June 9, 2008


The air had been quite unmoved by the darkness of the night, the street light was flocked by those same moths again; they are the same everyday, he tried to count them every night as he gazed into the darkness beyond the florescent Lucifer. He had nothing to do, his labor was to wait, till one day an infant sunray comes screaming to him and takes his misery away. He did not know what he had been suffering from, he did try to overhear the doctors' conversations, their muffled voices through their gas masks.
From the window he returned to his bed : home, still staring out at the world. Moths, blindness, fence, a cot and hardglass window. There was a shed in the compound that the boy could see, the shed with open window...you know the ones with the wooden panes and all...a curtain fell out in the winds. White laced air fluttered over the jet blackness. Well past midnight the sky grew denser, a more solid black. Tears fell, distilled water, tears of the Night God. He saw the rain for the first time in the florescent spotlight.
All illuminated droplets like the tiny eggs of the Glassdragon or a thousand moths that had flocked the sun and fell: only still ashes.
He went to his window, square it was- sealed in the wall meant only for light. He was watching the rain for the first time; mud, frogs, water...adventure. A torrent had started rummaging the glass surface from outside, his pale fingers tried to touch the cool nectar but did feel nothing, his skin was accustomed to only cloth and metal. The thin cloth over his skin and the metal cot, the metal walls which were expensive but he didn't know. A small cell, a world of nothingness compacted in white, like a demon's mind and the window his eye...a white cyclops world.
No complains, no arguments, life and breath...bare and basic necessities- his share of happiness. But he too prayed, not for anything deeper than the flesh; he wanted the pain to cease, he knew no words, few sounds, few touches and fewer feelings. Klick-klok,Klick-klok,Klick-klok....like a surfacing snake which slid across the fragrant mildew over his memory, in the atrium of his chest a needle screamed as if trying to pound its way out. Delicate hands, one trying to see trough the glass and other through the chest. The scene of the window was washed away by the water, a river of colors like a playful sync, the head thudded the glass, the needle was about to come out.
In time...
The middle of the window became a river of flame, slow like flowing lava, moonlight lava. His pupils dilated and in a gasp a thick red liquid spouted out of his mouth. It was rich, red and translucent, it stained the sun red. Wasn't it wondrous? Pain ceased, his head felt like his hair, and his body became his clothes. He breathed a kiss, to his bloodlit sun, his soulless body fell over the window and down to the floor. What a waste! In a room lonely and awfully alone, his mark on this world lay.
His share of love, of ecstasy, of pain and of happiness; lay...there...in this share of his world.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

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