I should have done have done this a long time ago. In the last three (or is it four) days of curfew. I have been intending to write. But I have made up some brilliant excuses to excuse my self from writing. I have been playing games on my ancient computer or else I have been reading about superheroes and comic books on the internet. And once in a while, I check out the death toll.
There is something which is gnawing at my heart. Every night, I hear sounds in the distance. They sound like women and children screaming. To shut their voices I talk to my half sleepy friends on the phone till I am bored to the point of exhaustion and fall asleep. But even in my sleep the voices are not shut out.
They invade my dreams and my thoughts. I am dream that I am trying to set up a date and then suddenly without a warning, the dream changes, I am being chased in a dark alley which has no end. I cannot see what is chasing me, but its closing on me. As that thing grabs me, cold sweat breaks out and the walls fall down on me. I wake up in cold sweat to hear the wails again.
Then suddenly in the distance, something clatters. I think it is gunfire. I known it is gunfire. Some where, some place, another person is getting shot. A cold impassive bullet is piercing his heart and puncturing out with his blood, his aspirations and hopes and dreams.
I think about his blood and suddenly I see I his father with his hands on his son’s cold body. I see his mother impassive to the world. I see his widow and I see that she sees nothing. I see his son, who has just understood that death makes people cold. I see his daughter, who cannot see.
I see his grave as they dig it. I ask the mourners, “what will they write on his tombstone?’ My question hangs in the air like a old heavy fog that forgot to away, but no one answers me. I look at the mourners face who is next to me.
It is …Indescribable. Then I realize he is the man whose funeral I am attending. I understand, all the mourners who are taking the dead man to the grave is (or should I use are) the dead man himself.
I am suddenly back in my bed. My neighbor’s TV is blaring news (ad). Hostages in city of temples, Floods in the lallooland, A new CM in the tribal state, The Land of pure will a get new president (who is either a liar or a lunatic), A Wife tells the world’s most powerful nation to elect her husband but no word on the dead man who attended his own funeral.
Suddenly the TV goes silent along with the rest of the world. The firing is still going on. I am safe. I am far from the sound.
But then suddenly the sound gets closer and closer. The bullet that will claim me will soon come. It will be an easy death because I am no were wolf and I need no silver bullet. It will be lead bullet for me.
It will find its way to my heart. Peirce it and rest in the deepest part of my dark heart. And I will be at peace.
Comments
should write more frequently