It was a horrible day.
Someone told me something that engraved a filthy mark on my soul. Question marks were floating inside my mind. But a fearful instinct was holding me back. Only one sound keep resonating “you can’t handle the truth”.
And body tired.
But arousal of morbid curiosity was hard to overcome. I was fearing I may give in and took plunge onto the heap of bitter truth, residing in someone else jurisdiction. Despite all the preventive instincts I gave in.
And some part of me won and some lost that day.
I won because my apprehensions were true. Indeed I was living in delusion. Truth was falling on my feeble soul like debris fall from a collapsed building. How can anyone can keep you like a substitute. How can someone can treat you like a guinea-pig. But it had happened now.
After plethora of awe-struck movements I recalled I have failed the test called life. Then I entered into the cave of my thoughts. The most desirable place for someone who had lost everything. It was a damage beyond repair-I know somehow.
Just around midnight I, with my scattered piece of soul, headed towards a place once called home. The traffic was scarce on the road. Wind was rushing hard, blowing my hair and flurrying my dress. As if wind was trying to take me back to the consciousness. But it failed like I failed that horrible day. A car struck me and shattered my lump of mass into pieces, whose soul was already absconded.
I died wholly.
Now being in a state of limbo I conclude,that I wasn’t life that I had lost that night, what I lost was all the possibilities, the chances, and the opportunities that might struck me later and that might better my life.
She was a lean woman in her early twenties. The black hue of her hair was complementing her honey coloured skin. Her sleek strands were barely touching her shoulders. Her red cashmere coat cladded with blue skinny jeans was in perfection from every angle. She had scrupulously matched each accessory of jewellery with her clothes. Although her opulent persona was insinuating her exquisite taste but her disposition was defying it. She was coy and furtive and was hiding her confused countenance behind a broad smile which was further adding to her oddity. On entering the restaurant, the deft staff exchanged meaningful glances. They had her here for the fifth day in a week. Unlike the other snooty customers of the restaurant she was the least troublesome of all. It was mid-afternoon. The sun was playing hide and seek with clouds. The influx of customers was few. She surveyed each table as if looking for her object of interest but was disappointed.
As she walked in the wooden floor her boots made squeaking noise. Out of embarrassment she paced tad faster which made several orthodox heads moved in her direction. Some piercing glances made her to stumble but somehow she managed to walk steadily. Despite the cloak of courtliness which she wore to match the superiority of the environment, she felt her crudeness is stark to everyone. She moved to the corner table which she always occupied. Her adjoining table was empty. The decor was as elegant as its customers and it seemed that both are emotionally connected to each other. She felt as outcast as she felt on the first day. She noticed that everything was there like before—the painting in the front wall, dim illumination from twisted wooden crafted lamps, the appetizing yet refreshing aroma and the traditional ballad playing in the background against puritan grey wall paintings. She ordered Breve, apparently the least costly item of the most expensive restaurant. She made sure that it’ll last even after the sunset.
The shine in her green eyes faded as time passes. Her adjoining table was now filled by elderly couple. Her countenance became graver. As clock struck 5, she casted a menacing look in the window panes. The sky was obscured with grey clouds and the daylight was nowhere to be seen. Another day is departing and no avail-she reckoned. The waiters were busy attending other customers. She slurped her Breve at which a couple at the adjoining table eyed her cavalierly. She realized her blunder and tried to retreat it. I can no longer play this devious game, she said to herself. Her mind was overflowing with trepidations and she feared her veil of faux will fall anytime. She looked at her cup; it was half empty by now. She will have to sit for three more hours and this latte will not last for mere another hour. She knew that she hadn’t got an extra buck in her red rhinestone purse after paying for the latte. How she’ll return to her flat she had no idea. She gazed the painting displayed on the front wall, between the abstract layers she saw two eyes vividly glaring her. She moved her eyes away, the couple had gone. The waiters seemed anxious with time, apparently there were privy to her thoughts. A waiter approached her. She fidgeted nervously. The waiter courteously asked for further service, which was timidly declined. With every passing moment her fears were mounting, she knew it was last her chance. She stared in the direction of painting; the eyes were fixed on her. She twitched a little. Another hour passed in the same predicament.
After a while she heard inaudible murmurs from her back. She dared not move her head. She fears that the thing she dreaded has finally going to happen. She moved her hands to coat pockets. It was there. The whispers grew to brisk rustles. A quiver of fear moved down her spine. With trembling hands she peeped into her cup, only last sip of liquid was there. She heard earnest footsteps coming in her direction. She drew the tiny packet out and began to unwrap it. With whole body shaking she poured the contents of packet into the last remain of Brever. She could listen several voices. The footsteps were hardly some inches away, she could discern. She held the cup, saw the picture on the wall, the eyes were still fixed on her. Her whole body was shaking followed by jitters. The voices were agitated. The heavy footsteps perturbed the serene ambiance of the opulent restaurant. In a moment her veil of deception will fall, said a voice in her head. In fits of nervousness, she gulped the liquid. Her head was shaking vigorously. The whole scene was dissolving in her eyes. The footsteps ceased and the voices sank. With last speck of vision remained in her green eyes she can see two men taking the table adjoining her while the three waiters were pacifying them with uber courteous manner. The argument was solved. Her eyes were now closed.
Next day, in the corner of newspaper the death of a female delinquent was printed. Her other hoodlums were still missing. She was reported to have been charged with various delinquencies including shop-lifting, assisting in kidnappings for ransom, pilfering various accessories of her landlady. According to the beginning reports she was died with poison found in her cup at a posh restaurant. But what made her to drink poison was still a lingering mystery.