We all have them in our lives but over time they are just forgotten.
I was trying to hail a cab to get home as the wait for the bus was turning to be a no-show. As I was waiting for a cab to come my way a piece of paper drifted in the wind and stuck to my legs. Old, well-thumbed, torn and crumpled, I picked the page up and further crumpled it to throw it away.
I felt why not read it once and then throw it away and understand its mysteries. It was a torn page of a novel. Which one I do not know, I will probably never find out.
I finally did get my cab and the 2 hour-long drive was a haze of thoughts.
We all have unfinished pages and books in our lives. Over time they just keep adding and they feel like volumes when all it takes to complete the story is 2 lines. Most of us would like to finish these unfinished pages. Of course there are exceptions, some we don’t want to finish for the fear of them ending and some for the fear they hold over us.
One other possibility is that the pages themselves choose not to be finished. They do not want to complete their stories but leave it in suspense. But over time even that suspense becomes dull much like a long running soap on television. Some of these very pages may reopen another day in our lives, but will we be interested then?
The 2 hours I held the paper in my hand and as I got out of the cab I dropped it for the wind to carry it forward, in hope that it completed its book.
He squeezed off two shots into the back of his victim’s head and the silencer suppressed the noise of the shot. As the victim collapsed into a bundle he saw his face on the dead body. He had killed a part of himself and felt no true sense of loss, no pain and no tears.
As he trudged back home, he was perplexed. Was it a dream? Even the harsh reality of the humid heat did nothing to bring him back into his senses. Only the whiff of her smell stayed true and reminded him of those short stolen moments. Reality snapped its whip and confirmed that she’s a bitch.
As they lunged at each other they hoped the elevator and time would freeze. The frantic kisses, holding each other tightly, were animal yet vulnerable. Her soft face radiated the heat of a woman who was his for the taking. Those stolen moments would change him and her and burn down their house of inhibitions.
Each time she held his hand tight her sadness and confusion burst on to her beautiful face. The eyes filled with emotions and the smile after holding back the sea of emotions. All she wanted was, for just that moment to extend to her entire life and being and her past gone up in smoke.
The quite before the storm is always unnerving. As they looked into each other’s hearts, all they saw were seas vitiated by raging storms and yet it seemed there was calm in the chaos.
As they kissed, time stood still and the only thing that mattered was the identification with that moment and the calm.
She watched the man she loved change into an efficient, dispassionate killing machine in front of her eyes.
All she saw was the murderous rage in the man her love was killing and the calm disconnect in the man she thought she knew. She absorbed the scene as the man she loved snapped the neck.