The Diary

Raging fires,
Pregnant desires,
Wings of passion.
Flight to eternity,
Come...
Firewalk With Me

She turns the key in the keyhole, the levers fall into place and a dull click later the door opens inwards. A small puff of dust falls on her head as she steps in, her hand closing the door behind her. A faint creaky thud. She kicks the door with back of her left heel, without even turning, and the sound of lever locking tells her the door is finally shut. Hands on her slender waist, she surveys what lies before her.

Dull green paint desperately trying to hang on to walls like a dying leaf in autumn. Sheets of dust covered white clothes covering most of the furniture. Cobwebs on the ceiling and near the window, hanging like sinister shadows of time. A huge rat runs across the moth eaten carpet. It will take her entire weekend and Monday to turn the place around and she will have to do it all alone.

She smiles and takes a deep breath of relief. It will keep her mind occupied for entire weekend and Monday, and she isn't going to spoil it by worrying about what to do with rest of the week. All that matters is for three days she won't have to worry about... she waves off the fly buzzing around her head, it gets caught in one of the cobwebs. Another smile. She was planning to start with cobwebs in the living room, but they can wait for now. A closet in the hallway to bedroom catches her eye.

She tiptoes her way to the closet, as if the wooden floor would give away under her feet. The knob on closet's door is cold, but soon warms up to her touch. She opens the door and darkness stares back at her. She stares into the dark abyss. Words of Nietzsche flash for a moment in front of her eyes. A bit hesitant, her hand reaches out. She is almost surprised to find a wooden shelf; she expected the darkness to extend forever, hopefully into another world. She hadn't forgotten her C.S. Lewis either. Her hand grazes the shelf and she can feel the gathering dust. She withdraws her hand and is about to turn when suddenly a pair of crimson wings emerge out of darkness into her face. She panics and falls backward. Suddenly she is aware of her fear of butterflies. She slams the closet door closed with her feet.

Thud.

The door swings open and a diary with red leather cover falls near her feet.

***

Dear Diary, I got a raise at work today and a promotion is in the wings. Boss said he is impressed with my work. I wonder if it had anything to do with three of my colleagues quitting in last two weeks. Hubby called me from his hotel in Chicago. He said two days and he is missing me already. Wonder if bellboy helped him with the necktie or the maid. He also said he loved me. It was Mothers Day so called up mom. She thanked me for calling and told me how dad's schizophrenia was getting worse. It meant dad was missing me too.

Dear Diary, I wonder if anyone but you will miss me, for me, when I die...

***

She steps back, hands on her slender waist covered in overalls with paint splats all over them. She surveys her new home and smiles to herself. The setting sun reflected off the pale orange walls paints the rest of the room. For a moment she feels the embrace of the setting sun, feels as if she is in the womb of a sun. Only the crimson butterfly in the only surviving cobweb by the window adding a dash of red. She had saved it, not sure why. Maybe she was still scared of going near the butterfly, maybe it was her way of thanking the cobweb. But watching the strokes of red in pale orange gave her a different reason, it looked beautiful. It felt as if it weren't just sunbeams changing color as they passed through its wings, but as if sun was taking it in his embrace and spreading her essence all across the room. And she realised that as the sun moved in sky through the day, the butterfly's crimson shadow formed a perfect arc, kissing all her paintings hanging in the living room.

A smile spreads across her lips. She finally tugs at the piece of cloth holding back her hair and lets them frame her face. She walks to the CD player and pushes play, Dido's lament about her 'Life For Rent' soon fills every inch of space. She hums the lines of the song as she sheds her clothes, walks to the bathroom and slips into the bathtub. The water is warm, perfect. She pours herself a glass of wine, lights a smoke and reaches for the diary. Her fingers linger on the cover, feeling the red leather. It feels like dragon skin.

Dragon skin? Why so sure?

She pulls her hand back as she realises her fingers are trembling. She gulps down a glass of wine like bitter medicine. The glass rolls on its side as her shaky hand puts it down and hits the bottle of wine. Red wine starts to spill into the water in a small steady trickle, gradually clouding the clear waters.

Oblivious of it all she turns pages of the diary and starts where she left off.

***

Dear Diary, how do you think I my husband would feel if he were to come home and find me in a pool of my own blood? How long do you think it will take him to figure out what he could have done to save me? These were the questions running through my mind as I lay in the bathtub today, watching my own blood form an ever expanding crimson cloud. I swear I could see it take different shapes, just like the cotton candy clouds we used to watch in the skies as kids. I know what you are thinking, let me explain.

As the water got darker, the lights around me too seemed to go dim, as if a black shadow was growing bigger and bigger in the room. My eyes felt heavy and I found myself gradually slipping into the bathtub. It was then that I heard his voice in my head. I swear I could see a pair of blue eyes staring at me, into me. For first time in my life I felt naked. How would you feel if someone could read your pages through your thick red cover? Naked.

He said, "You don't want to do this. You don't want to go like this. You want to fly away. Come, walk the winds with me."

How did he know? Who was he?

***

She takes the bus on her way back, didn’t want to drive through all the traffic. She is listening to music on her I-Pod, Amy Lee's haunting voice pleading 'Bring Me To Life'. She stares out of the window. The bus is waiting for light to turn green, 7 seconds to go. She is staring at the counter as it counts down to 7, then 6, 5... 5... 5. It doesn't change. She looks around, everyone seems to have gone still, frozen in time. A faint cackling sound echoes in her ears. She hears someone call out her name. She looks around and there he is.

He is walking towards her, no, not walking, floating would be more like it coz she can't see his legs moving. As he gets closer she can feel... the sun. Yes, fire and light like a blazing sun. He raises his hand, as if asking her to hold her and is saying something but all she can hear is the cackling sound. She suddenly realises her I-Pod is burning and soon she too is engulfed by flames. She screams and throws the I-Pod off her lap. The earphones get yanked out of her ears.

It is then that her headphones also shoot out of her ears and she is drowned in sounds of dozens of car horns. The counter changes to 4, 3, 2... It was all a dream. And the moment she realises it was just a dream, she feels a melancholic stab in her heart. Who was he?

She stares out of the glass window, city floats by her and she catches a pale reflection of hers amongst glaring city lights. She looks away. She reaches for the diary in her bag.

***

Dear Diary, this might be my last entry. Last night I went to the terrace, could see the whole city from up there. Can't tell you how calm I felt as strong winds whipped my face. I felt so free, just as he had promised. He says he can give me wings to fly, better, he can make me wind. He says he can help me reach the skies, and even further. He says he comes from a world beyond ours. He promises all that I ever craved for. His touch offers me all that he promises me. He says all I have to do is hold his hand and he'll turn the burden on my back into wings, he'll take all of me and give me all of him. And I believe him, for he makes me believe in myself.

Goodbye diary, I have to go now. I must get to the balcony. I can hear him coming, can hear him whisper in my ears as he ruffles my hair...

"Come... ride the winds with me."

*** ***

David Gilmour is singing 'Coming Back To Life' as she lies on her stomach on the floor of the living room. She frantically turns the pages of the diary, but all the rest are empty. She stands up, feels a little uneasy in the stomach, reaches for glass of wine and gulps it down in one go. Suddenly she is aware of the cackling of a raging fire... the diary is in flames. She throws it towards the window, the one where used to be a crimson butterfly caught in a cobweb. Only the cobweb remains but for a fleeting moment the diary looks like a big crimson butterfly, its fluttering pages stoking the fire.

The fiery walls around her come alive, consuming all her paintings one by one, in the same order as the path of crimson shadow of butterfly... a perfect arc. As the final painting, Primavera by Botticelli goes up in flames, she recalls where she had seen that mysterious man in the bus. And right on cue he rises from the ashes of the painting, extends her hand towards her and turns to fire, a walking being of fire. He has come to fulfil the unsaid promise he made to her and all she has to do is keep hers. She drops on her knees and clutches her stomach as she feels the fire raging inside her belly.

Finally she understands the cackling... its the fire talking to her, its him talking to her...

Raging fires,
Pregnant desires,
Wings of passion.
Flight to eternity,
Come...
Firewalk With Me

[Visit the comments for an epilogue.]