Sunday, October 12, 2008 | |

The String Broken

And so he started on his way. The soles of his feet were paining. Life seemed miserable. His whole body was throbbing. There was now no point in existence. Everything was bleak. The sun-rays totally blinded him. The air felt obnoxious. The trees felt like demons stretching out to devour.

However, he continued on his way, now, speeding up more. The boys playing cricket seemed like a horde of hellish beasts squabbling over something.

At last, he came to his destination. He was one step from his goal. He stepped forward but immediately retracted his feet. He looked towards the sky. With a feeling of disgust he looked down. Then again he stepped forward but again he pulled it back. He looked back. No, there was nobody. He became mad. Why was he not able to take the plunge to oblivion? Was somebody pulling him? No. Then what was it. He was puzzled. Again he stepped forward but no this time nobody pulled him back. He was falling at free-fall speed.

Oh! the pain - the heart rending urge - the urge for life. But no, there's no chance now. The bullet that leaves the gun cannot be back. The words that leave the mouth cannot be back. The bubbles that burst cannot become bubbles again. Life once lost can never return.

He crashed down at a spot below three-hundred feet from where he took the plunge. He was a heap of malformed mass - a distorted design of drippy sentiments.