I Wonder... almost

I Wonder... Almost

a companion story to A Story Called Almost by supriyad... almost

I wonder... about the pass that said By invitation only, to a valentine's day dinner, candle light and your favourite Jazz band... the pass that I almost hid somewhere under a stack of clothes in a well-tended wardrobe, a surprise that almost was. But the pass was killed by two cute fluffy rabbits hugging each other tight, on a Valentine's Day card with a hallmark song shining on pink bubble hearts... a card from you, but not for me, wasn't it meant to be?

A black smudge scars the red, where first tears of a dying heart were shed.


I wonder... about the song I wrote for you, of laughter and smiles and our times together. But it drowned in the rain... waiting for you as it saw you smile and hug your friends, but you never came... and we, were never the same.

Unsung memories flush down a drain, where euphoria is another victim to pain.


I wonder... about the kiss that never came. I turned and blinked, capturing an image of you in my mind... waited for you to turn and run to me. You didn't turn, you didn't run. I saw you staring back at me, from the mirror of your pretty dresser, that look in your eyes... rusty knives and icy spears, pinned your image to back of my head.

Sepia withdrew and red has gone, where colors go to die alone.


I wonder... about lost moments. If you ever noticed who I really was... past who you thought, I was, always there. Hopeful, you'll be greedy for more, for all you were yet to find... that it can never be enough, when love is all you want. But we lost, each other somewhere on the way, for I turned around, but you were not there... anywhere.

In the middle of nowhere... lost, where forgotten ways come to a crossroad.


I wonder... about the times I felt, driving away from home, your touch, as wind ran through my hair. A sad smile lingers, at the whiff of whispers of a ghost in my ear, revealing your secrets, that I never hear.

Stuck in throat a laughter that chokes, where flagging dreams strangulate all hopes.


I wonder... about the day I almost told you, how I lost everything and owned nothing at all, nothing, but you... ? But before the words could rise up my throat... they choked, they crackled in the dry cold... aching for a drop of promise that never came.

Ruthless mirages of a barren land, where the oasis are nothing but castles of sand.


I wonder... about the stories I found, written words scrawny, crawled in haste... stories of love, unrequited... gone to waste.

Undead love's memory departs, where zombies bleed from broken hearts.


I wonder... about the things I said, about real feelings in your imaginary head. Was it a lie meant to deceive, times when you said you believe??? Believe in me, and my love... kissing under mistletoes and turtledoves? Believe in love, beyond distance and time, logic and reason... a higher faith for every season?

Angels and demons are all the same, where love is condemned in God's name.


I wonder... about the home I built, where we could be together and never leave. Our most beautiful dream come true, a labour of love, for me and you. I'd kiss you everytime we fight... a kiss that would set all right. For that was the dream we always had, but dreams of imaginary kind, were all you wanted... and left me alone in an empty house, cold, blue and haunted.

Delusions take the guise of dreams, where cries of help are terrifying screams.




I wonder... about the fortune teller's lies. It wasn't a dream... almost.

The Mighty Oak and Lil Birdie

Mighty Oak and The Lil Birdie

Note: The first and third act are written by me. This story is my birthday gift to a lil sis of mine, The Lil Birdie. She has written the middle act, Lil Birdie's Tale.


Once upon a time there was a mighty oak, the mightiest and grandest of all oaks. He stood on the top of the highest cliff, right near its edge. He had seen the sun rise from behind the Misty Mountains more than anyone else. When the sun finally went to sleep in the valleys of the White Mountains, The Mighty Oak's shadow would extend all across the lands and just as sun said its final goodbye, the shadow almost touched the Misty Mountains. It was common tradition amongst flora and fauna of the land to rest for a minute under The Mighty Oak's shadow, that was the closest they could ever get to "touch" The Mighty Oak.

The Mighty Oak had survived the longest, darkest and coldest winter, the lone survivor. The winter had failed to break him, but it did manage to enclose the mighty heart of The Mighty Oak in a shell of frozen bark. Thousands of suns after that had tried and failed to thaw the Ice of Indifference. So, the Mighty Oak, who once welcomed all to rest on his branches and eat his fruits, won't let even a bird near. But then it all changed one dark and stormy night.

It was a dark and stormy night. Lightening was flashing all over the sky, but careful enough not to venture near The Mighty Oak, he wasn't kind to trespassers. He was sleeping, dreaming of times gone by when he suddenly woke up. A lil birdie had fallen right into his branches. He shook her off violently and the lil birdie fell near his feet. Enraged by the gall of the birdie, he raised his fist to squash the lil birdie when the lightening flashed again. The fist stopped inches away from the lil birdie.

"Oh!" The Mighty Oak gasped with amazement. In all his years he had never seen such a bird before, an unseen wonder. The Mighty Oak felt something stir within him, a feeling he hadn't felt ever since he was a young tree eager to explore the world around him. His father called that feeling the disease of The Wanderer. To him it was the sense of wonder that only a child can feel, an amazement experienced at discovery of something new. Yes, the lil birdie had made him feel like a child again. He gingerly picked up the lil birdie, made a clumsy nest with some of his "hair" and very gently lay her down. Then he brought his branches closer to shield her from the rain. The Mighty Oak didn't sleep that night. There were no witnesses, but if there had been, they would have wondered if The Mighty Oak was crying or was it just rain.



Next morning it weren't the first rays of morning sun, but musical chirping of the lil birdie that woke up The Mighty Oak. Its left wing was badly mangled and left knew was bent in a strange way. But looking at her singing merrily one could be easily fooled that mangled wing and bent knees are the way all birdies are supposed to be. If there was any pain the lil birdie showed no sign of it.

"Hello GrandP" sang the Lil Birdie as she noticed that the Mighty Oak had woken up.

The Mighty Oak let out a rumbling laughter that woke up one and all in the lands. Even the sun rose from behind Misty Mountains, rubbing his eyes, still groggy at having being woken up before his time. None had ever heard The Mighty Oak say a word, so the hefty laughter echoing across Misty Mountains and Valley of White Mountains made sure that flora and fauna of all ages and colours came to witness the miracle. However, once there, they were all wary of The Mighty Oak and just chose to sit in his shadow. As the last squirrel found its seat, after stepping on a toe and two, the lil birdie started to tell her tale as to how she ended up in The Mighty Oak's care on that stormy night, so far away from home.

*** Lil Birdie's Tale ***
written by
The Lil Birdie

The birdie began her tale from the days when she was nothing but a fur ball. She was born on a nest perched on top of an oriental wooden door with fine medieval carvings. The door was part of an old but sturdy house which was all she knew about the world. Then one day, some birds unlike her kinds build their nests in the same house and brought with them stories of far away lands, beyond seven seas and seven mountains- lush with greens- beatific, almost divine. With time the little birdie got bored of the place. The dark walls of the house which comforted her once now seemed depressing. The soft green moss which was creeping up the wall made her uncomfortable and scared her in the nights. Too much familiarity borne an unbearable desire of unfamiliarity. The only trees she knew were the slim eucalyptuses with their bark falling off every now and then. Her home was a little too safe for her liking.

After days of nesting in , hopping around she finally began with her flying lessons one day. After a particular nasty fall she almost stopped believing that she’d ever be able to fly . She gave herself one last chance , deciding to try for one final time. She hopped over the length of a dusty old table and jumped off it. Instead of keeping her eyes open, she kept them closed this time. She was losing height swiftly but a voice from somewhere inside her asked her to flap her wings fast and then to align the wings straight and soar. When she opened her eyes, she was flying.

Euphoria of her first flight raised her spirits and her tiny wings followed them, rising higher and higher and higher…until she reached the ceiling and could go no higher. She thought of the clear blue sky above the eucalyptus tress. The birds had told her that there were no ceilings out in the sky, she wanted to feel the sky, she wanted to reach the end of the sky .Her faith in herself returned, her desire to find her dream strengthened. She told everybody that she wanted fly over the seven seas and seven mountains to the lands beyond- to have dip in the Stream of Stories.

But they told her she was too young, she wasn’t yet prepared for such a long flight and a desolate journey. She needed to pass the Seasons of Skill and Winds of Wisdom before she could even think of making it there. Yet, that very night the birdie left her nest, bid a silent adieu to her kinds. She flew out in the cool navy blue sky in search of the stream of stories, curious and excited. Her adventure had begun.

The mighty oak sensed that the birdie was getting a little sad remembering her loved ones she left behind. He wobbled his head and his dishevelled leafy hair tickled the birdie. The birdie giggled, and returned back to her chirping once again.

She told them that in the coming days she passed so many seasons ….she saw the trees being showered with the heaven’s nectar, shed their skins and the glossy leaves as they grew old. Then the white coldness took every thing under its evil reign .She still survived despite having nothing to eat . The blizzards that brought along fierce winds threw her off course so many times. Yet she moved on. Slowly the cold began retreating and spring was abloom.

One day the sun got extremely fiery by the day and her tiny wings gave up. Tired and thirsty she halted inside a cave. After sometime she heard tap tap of a water droplet hitting some water reserve. She flew in dark, following the sound. And then she found a tiny puddle of sparkling water. She drank out of it and she was thrown into an mystifying realm. She kept on drinking, quenching her thirst. Though the physical thirst was quenched, the thirst for that magical realm increased with every drop she drank. She realized it was the realm of stories that she was transported to. Different stories of different travellers in search of the Stream of Stories unfolded in front of her one by one. Through the stories she came to know that she had to narrate her tale to the puddle for it to refill itself. She also came to know that the seventh river flowing beyond the seventh mountain was the Stream of Stories.

She just had the last part of the journey left to fulfil her dream. She immediately flew towards the last remaining mountain. She followed a tiny brook through the mountains, the valley, and the moors only to land up at the Mighty Oak’s care. There the rivulet vanished mysteriously leaving her without any sense of direction, of what she was supposed to do next.

“What do I do now GrandP?” The birdie asked the Mighty Oak.

*** End of Lil birdie's Tale ***

*** Lil Nut's Tale ***

For a moment all went still and silent, even the winds. Everyone present held their breath and had eyes fixed on the Mighty Oak, waiting for his response. Only sound that could be heard was of something dripping from one of the bigger knots on him, forming an ever expanding puddle around him. All waited for the Mighty Oak to say the words that never came. Soon they all started to disperse and get back to their normal lives, many debating amongst themselves what was it dripping from the big knot on the Mighty Oak. Most believed them to be the tears and the knot to be one of his eyes, though none was sure and none of them will ever know the truth. That was only for lil birdie to know, and the squirrel who was courageous enough to run up to where Mighty Oak's roots dug into the ground.

For a long time the knot continued to drip, the puddle as big as a pond now and only the lil birdie and the squirrel were in the middle of that island that was The Mighty Oak. The squirrel, who could neither talk or listen, made a small cosy hole in the ground and went to sleep. The lil birdie still had the same expression of awe and anticipation as the one when she had asked,

"What do I do know GrandP?"

"Once upon a time..." the lil birdie heard the wind whisper in her ears. It took her a while to realise it was The Mighty Oak talking, though it wasn't really his voice. It was as if she could hear his thoughts, or maybe she wanted him to answer so badly that she had started to imagine it all. But the lil birdie listened carefully, oblivious to everything else. "...there was a Lil Nut."



Ever since he was born, he had been hearing tales of distant lands beyond the seven seas and seven mountains. All he wanted to do was to be a traveller. Many a times he tried to roll off in his wanderings but always ended up in moss.

"You are a nut, if you were meant to travel you would have had wings, or even feet." his mother would say, as she scrubbed the mouldy green moss off him. But he never paid any heed. All that he wanted to do was fly across the seven seas and see the worlds no nut or oak had ever seen before. HE wanted to tell everyone stories of lands and places far far away, stories no one would believe in. His father got really worried when he didn't develop any roots even into his second birthday.

"Son, you are a little nut now. But a nut is not what you are meant to be. You are one day going to be a great oak. How great and mighty, is up to you. Don't envy the birds because they can fly across lands and oceans and skies. They are travellers across space. But you can be a great traveller across time. You can see things which many generations of these birds will never get to see, you can outlive the existence of many of them. Soon a time will come when only you shall know of them. You will tell stories of things you have seen and none shall believe you. But to do that you will have to be a strong oak. There are more ways to drink on Streams of Stories than the birds know of. Take roots my lil one, stand your ground, firmly. And one day you shall be a mighty oak, a traveller across time."

The lil nut smiled at these words and soon he had tiny little roots. As the roots dug deeper into ground, they found Streams of Forgotten stories, streams that only ran under the ground now. Soon the roots went farther and deeper than any others' had ever before and the lil nut grew to be a mighty and strong oak, spreading far more under the ground than above it.

As the oak grew, so did his thirst for stories. Afraid that he might drink all the seven rivers, gods decided to turn them all to ice. The coldest and longest winter ever engulfed the earth into a giant sheet of Ice. All the rivers froze. No tree or animal could survive for their was no water anywhere. Only the mighty oak, with his vast reach was able to find traces of water deep underground, where the frost of gods couldn't reach. But the cold did manage to reach beyond The Mighty Oak's bark, freezing the water within him. It was as if he had been stabbed with a thousand little knives. The Mighty Oak let out a mighty roar, a cry of anguish. The Mighty Oak was never heard again.

The rumble of that roar shook the heavens. Scared, and realising their folly, they relented and the winter came to an end. But the Stream of Stories was gone, frozen forever. Only a few brooks here and there searching for the Lost Stream of Stories were left, which most mistook to be the Seventh River, the Stream of Stories.

*** The Death of The Mighty Oak ***

Little drops of tears welled up in lil birdie's eyes. She had come so far, but all in vain.

"So GrandP, does it mean I travelled all the way in vain?" she said, crying, head buried in her wings. A small nut fell on her head and she looked up.

A magnificent sight beheld her. The Grand Old Mighty Oak was no longer there. Gone were the dry branches and wrinkled bark. There now stood the most magnificent Oak one had ever seen, though it looked less like an oak and more like...

"What are you?" said lil birdie, amazed.

The Mighty Oak had leaves and nuts of all colours, nuts that caught sunlight and let out little nut shaped rainbows. The knot which was "weeping" had opened up into a big heart shaped hole from which gushed forth a frothing river.

"The River of..." exclaimed the lil birdie.

The Mighty Oak smiled and nodded, and finally talked.

"Yes, the River of Stories, stories from lands that were once upon a time. Stories I had collected over all these ages. But there are many more to find, many more stories to tell. My father was right, I have travelled across time. But now, once again, I yearn to travel across far lands. I wish to be the lil nut again. Time has come for me to go, to sleep. But I want you to promise something, will you?"

The lil birdie nodded, without even knowing what she was going to promise.

"Take me with you, in search of stories, on travels across distant lands. I want to travel across space, and in return, I shall make you a traveller across time."

"But.." before lil birdie could say anything, the Mighty Oak pushed her away with a swift blow of his arm. The Mighty Oak doubled up, coughing a thousand nuts. The squirrel, who was sleeping till now, woke up to find himself in what he thought was heaven. The skin of the Mighty Oak started to crack and streaks of light shot forth. Suddenly there was a bright flash of light and sound of exploding water. Even the sun had to shield his eyes as he felt like a pale shadow of himself. And then suddenly it went dark.

No one could see anything, just hear the distant sound of water rushing.

"Lookout, the sky is falling" said a lil chicken and covered his head.

Rest looked up and literally saw the sky coming down on them. All instinctively covered their heads with their arms and waited for world to end. The sound of falling sky got louder and fiercer. And then there was a huge...

SPLASH!

The Mighty Oak was all but gone, only bottom part of the trunk remained and it was spouting a steady stream of water, or stories as all those who were there and believers like to call them. That was the end of The Mighty Oak.

The Lil Birdie wasn't sure whether to feel glad at end of her journey or feel sad at her loss. And Mighty Oak had gone before explaining anything to her. That was when the squirrel ran upto her, holding a little nut. It was like any other nut, but was unlike all other nuts which were rainbow colored. The nut looked very much like...

"The Mighty Oak!” exclaimed the birdie. And suddenly she understood everything as she held him in her right wing. The birdie made a necklace using some of the bark from remains of the mighty oak, with the Lil Nut in the centre as a pendant and put it around her neck. As soon as she did, she felt a stronger beat in her heart. All others saw the lil birdie bathed in a glow not much different from one of The Mighty Oak.

The Lil Birdie flew off, the lil nut around her neck. A traveller across time, and a traveller across space, now together. The Lil Nut who was once a Mighty Oak gave the Lil Birdie the eternally long life to travel across time. The Lil Birdie gave the Lil Nut the wings to fly across space. To this day they travel in search of stories. They stop every now and then, to rest, and to share their stories with those who are Nuts enough to believe them.

And of course, they pay an occasional visit to their rainbow colored squirrel friend who can't talk or hear, but loves listening to their stories. After all, squirrels love nuts, of all kinds, don't they?

[ THE END ]

The Dark Angel, His Promise

The Dark Angel
II
His Promise

[ finale to The Dark Angel, Her Prayer ]

Give me a few dreams
without the shadows
or stifled screams
touch of tears in eyes forlorn
hollow laughter
innocence to mourn

No, these may not be her words. But these are the words that I see as I look around the walls within me, the walls that once held that lil girl. The graffiti on the walls by a lil girl clawing for an escape, an escape that almost never came.

*******

That day she was severely 'punished' for running away. She couldn't walk for next few days. Every night she sat by the window in her room, staring out into the dark forest, silently. The chilly winds reminded her of his touch and whipping of his wings. Many a times she thought she saw him rise in the night sky to catch a glimpse of her. The sudden warmth around her told her it was really him. It was only then she could go to sleep, to be woken up by nightmares. And then again she stared out towards the dark forest till she felt that warmth again, and went to sleep, again.

The day she was fit to walk again she waited for sun to set. And the moment sky turned black she slipped into the backyard. Just like that day she was aware of 'them' following her. Just like that day she ran towards the perimeter wall and went down on her knees and elbows as she made her way out through a small hole in the wall. Just like that day, she got up, brushed dust off her baby pink pyjamas and started to run again. She kept running till she could hear nothing but her own heavy breathing and a stray cricket here and there. And just like that day, she ran into the pack of wolves.

But this time 'they' were prepared, they had torches with them. The wolves of the forest versus the wolves of the civilised world. The forest wolves had no chance, they weren't savage enough. With wolves gone 'they' turned towards her, grotesque smiles in the shadows of flickering torchlight. She screamed, turned to run but tripped on a stone and fell on her head. She passed out. One of 'them' stepped towards her.

Swoosh!

One instant he was there, next he was gone. Others exchanged glances, waved torches to scare away an invisible enemy that wasn't there. An extinguished torch fell amongst them, a headless torso followed. The predator turned to prey and huddled close to each other.

Swoosh! Swoosh!

A rush of air blew out all the torches. They looked around. The hair at back of their necks stood up. Ice-cold air filled up their lungs and pinned them down to their stomachs. And then, night descended amongst them. Their hair were blown by the sudden rush of wind as he spread his wings. They couldn't see his face underneath long black hair but could make out his head was bent. They died a thousand deaths from one heartbeat to another before he took a deep breath and slowly looked up at them. All they could see were a pair of fiery red eyes, literally glowing with fire.

"Boo".

And they all ran away, falling over each other.

He turned towards her and lifted her gently in her arms. He ran his clawed hand gently over her forehead, her wound disappeared as black blood oozed from his forehead. He started to sing a melancholic lullaby, the only kind he knew, to wake her up. The wolves of the forest returned and sat in a circle around them, mesmerised, along with other animals of the woods.

She stirred in her arms and slowly opened her eyes. He smiled, surprised that he still knew how to smile. The wolves howled in joy. She threw her tiny arms around him and hugged him tight. Suddenly the wolves became very quiet, something was wrong. They all turned towards the edge of the forest. Dozens of torches coming their way.

"You must leave now." he said to her. She whined and cried but finally relented. She started to run towards the orphanage, careful to avoid the mob. She was almost at the edge of the forest when she heard a wolf howl. She could see a fire in the distance, a fire that was growing at a rapid pace. Soon she saw the mob running towards her. She got out of its way. The mob ran out of the forest, screaming. The forest was on fire.

"The light burns my wings" His words echoed in her ears. She looked at eastern sky, sun was about to rise, already the horizon was a deep shade of red. She ran towards the center of the forest, where she had left him, or so she thought.

There were blazing fires all around. Before she knew she was surrounded by fire, but she wasn't concerned about herself. A wolf writhed in agony as it got caught in flames. She looked around to find huge trees on fire all around her, and one of them falling towards her. She screamed and closed her eyes. It all went dark. She never felt a thing again.

Burn my soul
washaway their sins
make me new
just like you

Hold my hand
take me to a dream
of you and me
where we are free
Free to laugh,
free to cry
Free of joy,
free of pain
Free to die
and live again

The dark angel took her in his embrace, his wings all around her. The burning tree landed on his back. Soon fiery remains of other trees also rained fire on his wings. His hair caught fire, revealing the scarred face underneath. But the fireballs just bounced off his wings. So he stood, holding her in his arms, his wings around her till final remnants of fire prepared for the last sigh. Entire forest was reduced to ash and in middle of the smoldering ruins stood an ashen angel with lil girl in his arms.

Finally the wings moved, the ash fell off his back and he stood tall. He took a long look at her... Fortunate Asleep. He looked at the skies, first rays of sun were streaming across the sky. With the forest gone, there was no place to hide for him. And he had no more reason to hide. Clouds of ash went up in air as he flapped his wings once, twice and again and again.

Slowly he rose into the air, holding her close. As a sunbeam caught his wing and burnt a hole in it, he kissed her forehead. As he rose further his wings caught fire, yet he continued to rise with her. Soon his wings were on fire, wings of fire. The black angel turned to fire, a fire that got brighter and brighter. Soon he was white as light and so was she, a light so white that sun looked like a pale shadow of its usual bright self. And then, suddenly the light went out. There was nothing in the sky, a vanilla sky. Sun slowly regained its color. Life went on.

The little girl was gone, taken by her dark angel, never to return. In the middle of the ashen wasteland lay a woman born in the scarred body of a little girl.

*******

This is the story of the lil girl I once was, story of her end and my beginning. I am nothing but ashen remains of sins wrought upon her, my life is nothing but a penance for her. Do I miss her? Do I wish she was still around? Definitely not. Only reason I am able to sleep in the morning is the knowledge that she still lives, in a world made for her, in the only world fit enough for her. But I do wish to be that little girl, again.

So I put myself in front of wolves every night, for them to feast on my flesh and bone. Every time they rip a chunk off me, it feels like a step closer to that lil girl. I don't cry, I don't scream but I do pray and this is my prayer...

Burn my soul
washaway their sins
make me new
just like you

Hold my hand
take me to a dream
of you and me
where we are free
Free to laugh,
free to cry
Free of joy,
free of pain
Free to die
and live again

Hope sustains life, and I hope the Dark Angel remembers his promise, once again.

[ The End ]

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.]