Monday 19 December 2011

Sightless


  The darkness engulfed her, wrapping her in a black shroud. The colours fizzled out and what remained was all-encompassing blackness. She sought light. The darkness pinched her eyes. In the absence of vision, her sense of sound seemed heightened. Every sound she heard was disorienting as its source was untraceable. Her own sobs were disorienting.
    In crude colloquial terms, one would address her as blind. In cold medical terms, 'visually impaired'. To her, she was handicapped. The skill of her hands was of no account without her eyes to guide them, for she was an artist.
      She painted for a living. Painting wasn't just a recreational hobby. It was her life, her passion. People have their own ways of dealing with anguish and pain. Hers was by giving life to a canvass with the strokes of her brush.
      There she sat on a stool facing the empty canvass, a delicate brush in her hand. She felt the brush, recognised its touch and felt a part of her old self making her way inside. Yet, the cage of darkness that imprisoned her forbade her from continuing with her present endeavour.
        She was determined, although it was impossible. She willed herself to hold back the tears, all to no avail. The warm moisture leaking from her eyes was the only activity she could coax out of them. Her attempts seemed futile, as she felt her will-power crumble to dust before her.
         She was hysterical. She lost control over her emotions as she sank to the floor, struggling to remain conscious. She could no longer fight with the darkness. Her bleak senses were inefficient. She felt the small bucket of paint near her body. With the swift dramatic motion of her hand, she dipped her palm in the paint can, and made an impression of her fingers on the canvass. The blank canvass, now stained with the blood red hue, was her masterpiece. Paint leaked from the bottom of the canvass, as the obscure palm impression turned blurry, and the shade of red added to the haunting effect of painting.
          Her face buried in her hands, as tears oozed out of her sightless eyes. The blood red paint on her face was a shade that stood out boldly infront of black. A colour that she couldnt see, as she closed her sightless eyes and basked in the comfort of unconsciousness.

1 comment:

Hardik Rajgor said...

I like this piece, I really do!

Keep writing :)

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