Friday, August 23, 2013

Werewolves_Dream Catcher

Tonight, he could feel a certain pull. One trying to separate him from his body as if he didn’t belong there.  As if all he wanted was freedom from the barriers of movement and limitations that the classic human body showcases. He could sense the master sitting beside him saying a prayer. A set of periodic and constant shudders constantly greeted him. To an extent it was the only physical feeling he had. Beyond it, there was a remarkable peace. An emptiness so calm in its approach it was like breathing. Except that, rather than fill you with life, it would suck everything out like what one calls gravity. A black hole that seemed to be pulling him. But there was something in the way. Something that countered the pull dampening it into a strong wind. the kind you enjoy walking in. Such was the pull of its reassurance that knowing it was pure evil he wanted to walk towards it. He tried to take a step forward but someone wouldn't have it. His feet were stuck. They wouldn't budge in that particular direction. That was surprising. He tried to jump and managed it easily. He tried to jump forward but that wouldn't happen. So he jumped towards the side. Aah that was fun. It was like floating. He tried to walk in front again but that dint happen. He turned and his feet responded. It was like he was a puppet with a mind of his own. Just that the control he should have had over his body wasn't as thorough as generally is. He was allowed to have a mind to convey it through to his body but he couldn't execute it. He turned and walked back towards the house. When had he even stepped out? Where was he? What was he doing? And what happened to that fatality of a creature that was claiming impending doom? Was this it? He looked at the black hole one last time and thought. Its just too frail. He wasn't going down without a fight. He turned and in the second that followed was devastated. The serenity had broken. And in its place was the heavy shuddering again. And the prayers. His master was still praying. And his feet. They were revolting. He woke up bewildered. The master was giving thanks in his prayers. Tiny was bombarding a wall. And there was a tingling sensation on his feet as a cool liquid dripped from his toes to his heel. He relaxed and closed his eyes again. when he tried to open his eyes again, such was the pain in his head that he had to succumb to it. But his feet were cool. The coolness felt good. It started at his feet and drifted into his entire body step by step as feeling returned to him. He could move again. The pain in his head was subsiding. The dream came back to him and things started to make sense again. He tried to pull his legs up to his chest but a firm grip on his feet stopped him. He opened his eyes to see what it was. That’s when he saw her. Jade. And she looked lovely as always. Her hands were holding his ugly feet feeding them what must have been one of her famous concoctions. She was kneeling on the floor lightly scrubbing his feet. The warmth of her hands calmed him down and he silently remarked to himself how he had been so ignorant of everyone lately.  
Get up from there. You don’t belong there.
She raised an eyebrow and stopped whatever it was she was doing. It was then that the master spoke up again.
Are you all right?
I have my master at my side, a friend in the vicinity and a ridiculously pretty lady at my feet. Why wouldn't I be?
Do you remember anything?
I want to say yes, but somehow I think I can safely deem that impossible and deposit my fears in you by asking, what the hell was that? 
So you don’t remember it.
Of course I do. There was a creature. One who wanted to slay me but wouldn't. He had however some werewolves with him. He was frail and leniently gentle. But there was something very wrong about him. 
Murloc. What did he do to you?
Nothing. He wanted me to join him in his entourage. I negated.
Then what did he do.
He threatened me. I prepared for a fight. And within a flash he was gone saying he would be back. And then....
Go on?
And then i was here, but not exactly here. I could hear your prayers and his grunts but no more. Then all of a sudden there was this calm. A divine calling from what was something like a black hole. Part of me wanted to walk towards it but something wouldn't let me. It was like my feet were tied. Presumably by this pretty lady.  
Explain the pull of the black hole. 
It was there all right, but it was faint. As if it didn't quite want me but would be glad to have me. 
That pull is what is called the dream catcher.
Dream catcher?
Yes. When we sleep our souls tend to walk out of the body into the astral plane. 
So why is this the first time I felt it?
You didn't feel it the first time. You just remember it this time. 
So when we walk into that new dimension, is it dangerous?
Not really. See there is something like a silver cord that binds you to your soul. And as long as the cord is intact, nothing can stop it from coming back. 
And if the cord breaks?
The cord cannot just break.
And what if anything happens to the soul?
The soul can get corrupted. When it does, if in a fit of hysteria it may aim at a self destruct by severing the cord, thus rendering itself a life beyond this dimension. Essentially, when the body dies something similar happens except that then, you have the permission to move on from the astral plane to the afterlife.
And if the body isn't dead?
The body will age and decompose. But the soul will never die. It will be stuck in the astral plane forever seeking another body to move into.
Demons. 
Not always.
But without a soul what is a body?
An empty vessel.
That’s how possession occurs?
No. You cannot be possessed when your soul is in the astral plane. Only when it is not.
So essentially, what happens?
That's not important for now. 
Tell me more about this pull.
Like I said, it was faint. I wanted to go check it out, out of sheer curiosity of course. But of course she wouldn't let that happen. There was a pull but i think i didn't feel the sheer magnitude of it simply because she was protecting me. As things got clearer in his head, he turned towards Jade who hadn't spoken a word till then and said, I owe you my life don't you?  She smiled an all knowing smile at him.
Don’t do that. You look too young to pull that off. At that she laughed.
Do you know what would have happened had you walked into that hole?
Peaceful serene death in my sleep?
Your body would be trapped here. Your soul would be trapped there.
Which means?
Which means you wouldn't die, but you wouldn't live.
He’s trying to make us one of his own.
He has successfully made our entire army a pack of dummies. Those we have recruited and those we haven’t yet. Every werewolf in the world is in that spell. All that’s left of us is the people in the room and a few others.  It’s over.
What are you talking about? A dream? How do you get stuck in a dream? 
You don't get stuck in a dream, your soul does. There is a very basic and fragile relation between the body and the soul. Constrict it and you may end up not just dead, but stagnant. Caught in the midst of nothingness with nothing to do but wait. Wait for a bigger force to deal you a better pack of cards.  
A prison forever.
Yes.  
I don’t get one thing. What was the relation between the dream and the dream catcher? 
The dream was what the soul would see, the carriage, the chance to serve him. It was the illusion created to confuse the soul into going into the dream catcher.
The chariot was the dream catcher. They just couldn't see it because the illusion worked.
Then how I could I see it for what it was?
You blatantly walked out of it. And when you tried going back, Jades potion stopped you.
So if she doesn't stop me, I can walk blatantly in?
Not now you can't. And even if you could, what good would that serve?
Something? I mean I walked out once didn't I? And when I try to walk in, wouldn't he want to be there?
Why would he?
Because that signifies the end. Would you rather run from a war you have almost won or would you rather walk to the center of it to claim victory by your own sheer hands? He may be immortal. I am not saying he is. I am just saying he may be. But isn't he run by the same principles we are? Pride? Whether it comes from a blasphemous ego or from the abeyance of a set of principles? And if he is there, maybe I can fight him off?
He paused waiting for them to say anything.
You intend to fight that thing?
Don't we have to? Regardless of intention?
How do you fight something you can't see?
We find a way. 
All i know is, that if I go in there, he will return. Power is something, so is immortality but the sheer joy of victory, that is incomparable.  
And what when he comes?
I kill him. 
And if you fail?
We already have master. If our army is his puppet, haven’t we already? And if we have failed master, so be it. But I have no intention of living in failure. As long as there is a chance, I shall fight. Even if it is against something I can’t hurt. Plus, I have Jade here. She saved me once. I don’t doubt she can do so again.
I don’t think I can she chirruped. But there is something I can do.
The mater retaliated, you can’t do anything you know that. Don’t encourage him.
But there is something I can do she repeated glaring at him.
Which is?
I need to brew more of this potion. I am not sure. But I can try.
No.
Good enough for me master. Let’s go.
He sighed. I will come with you.
No you won’t. I need time with her alone to talk it out.
He glared at him and stormed out.
As he walked out Tiny remarked. That was supposed to be my card. With that, he too disappeared.
So this dream, do you think that if I try to sleep again it will come back?
Couldn't. One can never have the same dream twice. We will have to induce it.
Can you help me with that?
Surely. But it may take years.
Years?
You do realize, what we are trying to accomplish here may or may not happen?
Oh happen it will.
How can you be so sure?
Because he wants me. In a mere repetition of this dream or in some other blood brother of the same he will come back for me. And when he will, we will be ready.
We?
The army of course.
The army is long gone. Go out. Look at them. They are just bodies without souls. We can’t save them.
I hate to have to tell you this ma’am, but nobody ever could save anybody. It’s only we ourselves who can save us.
You believe that?
I believe that is some distant reality I don’t understand they are alive and waiting for me. And if it takes years to find that reality, then so be it.
Master walked in enthralled.
There is a way.
There is?
What if you were to die?
What if I was to die?
He would come for you.
Tiny came in grinning.
I have been waiting too long for this, let me just get my daggers.
Were you standing outside? Both of you she remarked? 
When I walked out, I was angry, master continued. But when I saw those bodies, I realized, it was long over. But then there is always a last fight. And I have waited too long to not be a part of it.
Shinkozu, that is a touchy thought, but here I doubt you can be of any help. I will have to take him to my lair alone.
Tiny growled.
That’s quite all right. I will prepare for our next move once they are awake. 
She nodded at master beckoned him and walked out.
Remember this wolf, he may be immortal, but he is still human. And as long as he is not in flesh and bones his only weapon is fear. And somehow if he does make the mistake of adorning a body, rip him off. The Murloc needs to feel the stronghold of death again.
Bless me master and pray that I am ready. 
He followed Jade outside. But she had disappeared. For a lady, she was quite fast. It took him a while to find her. She was sitting on the rocks her feet barely touching the water teasing it.  He couldn't believe how he had forgotten how pretty she was.
Are you okay?
I have never tried this before. I had seen my father do it once. What if I go wrong and something bad happens?
What if you don’t go wrong and I don’t go wrong and somehow we manage to save all of them? Isn't the risk worth it?
But what if you die?
Then someday when you are old and still outrageously pretty we can meet in heaven, grab a quick beer and you can pay.
I don’t do beer.
Cranberry juice?
Nope.
Litchi?
That sounds nice.
Come on then, let’s go try and get me killed.







Werewolves_ Dance of the weasel

He woke up, to the peculiar sounds of the night. The first thought that gripped him was, how did I reach here? The next thought was as to where, here is? It was a forest. That was in plain sight. And sound to those not yet awoken. The thickset of the trees revealed nothing but for the light of the full moon. There were no clouds. That was strange. He could bet there had been in the morning. There were no stars either. Just the rugged old moon and the darkest sky. The hunted, here would characteristically cry for help. A hunter of course would seek a weapon of some sort. He being neither chose neither but listened intently. For the twigs cracking as someone passed by. Or the birds weeping for having been interrupted in their slumber. Maybe even a fire cackling nearby with his friends around it, which would explain everything. For the stream of water gushing through on its merry way. But there was none. Just the serene of the night and the clatter of the night time bugs. Instinct told him he should head north. But why? And where exactly was north? Was it behind the thorny bush? Or behind that dilapidated tree on one side? Or was it behind him, beyond the darkness? Darkness. What is the darkness meant for? Oh for sleeping his merry mind told him. Or was it more? The time for the demons to neigh and sway? The time for the undead to celebrate? Light, we need our light to survive. But what about those who don’t need the night? God is but fair and just. Everyone has their share. And so they do. Nevertheless, now in the moment, should he walk or run for it may save him from whatever was lurking in the dark? Or should he rub two stones and mark a fire? But then wouldn’t he be an easy target to find? They say the animals are afraid of the fire. But in the hollow crevice called the night, is it the animals we are to fear? He could of course climb a tree but what good would that serve? As he found himself adept to the role of a victim he felt the familiar sensation of fear touch him again. It had been too long. He had forgotten, that fear existed. But exist it did. As he felt his heartbeat pacing, he laughed. A high pitched laugh of happiness. He was human after all. He stopped and once again the silence engulfed him wrapping itself in a sheath around him like oil on a statue. It was then he heard it. Hooves. Horses. A whole set of them, coming from a distance. So he wasn’t alone. Not for long. It was coming from his right. And as he watched, the hooves grew stronger and stronger, the earth shaking beneath him with the pleasure of ecstasy as if touched inappropriately. It could have been the shiver of fear, but who was he to judge. Then the wind picked up, rustling its way through the forest creating way for the chariot. The chariot in itself was the grimmest sight ever seen. Weeds dangling from its chassis, rust speculating on the frames as if it had just left the ocean and blood smearing its every corner. The wheels were made of wood, like the body but they too seemed to be on the verge of death. Wood. Does wood too die? It is but alive…it was the chariot of death maybe. But it was empty. And the horses, there were no horses. Just the reigns held uptight as if something invisible was strangling it.  He watched it stop in front of him. Where the chariot boy should have been sitting, there was no one. Or maybe there was. But he couldn’t see anything. Just the reigns. Like the horses, the driver too was a frame of nothingness. The door of the chariot opened and a voice was heard.
Oh hello there. Are you lost?
Not sure about me, but your horses sure are.
So you can see them.
I see rope. And I see wood. The rest is a flicker.
Come on in then lad.
You continue. I believe I can find my way.
Oh can you now?
Maybe not. But I would rather not be on the same route as you.
You speak too much of what you know nothing of.
I know enough to know that I admire your offer, but I would let it pass.
There was a grunt and then there was silence. He turned to walk away but as he did, a flicker passed him and stood right in front of him. As he watched it took form. First the black robe disarming itself around a body he couldn’t see then the long slender fingers on his shoulder and finally the eyes. But they were no ordinary eyes.  They were balls of red fire. By now, he should have been afraid. And to an extent he was. But what was it, to be feared? Death? But he would admire death. What he would have given to be dead. But the burden of responsibility thrust on him kept him alive. He looked into the red eyes and the face appeared. Like the chariot, it too was grim. The nose was long and elegant though some would call it grotesque. The lips were black with the wrinkles of a hundred year old lady. The cheek bones were very well defined. It must have been a handsome face in its prime. But now, it was a mask. The mask of death he prayed. Let this be his end he prayed. The eyes shred into him and he could feel his heart stopping. Cardiac arrest? Was that how he would die? Oh splendid. He wouldn’t feel a thing. It would be over soon. And at that thought he grinned cheaply.
You aren’t afraid of me?
I am afraid that if you stay in your physical being for too long, I would shred you to pieces  and it would be a life lost.
But I am not alive at all.
So you have felt death?
Aah yes, it was a pleasure.
So I believe you would enjoy it for a second time.
Some things have no seconds.
How would you know? You haven’t tried.
Neither have you.
I want to.
Then it shall be granted.
I would though, would like to see you try.
Oh killing you would be fun. But not as much as keeping you. Turn around, I want to show you something.
He listened, just because he wanted to know what new threat the robe could muster.
What met his eyes now, was horrifying. He could now see the horses. Just that, they weren’t horses.
 Your kind. They are my loyal servants, and they shall live forever.
The steeds were staring at him. He looked from one to the other inhaling their sorrow, tapping their fear. These weren’t his loyal followers. These were just the trophies of fear. His personal collection.
That is what you told them?
You can join them or of course we can have special space for you in the back.
His gaze fell from his fellow species to the chariot to what was behind it. To say the sight would keep one awake nights, would not suffice. Being dragged behind the chariot were bodies. Skeletons of the dead. Of the claimed. Some not even complete. Some half burnt. Some in pristine condition except that they were missing a head.
He could feel the messengers hands on his shoulders claiming him. Somewhere inside, anger dwelled in him. The anger of a million souls burning. He wasn’t afraid. He had nothing to fear. He was angry. He somersaulted into the air above the robe and behind him converting. As the robed being watched he howled the werewolf howl into the night. The howl of a war cry. And it was louder, than anything else the immortal would ever witness.
I see. So you intend to fight till the end? Fine, you shall be made example of. Now is just not the time. And with that he was in his chariot and off.
………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………
He woke up in bed again. Master was sitting beside him. Jade was rubbing some cool liquid on his feet. Tiny was standing at the door. His master broke the silence. Thank god you are awake. We have lost too many Adam. We have lost too many.


Monday, June 03, 2013

Horseshoe Garage- Book Review

There. Right there. You can feel it in your veins when you read it. This is going to be interesting. On page one itself, you get wallowed into a race. You are nearing a finish line. But there is someone else too. And then you wake up. God damn it, it’s just a book. But then you have a whole book to read. And it has you hooked from minute one. Now that is not exactly rare, but then that’s not exactly so common. The story unwinds revealing characters the personas of which you can make out have been constantly mulled over so as to be perfect, like that of the first sip of lemon iced tea. And it is that refreshing. It creates a movie in your head, the kind you can watch again and again. The kind that can move you, inspire you. Sarvesh kulkarni. Just a normal guy, like any of us with an abnormal dream, once again likes many of us. As he chases it from the stands to race course, you chase with him. And then comes a girl; In the unlikeliest of places and the unlikeliest of times. And you feel it, the warmth that only fiction can deliver. It’s why you read. So you can dream! But then every dream has a pitchfork where it ends up either remaining a dream or coming into play, here in reality. Sarvesh, finds himself on the mouth of the latter. And that is where the story really starts. Through risk at high speeds to mushiness at low times, it has pretty much everything you can ask for.  

Friday, April 19, 2013

Exile.

There comes a time, when worldly pleasures appeal no more to you. When things, far greater than yourself make a scarce impact on you. When moksha is far, far away. At a time as ripe as that, it is time. 

Sunday, February 10, 2013

Werewolves_ The Graveyard



A stray breeze was passing by whispering lullabies to the faint souls quivering underneath. She twirled and she twisted posing like a ballet dancer, clapping at the peak of her rendezvous smiling away joyously. Her rhythm varied to the music she astounded from the trees. But it was there. She looked towards the stars and on capturing their roving eye huddled into a swoon of motion. She glazed the leaves of the trees which rustled to her touch and racketed the birds neatly perched in their nests. She watched as they huddled closer for warmth and then out of sheer delight swooshed over the graves mourning their crutch. And then it was gone. It too had deserted the graveyard yet again like everything else. It too was mortal and the kiss of breath that the graveyard gave meant they never lasted long. Some of the leaves that had taken part in the pomp and show fell to their own grave where they whimpered and sobbed pleading mercy. And then it was time. For the undead to betray the shadows, for the graves to be portals yet again to and fro from the lowest dimension, for the end of their tirade in the musk sobriety of the real world.
They mourned leaving it behind but they had been galvanized with a choice. Exist so as to risk the chance of never living in physical being again, to never feel the peril of death or the mercy of love or leave and come back every now and then in one form or the other hoping, praying that some would have attained the astute fate of mercy and that they could be reborn. Born to the world of the living. Born to the world of growing, in intelligence and in presence to only perish once again and return to spiky cellar below the surface. Such is the cycle of life. Some never advanced beyond their first life out of choice and some never advanced because they never quiet died. Death wasn’t enough to demolish them from the face of the meager planet. And hence they lived. For long awaiting the rise of their master. One beyond the crutches of death itself. One who had been destined to rise. The anti Christ, who had been gnawing among the living yet never quite been alive.
The door of the windmill chuckled to their dilemma as footsteps were heard leaving it and heading into the graveyard. Down below they sensed him inviting them over. His thumps, strong yet incorrigible to the living winding around the newer graves in the general direction of the older ones. Or rather towards the one he was bound to frequent now. And he passed each, below, the spirits, they could feel a slithering behind him as if it were life being delicately thrust into them. His robe dragged behind him inflaming them with a flailing desire for blood, delivering a sense of being into the foetus as they gracefully accepted his offer. One must realize that the most powerful womb is the earth itself as it houses the most powerful foetus. Villains and heroes, they all born from the cells of the planet. Evolution was merely an alibi.
And then he rested on the grave where he himself had sought refuge a long long time ago. Where there had been no gravestone. Where there had been nothing but dense forest for the longest era. Where tribes had fought and died. Where famine had been prominent. Where life itself had a dearth of space. Eventually he had watched as they had dug graves around him and he had laughed as they had formed his army. Some had watched him scared senseless and then they too had been faced with a question. Gods question. And that’s when he had gained a following. As their numbers had risen he himself had risen from the depths to the surface. And he had roamed the planet laughing at their plight. And as if to mark the advent of his prophesy he had found a werewolf. He had known right then that this was the being that would oust the weak. This was his link to the living. This was the general to his army. And he had inhabited him learning of his powers. He knew he had been detected but having felt no resistance to his presence he had decided to  inhabit his undeveloped mind till he knew enough of all the developed ones. As the wolf had slept he had talked to him and found him to be a viable companion. He had found out about his petty life. About having been abolished before being born of having been banned before being understood and he had tempered with his mind quenching it with a thirst for blood. In his sorrow he had given him strength, in his loneliness he had given him solace. And as the wolf found more alike him, he left him and travelled forward. He had found the dragons and the soul keepers but they had a flair for peace he couldn’t yet disrupt. The dragons were a well advanced race and believed that co existence was but natural. The soul keepers had made a clan out of themselves and were too proud to instinct hurt to lesser beings unless their authority was questioned. The werewolves, they were primitive. They were hated. And they were feared. And they were his allies. He had watched amazed what they were capable of. And he had watched as they had developed an underground society. There had always been a mention of the wizards, the council of the king but none of the wolves knew about it. The ones who did he could penetrate without inviting attention to himself. Till one night he had followed a low life into the cellar. And that’s when he saw the four of them. And they didn’t need to be told that their leader was here. They could sense his being as they his and they could sense the level of his power. They bowed to him and he bowed right back knowing this was his clan. This was his ministry to the end of life itself. Starting with the humans to the wolves and so on till all that remained was the undead.
 He recounted older instances and laughed. How na├»ve he had been to think that anything alive could be strong enough. It wasn’t life that gave one strength. It was denial of it. The absence of fear, of hurt or of pain. The absence of God himself. Because it was he who ruled the live but what about the dead? What about the undead? Who did they have? It was him. And so he sat down on his own grave and prayed. Not to God, there was no God. But to his followers. To the believers of his prophesy. To the believers of the undead. Before the sun rose today, his army would emerge. His physical from reeked of this thought and that’s what pulled them to him. He closed his eyes to peek into his soul demanding the strength to raise the awakened.
A single red rose in his pocket was neatly placed on the grave he graced. It felt itself plying on the cold concrete surrounded by a random assortment of leaves that anyone and everyone would not look for reason in. But it was right there. And that’s why it always worked. It was so obvious, it was exemplary. And then he started reciting his chants. He was surprised at what he heard his own mouth chant. But it was as if destiny had taken his hand and was seductively pulling him to it. His faith grew as the chants became more progressive more powerful. And as his faith grew, so did theirs. They could see him becoming the Anti Christ. And then he stopped. He stood up and whispered “Rise.”
Down below even death was shivering in its stance. The portals were open. All they needed for a smooth transition was something alive yet not completely dead. He smiled at the leaves. Freshly plucked by the wind. Not yet entirely dead. Yet not alive. It was there for everyone to see. The transition from alive to dead. And in this case the surrogate opposite. Again he muttered, rise. And they started listening. After years of entrapment you couldn’t blame them for not jumping. He took a set of shallow breaths then one last long one and roared again. And this time, no one could mistake the war cry. They rose. The undead finally shadowed him rising from the graves. There was no light. The moon had scampered into the shadows of the clouds. They rose to his side so powerfully that the earth itself was caught in a spasm which grew even more as many more increasing exponentially left its lair ripping apart its delicate fabric. Every life form for kilometers around him could feel that something had gone drastically wrong. This basic act of freedom had instilled a fear in them they couldn’t explain. But they were all awake. The birds cried. The snakes hissed. The rats scampered. The old sleepy watchman was left with his eyes wide open as life left him for safer sanction. And so they ran. Where they didn’t not know. Anywhere but here. The spirits could see this and this empowered them even more as the raze surrounding him rose above him stalking him in circles like a lion circling his prey.
Our time has come. There shall be no more life. Only the undead.
They rose higher and higher with his every word, the circles becoming smaller and smaller. Sensing their impatience he rose to the top of the whirlwind. They kept slowing till they were stagnant and then he ordered, Now.
And then they started entering him. There was nothing else to do. In a fraction of a second spirits from the underworld had jumped the barrier and into him. They say energy can neither be created nor destroyed. What they don’t mention is that when a system in destroyed the energy does not die. It does not decompose. It waits its due. And eventually when the energy that has been collected in one place for a long time, that has been sedimented one on top the other explodes, nothing is left to chance. It surpasses everything else. And as the spirits entered him, he knew that God himself couldn’t stop him now. With every spirit that surrendered into him he felt a fresh breath of power. And with every spirit that sponged into him, he would crave more. Eventually all but some had made it. He had become so strong that nothing could deny him. Not even the undead.
He picked up the black rose and smelled it. With all of us here now, I wonder how long their race can reproduce. With the earth’s lair nearing emptiness, I wonder for how long they will survive even if we don’t destroy them. But erase them we must.  

Thursday, January 03, 2013

A Will to Live


He sat on the beach watching the waves flatten out against the sand. three years ago, it would have sparked a weave of thoughts. But now as he observed the routine coast guard vessel stretching towards the aging horizon he knew such would never happen again. It was the time of the day when day gives way to night and the trumpets marking the end of day shift were sounded. Docks all over the country were abandoned and then refurbished with new men as the older ones returned to their wives and children. He too got up and walked towards the house spotting her silhoutte at the window.

As he clambered up the steps to the second floor he met one of the young female nurses. She smiled to which he curtly nodded. He knew she was training to be a doctor. This was just handy cash.
 
On the second floor he knocked before entering the room knowing full well there would be no answer. There never was. She was still sitting by the window admiring the same view as she had been for the past three years. Or was it different? Or wasn’t it? The sea; It could drown the sorrows of the whole world without even as so much as flinching. As he drowned himself into the curls of her hair images from the past revved up to knock him shackling him on the spot. They succeeded as always for a few moments later he was still standing there. He couldn’t help admiring her long black hair as it neatly draped her shoulders smouldering any sign of the wounds that had long since denied them sanity. It was almost as if they werent there. The thought though was enough to guillotine both of their senses. One literarily and one metaphorically. He walked to her patting her shoulder and whispering into her ear a distinctly incorrigible you are beautiful. She laughed not because she couldn’t hear or because she couldn't make sense of it but because the vibrations reached her and tickled her funny bone.
 
He picked up one of the storybooks lying on the table settling onto the bed beside her and started reading it to her. By the end of it a tear had swelled up in his right eye. He shut his eyes tight as if to cut out the pain. It didn't serve the purpose but thankfully, the tear was killed before it could be bred. He picked her up delicately and neatly perched her on the bed. He then went on to tickle her feet which made her laugh involuntarily, momentarily. Its moments like these that make everything worthwhile. Life in a so called abyss.

She sat there peacefully her eyes settled on him. He looked back at her right in the eyes, pain grouching him inside, begging solace from the only one he had ever loved from the only form of life still inhabiting her as they smiled back at him. It was her eyes that wiled him along unfamiliar territory. The estate of near death and yet not quite so alive. He walked to the corner of the room and switched on the radio. Aah music. Its companionship is unmatched. At the merry tone that rang in the room he danced as they had used to a long, long time ago. He danced to her and held her hand going on one knee and whispering, care to dance my lady?

 Her eyes sparkled as he expertly pulled and pushed her around doing what her limbs and mind should have done for her. The neurologists had been right. She could never have made a self controlled voluntary action of such degree. What they didn’t know, was that he would do it for her. And so they danced, hand in hand living away death.