Emergence

I didn’t want to get out. Didn’t see no reason to. I was safe inside, warm and comfortable. It was akin to being in a suspended state of dream and sleep, that gray area of subconscious and conscious. At times, it got slightly claustrophobic. But one gets over that when one looks at the burden-less existence inside. The protection is only cherished.

I felt I had everything I needed here. I had vague distant memories which seemed to have been born very recently. Before that, I don’t remember. Maybe there was nothing. Maybe, I was nothing. Now, I can feel what is happening within and around me, despite my inability to make any sense out of it.

At times, despite all my attempts, the world outside turns to affect me. Those moments are earth quakes, shaking me up, ruining the arrangement of things inside. The noises would be even louder, leaving small reverberations for a long time. Then it would take me days to settle back into the calm peace of this place and relax.

I think my walls have ears. They can hear everything that I have on my mind, or rather feel it. Even I could feel it at times. When I’d be nervous or high-strung, it would seem that the walls around were constricting and thudding with a dangerous beat. And at times, I could feel a slight shiver and tingling run across them, imbuing me with that same light-headed feeling. The word for that feeling was happy. Else, the rest of the time, I felt warm, safe and comfortable; and the word for these together can only be content. That constant bubble was perturbed from time to time by the place outside, with its people and rush and excesses.

I could sense that they wanted me to leave. The feeling of claustrophobia overtook me more often, but I’d still manage to get over those. I didn’t want to leave. I saw no reason to leave.

Till it was time. Till my walls evicted me. Those hours were the most difficult hours of my short-lived life within. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t turn inside to look. I couldn’t sink back into the soft beating of my heart and slight thumping of those walls. No longer was I able to curl up into myself and fall asleep.

With a great heave and a cry, I was out. Out there, naked and gasping for air, uttering an agitated cry for being thrown out of my own place. I opened my eyes to find bright blurred lights shining from behind huge faces and heads.

I was outside. I became an outsider then. There was only one thing connecting me to my way inside. Could I have gone back? After they cut the cord, I knew the answer to that was never. In my later years, I would go on to say that that was the first bruise life gave me.

Photo by: Sans.ability

Argentum Abbadon's Wall

Argentum Abbadon thought the world of photography and the art. He knew no joy other than having his own little universe of framed lives. People were his favorite subjects, so charming and delightful. He knew he liked the idea of people more than the actual entity of people. He also knew that they were best in that moment when light and chemicals froze them on paper. He travelled frequently, meeting people and getting to know them till they agreed to pose for his camera. Today he was in the countryside, waiting for his customers.

They arrived. Your urban happy family of five (that included the dog) visiting the countryside to have themselves shot against the scenic backdrop. The man stood with the baby cradled in one hand and the other wrapped around his wife’s shoulder. The six year old girl was on her knees with the giant of a dog, his fur gleaming golden in the soft light. The scene was perfect.

He said the c-word. The man, wife and girl said the c-word, the baby yawned and the dog twitched his nose. Cheese. Click.

Out came the photograph. The baby started whimpering and the dog was barking loudly. The man came forward but couldn’t walk beyond an invisible barrier. His expression turned into worry and anger and disbelief. He knew these reactions. Most people behaved this way in the beginning. They got used to it in time. They have no other option, and besides, they have so much for company.

He took the photo and hung it on its assigned space on the wall. He needed a happy family next to the sorrowful young woman. The old couple could also do with some company. This was his treasure, his collection of people, their smiles, their laughs, their expressions and their lies. He didn’t capture mere memories, he captured their lives. The wall full of portraits and people, smiling, staring vacantly, sitting glum, weeping, laughing deliriously.. so charming and delightful.

In an ignored column on the seventh page of The Times, one found the news of a family of four and their dog gone missing since Sunday afternoon.