Warm wind came to tell me that the temperature was favourable for us to carry on with everyday work now. The month was February. Words were arbitrary. And they were flowing backwards.
These were not supposed to go first. I kept the better ones somewhere in the refrigerator, but zombie chicken ate those I think. Their fate shall be told in due time anyways.
Now is not the day we had been feeling strange. It was a month ago. The sun was rising in the east as usual. The moon ricocheting light and influencing the tide as always.
Nothing was wrong with anything in the world. I, however, had a natural inclination to die.
Blasphemy, right? I know, I know. Like all natural things, though, this feeling did not materialize out of thin air. It took millions of years of terrors and heartbreaks and agony for me to feel this way. You cannot materialize “feelings” anyway. You just, well, “feel” them.
Enough about feelings now. The thomp of children’s feet juxtaposed against the tunes of the guitar music serene light took me back to the day the first time you took me in your arms, told me that you love me.
Or, to be very specific and literal about it, “When life leaves us[you] blind, love keeps us[you] kind”.
I wonder who it was meant for, though. Your love for me, or your own kin? I wonder a lot more of these things, which would actually sh(r)ed a lot of so called pretty songs under the white purifying light of sado-masochistic misogyny. These ain’t my ideas, though, just pieces of trash food for thoughts I’ve been picking up on my pursuit of surviving from your agonizing “love”.
Sorry dove, I got carried away. Words are flowing backwards.
So you picked me up and told me that you love me. It was the first time our eyes met each-other’s, and I felt a connection so deep and so holy that it warmed up my soul and melted my tiny heart. But soon your momma called you for dinner so you put me down and ran away. That was the first sign of true love you blessed me with, or, should I be arrogant enough to say, I blessed you with as well? I don’t know about you, but I have not forgotten a single touch, a single smile on your sweet sweet face ever since. I cherish them always, and play them inside my head all the time like a broken record, and…
But you grow up so fast and so soon, and I can only look up in sheer wonder then. You get stronger, run faster on the fields, and you know so much. I saw you next when you were talking to your friend just outside the gym after a steamy workout, hanging from his hands upside down blood rushing to my head yet I forgot all about it when I saw you now, and I said, “hi”.
But you didn’t reply to me then. You didn’t even look at me or a tubelight smile like you used to. I thought you couldn’t listen. I also tried some telepathy, I think (I know, I used to believe in these silly stuff then). Anyway, that was the first time I felt heartbroken, truly.
Still I did not remove you from my thoughts, I thought of you every day and every night, so much so that I could not even sleep sometimes. And when I did fall asleep, I used to dream of you- of all the sweet things you said to me once, of how you loved me more than anyone.
The next time I saw you, the sun was yet to rise. It was on the mountaintop, and you rose up the earliest with a packet of cookies in your pocket to give to your sister on her way to school- in case she leaves without breakfast again and feels hungry on the way. I saw you from the flowerbed near the pavement you were standing on while I was chasing the imaginary butterflies, as usual. And I saw you watching me too, and smiling at me. But it was my turn to ignore you this time because you did not notice me the last time. Your smile, like always, made my heart melt though. And for a minute I felt the butterflies were not so imaginary after all.
Soon after that you left the valley, and took all the sunshine away from me like you always do. You saw me then (or I think you did) in many places you went to. You saw my enchanted feathers being used in an epic quest to defeat the dark lord, in pretext that I would burn to ashes and be reborn again anyway. You saw my tail hair being adored in beauty pageants, and you saw me enter your kitchen window and chirpalot and you saw me fly away as well. You also probably felt my presence in your early morning wakes as I waited for you downstairs like I always do, waiting for you to leave your apartment door packed tightly in your winter clothes, and I would follow you like a shadow, and maybe then, only then, you will…
“No more. Please, no more!” I woke up to the voice of my own screams. I felt your hands… no… it can’t be you… pulling and tearing my skin apart from my entire body… my back… my stomach… my scalp… till I lost consciousness again. And again I saw you in a dream.
It was by a river now. The wind was gentle, and the water flowed slowly. Sun was in the sky, but she was not too hot I think. And there I saw you, walking on the river bank, walking towards me. You looked into my eyes for a while and touched my blood covered face- wounded by the lashes by my master whose wife called him a whore and whose burden of weight, in this old age, I could carry no more, so he lashed it all out on me instead. You caressed my face for a while, then put your forehead on mine, and we both wept slowly. That was the closest I ever got, ever since all those years ago, of me loving you and you loving me, mutually.
Another scream escaped my dry throat then, and I woke up again. This time I saw the man, or, was it a woman… I couldn’t distinguish in my hallucination… slowly transform into you, and I closed my eyes because I could not bear the sight of you like that or hear what you were about to say to me next:
-“Plenty is his bounty, and you were born for me. So I, hereby, in the name of the All Merciful Lord, command you to allow me to slit your throat for my numerous benefits. Do you consent?”
I heard nothing. I saw nothing. I said nothing.
(All Merciful Lord was bit by zombie chicken too, by the way. And then he suffered from chikungunya, but he is much better now, kicking and thriving as usual. That story is also to be told another time.)
-“Open your eyes and answer me, fiend! I know you are listening. Do you consent?”
-“You know I can hear you? Can you hear me too?” I asked, shock-stricken.
-“Of course I can, you moron. You think I am the most intelligent, most passionate, most kindest one for nothing?”
-“Oh,” said I, and closed my eyes again.
He, or she, or they (no way it was you!) was telling me more holy (and sometimes unholy) stuff like that and asking me for my consent or whatever, but I just kept my eyes closed and my mouth shut and pretended not to listen. I allowed my imagination to drift me away to the day the first time you took me in your arms, that day on the mountains, all the vivid dreams I dreamt about you throughout my life, until I felt a sharp knife cut open my carotid artery, jugular vein and windpipe in a single swipe, and my blood flowed freely onto the earth, into the river, formed serene clouds and bled twin rainbows on the horizon.