BY KRISANGI SARMA
Editor’s note: Krisangi Sarma, I’m happy to say that you are now a published author. Thank you for submitting this heartbreaking, but beautifully written story. Keep up the good work! AT
Dani returned to the study after his third suicide attempt. The blues got into him, again. There was an empty bottle of Glenfiddich lying on the ground and some sheets that bled words. Chris Cornell’s ghost lingered; the vinyl records searched for the perforated parts of his skin. He wasn’t Alain reading “Babylon Revisited,” nor was he Ian Curtis to be playing Iggy Pop, as a spectator and a confidant in his last moments.
The hangman’s knot was tied just the way it should have, and he was no fool to lie on the ground pondering upon what the aftermath could be. His blood had turned black, by then and he was colder than the coldest dwelling that Earth housed. What was left of him were flakes that spoke of nausea and despair. He wanted to fade away into nothingness. The void inside his heart, that got bigger with the passing time, or the growing longing for the days that were lost in history, that started shrinking, ceased to hold any meaning. The crushing weight of his existence looked at him with disdain and he was ashamed of his own being.
Thrice, did the lust for life supersede his desire to bid farewell to every bit of mortality and immortality. He had been a failure, always. It was no different this time. The veins in his body longed to burst open and he wanted a flood of his blood to wash away every floor that he stepped on.
Dani had a kitten, Rui. It was a Ragamuffin. He had got it as a gift from his friend who betrayed him, one summer. Dani cooked his heart and had it for dinner in the winter that followed. The rest of the carcass was a feast for the wolves that had a dwelling in the nearby forest. He celebrated his victory with them.
Months passed, and things changed. Dani was locked inside his apartment, and the shadow of death lurked. People who were good to him, people who were bad to him, all of them kept on dying, one after one. Every news channel spoke about the devastation, the ramification of the pandemic’s growing monstrosity. The terror was felt, everywhere. The terror shook every being.
Dani didn’t want Rui to suffer, lest the virus took the life of innocent animals. He planned on euthanizing it and eating the meat, later on, in an attempt to keep it inside his heart, forever.
It was 3 in the morning, and Dani was suddenly shivering. The palpitations of his heart and his pale facade was trying to tell a story, an aftermath of a nightmare. He was trapped. He was like a fish caught in a trammel, who wanted to jump back into the water, but failed. His desire lied somewhere between wanting and not wanting to die, but killing someone? He would never even kill an insect. His friend, and Rui are out of question.
The pandemic was driving him crazy. It was making a monster out of him. Every dream was a nightmare for him. He left the bed and turned the TV on. Another hundred new deaths were reported. His reality was becoming a nightmare too. Who will die next? He had no answer to that. He lit a Dunhill, and watched the ash. Maybe, his life was nearing its end too, just like the cigarette, or was it just another nightmare in a chamber of despair? Maybe, his obituary was in progress. Maybe, there was a giant Judas goat, responsible for everything. He didn’t know. He had to wait, and wait did he.
