Monday 19 December 2011 1 comments

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.

Thursday 15 December 2011 5 comments

The Final Smile

   The silence reverberated in the hospital ward,and it was all one could hear. Oblivious of the world outside or the crowd in the room trying to share their personal moment, they readily stared at each other. That one hard look that conveyed the emotions words could not. Words seemed rather shallow to them now. They weren't required for a pair who could read thoughts in each other's eyes.

   His eyes were a beautiful deep colour, the darkest black imaginable,without the malice one might associate with the colour. Her's were stone cold and lacked depth and beauty. He would prolly disagree with that conclusion of course; to him, her eyes were the epitome of profound grace and emotion.

   They stared on,looking into each other's eyes,trying to convey any unsaid message. The future held no importance to them because of fate's intervention. He was terminally ill, probably breathing his last.

   They lived in the present. They had reached a point where acceptance had made the pain of losing the other easier.

A change in his expression distracted her. The corners of his lips turned up in a smile. He smiled at her with finality. She failed to comprehend this sudden change. He closed his eyes and departed with her face behind his lids. He died a happy man with no regrets. His only regret was leaving her.


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