Because as one darting star crossed another, when the Sky bent down to kiss the Earth, when strands of my hair felt lost interwoven in the dewy grass, A single thought stood out boldly from the rushing train in my mind.
I've always wondered how I want to die.
When I was young, I thought my departure should be all grand and heroic, like a legend should die. Probably a broken neck by falling off from Everest, or a leap from the highest floor of the highest tower. To approach Death with the only moment I'd lived.
But humans are born with these invisible feelers called bonds. You be mean, rude, inconsiderate but people don't stop loving you. That's not even the problem; you never stop loving them. Merely thinking if them as they saw my mangled body with my smirking face was enough to dispel the idea.
Organ donation seemed noble. Donate yourself into saving some other person, or finding some cure when you're old and useless and the only thing remotely healthy about you are your organs.
I've always wondered how I want to die.
When I was young, I thought my departure should be all grand and heroic, like a legend should die. Probably a broken neck by falling off from Everest, or a leap from the highest floor of the highest tower. To approach Death with the only moment I'd lived.
But humans are born with these invisible feelers called bonds. You be mean, rude, inconsiderate but people don't stop loving you. That's not even the problem; you never stop loving them. Merely thinking if them as they saw my mangled body with my smirking face was enough to dispel the idea.
Organ donation seemed noble. Donate yourself into saving some other person, or finding some cure when you're old and useless and the only thing remotely healthy about you are your organs.
My friends were worried. What kind of person, lies awake past midnight and wonders about death and dying? Lectures of Viva la Vida. Joie de vivre.
Death has always fascinated me because despite it's visceral appeal and stark, garish reality, it's perhaps the only thing you can be certain about in life. That a time will come when you'll die, and thanks to that cloak of unpredictability your destiny is so fond of adorning, you'd be surprised how willingly you'd let your soul cling to the sole fragment of certainty you'll find.
Everything was in perfect sync that night, just a few hours before the crack of dawn, the song of the crickets synonymous to the cadences of Dark's symphony. The moon, ethereal, shone omnisciently, reflecting off the wet drops of dew clung to my legs. I cocked my head sideways, my eyes shut, as my ears grasped the familiar notes of a traveller's folk song from the nearby tavern.
Just sixty minutes ago, I was kneeling in front of a chapel, asking the Mother for forgiveness.
Just a few hours ago, I had killed a man in his Death.
And the disturbing part was, it hadn't appeased my sadistic urges.
A tattered bag on my shoulder, panting hard, I recall my feet slipping off the door of that moving train I was trying to board. A sharp stinging pain in my wrist, grimacing, as a crowd gathered around me, hushed notes of repulsive pity.
I recall how they backed away, when they saw my clothes, soiled with the dirt of fortune's cruel jokes. Lost the attire, labelled a tram.
The sharp, raised rocks of that horrible airport road pierced my bare sole, each stab of pain causing my eyes to flair with determination and tolerance. I took some time to admire the streams of vivid color streaming down my skin when I finally collapsed.
But, like all individuals with severe stubbornness issues, I stood up. I will go to meet him. In his final hours.
The next train wasn't due until evening, and the hunger, desperate as well as a tad carnal, was being too hard on my attempted renunciation. I begged for a burnt cinnamon bun, the crust of a fungus bread maybe. But humanity doesn't harbour hope any more; just mirages of it.
I sat in the train as soon as it arrived, the sole passenger in my carriage. A couple of people entered, looked at me curiously and walked out hurriedly, as if I was a scalding liquid burning into their pretentious image. Solitude is bliss anyway.
I looked outside the window to entertain myself with the pleasures of a racing view; It's not just time. Nobody, waits for anyone.
**********
<To be continued>
Death has always fascinated me because despite it's visceral appeal and stark, garish reality, it's perhaps the only thing you can be certain about in life. That a time will come when you'll die, and thanks to that cloak of unpredictability your destiny is so fond of adorning, you'd be surprised how willingly you'd let your soul cling to the sole fragment of certainty you'll find.
Everything was in perfect sync that night, just a few hours before the crack of dawn, the song of the crickets synonymous to the cadences of Dark's symphony. The moon, ethereal, shone omnisciently, reflecting off the wet drops of dew clung to my legs. I cocked my head sideways, my eyes shut, as my ears grasped the familiar notes of a traveller's folk song from the nearby tavern.
Just sixty minutes ago, I was kneeling in front of a chapel, asking the Mother for forgiveness.
Just a few hours ago, I had killed a man in his Death.
And the disturbing part was, it hadn't appeased my sadistic urges.
A tattered bag on my shoulder, panting hard, I recall my feet slipping off the door of that moving train I was trying to board. A sharp stinging pain in my wrist, grimacing, as a crowd gathered around me, hushed notes of repulsive pity.
I recall how they backed away, when they saw my clothes, soiled with the dirt of fortune's cruel jokes. Lost the attire, labelled a tram.
The sharp, raised rocks of that horrible airport road pierced my bare sole, each stab of pain causing my eyes to flair with determination and tolerance. I took some time to admire the streams of vivid color streaming down my skin when I finally collapsed.
But, like all individuals with severe stubbornness issues, I stood up. I will go to meet him. In his final hours.
The next train wasn't due until evening, and the hunger, desperate as well as a tad carnal, was being too hard on my attempted renunciation. I begged for a burnt cinnamon bun, the crust of a fungus bread maybe. But humanity doesn't harbour hope any more; just mirages of it.
I sat in the train as soon as it arrived, the sole passenger in my carriage. A couple of people entered, looked at me curiously and walked out hurriedly, as if I was a scalding liquid burning into their pretentious image. Solitude is bliss anyway.
I looked outside the window to entertain myself with the pleasures of a racing view; It's not just time. Nobody, waits for anyone.
**********
<To be continued>
No comments:
Post a Comment