A hand.
Is that my hand?
I can clench my fingers, I can make a fist. I can smash the space in front of me, creating an eerie ripple in the ambience.
I strain my eyes to make out shapes and structures that make sense in this blinding light. To discover a drop of color in this macabre canvas, which engulfs you in its nothingness.
What was it that stirred my consciousness? Was it the sharp pain in my calf? The resonant gong from a distance, that shattered my fragile attempts to regain my equilibrium?
I removed the jagged rock embedded in my calf as I slowly stood up and looked around. A faint metallic taste in my mouth. Clothes covered in grime. The street was empty, dark and desolate. The air, like a predator shrouded in a cloak of equanimity, wouldn't give away a soul hiding somewhere in the darkness, holding my answers for me.
It was perhaps the reminiscence that lent the circumstance its intensity. The incident itself had been one of strange simplicity, When you imagine your purpose in life being torn away from you, you imagine drama. You imagine a fight, where you're a gladiator in the Colosseum and the crowd is cheering you on. What you don't imagine, is defeat. You always win your purpose back and sink back, content in your mediocrity, happy, fulfilling your purpose to the best of your ability with utter disregard for the ensuing monotony.
Honey brown eyes.
The first thing that struck me when I first held her.
She was shivering, a child of merely five. I gently wrapped my coat around her. From the very moment I looked into those eyes and marveled at the beauty of the creature, standing in front of me, vulnerable, it was as if she ignited the spirit of a protector in my otherwise complacent nature.
Stealing apples. That's what they'd hauled her in for. Such a contrast from the vile men behind her, all murderers, thieves and men of great malice, behind bars for good reason.
How could I leave those imploring, hungry eyes behind? They'd be the haunt within my warm walls of comfort.
I took her with me and brought her a sugar cookie on the way. I let her run circles around my makeshift fireplace, warm her icy hands by my humble fire. It was also the day I learnt to divide my baked potato into two.
She developed a certain affection for the fire. She sat with the ragged,stitched doll I put together for her and told her stories to make her night easier. I couldn't help notice how more than half of her blanket covered the wet cat from next door. She'd sleep, exposed, on the freezing floor.
One night on the terrace, her tiny hands held me from behind.
I hoisted her high up on my shoulder and let her see the world from a new height. I looked up anxiously, alert for even the slightest tremor of trepidation. Nothing scared me more than her fear.
But she amazed me. Like she always did. With her twinkling eyes and sunburnt curls. She asked me, with a saturnine undertone to her musical voice, where had all the colors of the city gone?
Why are the buildings mere black silhouettes with highlights of white? Why were the people suddenly their true grey selves, as if a reflection of their persona? Where was the crimson red of the rose bush below? Or the blinding fluorescence of the hawker's shirt?
My baffled mind was trying to come up with a justification, to convince her that her colors would return again. To comfort her, that her lucid perception of the picturesque world wasn't a white lie her beautiful eyes told her.
I simply told her that the city we live in has two guardians watching over it. The Sun and The Moon. The Sun gives the world its inviting colors, its visual appeal. You can look at the colors, the sunlight brings with it, for hours, without getting tired of their vividity.
But the true beauty lies when the Moon comes to pay us a visit. In its pristine white form, the Moon simply illuminates the truth. There is pain when the deception is discovered, but the pain is a good pain. One you'd want to bear. The pain of honesty.
No one can harm you in the moonlight.
You can afford to risk a dream, in your Moon City.
Her wide eyes told me I had given her a new story to tell her doll. I laughed at her eagerness. To be of value to someone is such a wonderful feeling.
Every night from then, she told the doll about the Moon City. Adventures on top of the dark shadowy houses. Security and safety, treasures she'd never known. Satisfied sleep and uninterrupted dreams. A gift I was glad I could give.
Then it was that fateful night when the very pristine white I loved became the cynosure of my hatred. I don't know why they broke in and took her away. I could hear her scream. All I could do was claw at the white fabric of their uniform, helplessly. I couldn't get a grip on myself, how could I even hope to get a grip on them?
The last thing I remember was her brown hair sticking to her tear streaked face as she looked at me, terrified, from over someone else's shoulder. I remember running. As fast as I could. Saying, "I'll catch up with you. I'll get you back."
I recall the shove and falling, on the cold asphalt of the road.
And I remember a sharp pain eating me away.
The streetlights flickered on, lighting up the street. I slowly walked towards the house that'll never be the same again. I walked towards the house that'll now be residence to one who couldn't keep his promise. Residence to a liar, a failure, a cruel man who should be behind bars for good reason.
I want to be there when she discovers the true horror of the dichotomy of this vicious world. I want to hold her when the deceptive veils fall. I want to tell her that her safety wasn't an illusion. But I neither have the words, nor the conviction, of lying to her again.
Wherever you are, I want you to know. I will go to the ends of the Earth to find you and bring you back to me, Your doll needs her stories, the fire needs your tending, my house needs your tinkling laughter and my habit, needs you.
I urge you to believe in the beauty of honesty, no matter how much it hurts. I wish I could give you the strength to embrace it. But in my absence, love your Moon city, Don't give up on it. If you ever feel scared, hold on to your happiest memories and all your dreams, like gold from the pot at the end of a rainbow of hope, They'll guide you from the perilous forest of vice and villainy.
I urge you, in my absence, to accept and then fight, your fear.
Because nothing scares me more than your fear.
Is that my hand?
I can clench my fingers, I can make a fist. I can smash the space in front of me, creating an eerie ripple in the ambience.
I strain my eyes to make out shapes and structures that make sense in this blinding light. To discover a drop of color in this macabre canvas, which engulfs you in its nothingness.
What was it that stirred my consciousness? Was it the sharp pain in my calf? The resonant gong from a distance, that shattered my fragile attempts to regain my equilibrium?
I removed the jagged rock embedded in my calf as I slowly stood up and looked around. A faint metallic taste in my mouth. Clothes covered in grime. The street was empty, dark and desolate. The air, like a predator shrouded in a cloak of equanimity, wouldn't give away a soul hiding somewhere in the darkness, holding my answers for me.
It was perhaps the reminiscence that lent the circumstance its intensity. The incident itself had been one of strange simplicity, When you imagine your purpose in life being torn away from you, you imagine drama. You imagine a fight, where you're a gladiator in the Colosseum and the crowd is cheering you on. What you don't imagine, is defeat. You always win your purpose back and sink back, content in your mediocrity, happy, fulfilling your purpose to the best of your ability with utter disregard for the ensuing monotony.
Honey brown eyes.
The first thing that struck me when I first held her.
She was shivering, a child of merely five. I gently wrapped my coat around her. From the very moment I looked into those eyes and marveled at the beauty of the creature, standing in front of me, vulnerable, it was as if she ignited the spirit of a protector in my otherwise complacent nature.
Stealing apples. That's what they'd hauled her in for. Such a contrast from the vile men behind her, all murderers, thieves and men of great malice, behind bars for good reason.
How could I leave those imploring, hungry eyes behind? They'd be the haunt within my warm walls of comfort.
I took her with me and brought her a sugar cookie on the way. I let her run circles around my makeshift fireplace, warm her icy hands by my humble fire. It was also the day I learnt to divide my baked potato into two.
She developed a certain affection for the fire. She sat with the ragged,stitched doll I put together for her and told her stories to make her night easier. I couldn't help notice how more than half of her blanket covered the wet cat from next door. She'd sleep, exposed, on the freezing floor.
One night on the terrace, her tiny hands held me from behind.
I hoisted her high up on my shoulder and let her see the world from a new height. I looked up anxiously, alert for even the slightest tremor of trepidation. Nothing scared me more than her fear.
But she amazed me. Like she always did. With her twinkling eyes and sunburnt curls. She asked me, with a saturnine undertone to her musical voice, where had all the colors of the city gone?
Why are the buildings mere black silhouettes with highlights of white? Why were the people suddenly their true grey selves, as if a reflection of their persona? Where was the crimson red of the rose bush below? Or the blinding fluorescence of the hawker's shirt?
My baffled mind was trying to come up with a justification, to convince her that her colors would return again. To comfort her, that her lucid perception of the picturesque world wasn't a white lie her beautiful eyes told her.
I simply told her that the city we live in has two guardians watching over it. The Sun and The Moon. The Sun gives the world its inviting colors, its visual appeal. You can look at the colors, the sunlight brings with it, for hours, without getting tired of their vividity.
But the true beauty lies when the Moon comes to pay us a visit. In its pristine white form, the Moon simply illuminates the truth. There is pain when the deception is discovered, but the pain is a good pain. One you'd want to bear. The pain of honesty.
No one can harm you in the moonlight.
You can afford to risk a dream, in your Moon City.
Her wide eyes told me I had given her a new story to tell her doll. I laughed at her eagerness. To be of value to someone is such a wonderful feeling.
Every night from then, she told the doll about the Moon City. Adventures on top of the dark shadowy houses. Security and safety, treasures she'd never known. Satisfied sleep and uninterrupted dreams. A gift I was glad I could give.
Then it was that fateful night when the very pristine white I loved became the cynosure of my hatred. I don't know why they broke in and took her away. I could hear her scream. All I could do was claw at the white fabric of their uniform, helplessly. I couldn't get a grip on myself, how could I even hope to get a grip on them?
The last thing I remember was her brown hair sticking to her tear streaked face as she looked at me, terrified, from over someone else's shoulder. I remember running. As fast as I could. Saying, "I'll catch up with you. I'll get you back."
I recall the shove and falling, on the cold asphalt of the road.
And I remember a sharp pain eating me away.
The streetlights flickered on, lighting up the street. I slowly walked towards the house that'll never be the same again. I walked towards the house that'll now be residence to one who couldn't keep his promise. Residence to a liar, a failure, a cruel man who should be behind bars for good reason.
I want to be there when she discovers the true horror of the dichotomy of this vicious world. I want to hold her when the deceptive veils fall. I want to tell her that her safety wasn't an illusion. But I neither have the words, nor the conviction, of lying to her again.
Wherever you are, I want you to know. I will go to the ends of the Earth to find you and bring you back to me, Your doll needs her stories, the fire needs your tending, my house needs your tinkling laughter and my habit, needs you.
I urge you to believe in the beauty of honesty, no matter how much it hurts. I wish I could give you the strength to embrace it. But in my absence, love your Moon city, Don't give up on it. If you ever feel scared, hold on to your happiest memories and all your dreams, like gold from the pot at the end of a rainbow of hope, They'll guide you from the perilous forest of vice and villainy.
I urge you, in my absence, to accept and then fight, your fear.
Because nothing scares me more than your fear.
