Storyspace when skin#

A pair of glazed eyes, the dew drops hanging on the lashes, stared at me deeply lined with concern or worry? A forehead fringed with grey feathers and striking features ravaged by tell-tale lines of inner wars. Just above my head smirking with utter contempt. Somebody kept on whispering my name in a sing-song rhyme, “Bella! Bella! Bella!” I reluctantly parted my lids. Night was such a temptress! Day disturbed my cocoon of comfort. I hurdled forward as fast as the stumps of my legs could carry me till I lost my balance and fell headlong into the clearing washed with such blinding brightness that I feared my eye balls would get scorched. The profuse perspiration was a witness to my exhaustion. My heart palpitated as the adrenalin rushed through every pour of my body. I now scrambled through the thick forest of thorny brambles and bushes where sun was a mirage. The commotion degenerated into noise insulting my ears. The babble rose and fell like waves of commotion as I approached. The lilt preceding me like a guiding star!!! “Faster! Faster!” Crooned somebody into my ears and my steps followed the song like a dazed spirit under a hypnotic spell. Yes, a hole gleamed at a distance which regressed as I swam across to it. If only it were not so dark, thought I, the uneasiness suddenly strengthening into a conviction that day was somewhere hidden in the lap of night, if only I could grip the opaque sheet and tear it apart, I would be able to embrace light. I could feel every bend, turn, gully and narrow passes careening through the entwined maze. Thank God! My sense of direction was absolutely sharp and accurate even in that enmeshed blackness. Stretching my arms I felt a row of jagged inclines, which surprisingly melted, like beakers of liquid paraffin poured during a hot wax bath, as my flailing fingers came in contact with, most probably, the rocky interiors of the cavernous pathway.

I waded through an endless tunnel where time stopped ticking. The striking difference being the noiselessness with which the wayward, scarlet spring paved its flow as opposed to the percussion of the rains on the roof top clamouring to mate with the crusty ground below.Ī film of mist rose deluging my retinal view with a velvety darkness.

Storyspace when skin#

The fluid licked my skin like fire, came to a dead end at the elbows and suddenly decided to flow down at first in droplets and then with the force of a fully opened tap just like rain water pouring down the slopes of a mansard.

I ogled at the blood oozing out in a steady stream coursing serenely down my arm before drizzling on the shining, white, marbled floor, vaguely reminding me of a snow-white casement on which I had once embroidered a macabre poem of satin summer flowers of similar shade. It was in one of these moods that I slashed my wrist one evening – a delightfully grisly craft-work of sleek knife-slits. Days when I itch to claw my enemies, scoop their flesh out bit by bit with my bony fingers scalloped with sharp, pointed nails or suck their blood out in primordial pleasure spluttering, splodging, spitting “REVENGE” on a whitewashed wall dripping crimson on virgin landscapes. My composure dithers and vagrant thoughts of somber hue intrude my mind like invaders trespassing into a foreign land. There are days when I feel a loss of equanimity.