beside him to appreciate the beauty of nature like she did.

Her face has always haunted him, even in his dreams. He couldn’t take his eyes off her as the sun came in through the glass and made one part of her face golden and turned brown the strands of hair which were darker than the darkest of the nights. Even today, he was not sure of the day when he had started loving her.

His smile remained constant on his face, his eyes, constant on her. She always reminded him of the olden days, the day she had met him, the day she had talked to him for the very first time; the day they turned into good friends. Her face was the reminder of all the things she meant to him, his everything.

The car cruised the two away from the place, the cruel world, that they believed, will never understand love. She wanted to be happy and he had never the courage, or authority over himself to say no to her. They were madly in love. Ready to take any risk, do anything, take any step necessary for it. The lake had passed and she had returned to him. They smiled at each other and turned their eyes towards the road ahead, expecting something.

He went back to the thoughts that always occupied him, the thoughts that had always made him so mysterious; and her, so curious; and she had always asked him, but he never talked about it. They were running away, he was madly in love with her; she was in love too. She was with him, sitting right beside him, so close; it could have been perfect. It could have been so perfect.

He stopped the car. A man stood there, leaning back at a black sedan, restless, looking for something, waiting for something; someone. She got out of the car and he saw a bright smile light her face and at that moment, she glowed, like star does in a moonless dark sky. She hugged him.

It could have been so perfect; if only she loved him back the same.

How cruel it was of her, even with that child like innocent face and intention. How unknowingly cruel it was of her to ask him to help her with this. But she had never known his love for her, he had never expressed. He wasn’t very good at saying the right things at the right moments. He had always been afraid of losing that small place that he occupied in her heart as her best friend. She would miss him, for sure; but not like he would.

He got out and took out her suitcase from the back and stood with it in front of them with a smile on his face that contained the storm in his heart, that kept him from falling apart. But he was happy for her. The only reason why he was there, because she was happy.

She walked towards him for the final goodbye with tears in her eyes. He stood there waiting to hold her in his arms, regretting his every passing breath that brought nearer the time when she would finally leave. She came into his arms and he felt complete, for that one moment; and wished, that the moment may last for eternity, wished that he didn’t have to let her go.

“Don’t go”, he whispered his heart into her ears.
Her eyes widened. She seemed to understand the storm within him. In that one moment and two words, she understood him like she had never known him before. Such a stranger she had been, so naive about his feelings. Those silly talks, that never had a meaning before, the absence of his attention, his thoughtful mind, his beating heart, she understood every moment, every word that he had ever said to her. She felt something grow within her, a feeling that she didn’t completely understand. Her eyes burst into tears when she realized this. How different was his love for her. She regretted something, but what? The friendship? Their relationship? Her running away? She could not figure out.

She couldn’t gather the courage to let her arms unwind and face him. Everything between them had changed in this one moment. This one moment had challenged everything that they had had for 13 years now. She understood what he felt for her. She realized, what she felt for him. The feeling that had not come to her before this particular moment was now overwhelming her, drowning her; forcing her to do something that she now wanted to do, but could not. Maybe it was too late.

She gathered her courage, drew her back to herself and looked at his teary eyes. He repeated his words and then stopped. He realized what he had done. How difficult he had made this for her; how contradictory to the promises he made to himself. He closed his eyes and bent his head down. He knew her tears spoke of her love for him now. He knew she knew now, that he loves her. He knew she knew now, that she loves him.

The darkness seemed so comforting. The fear of her not being there when he opened his eyes occupied him. But the darkness resembled the uncertainty. He wasn’t rejected right now, he knew she was going away but there was this uncertainty of her staying back for him, holding his hand and giving him a kiss and going far far away with him; and that uncertainty gave him the happiness for which he could close his eyes to the world and stand there, forever. How comforting the darkness indeed was. Only the sound of the racing heartbeat throbbed in his head and gave him consolation, told him that he shall find her smiling at him with tears in her eyes as he opened his. He built up the courage and followed it.

How cruel is the heart too; how cruel, these fits of the romantic mind and heart, how cruel, hope.

He leaned back at his car and stared at the empty road ahead of him. The road that resembled the rest of his life. The road with traces of leaves that were dead now; the leaves that resembled his hopes.

 
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Posted by on January 20, 2014 in short story, Uncategorized

 

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