The man suddenly realized that his eyes were blurred with the salty moisture. He didn’t know if it was with pain or anguish or fear or remorse or just plain chemicals. Or maybe all of them, together.
He wiped them with the upper sleeve of his shirt and took a deep breath.
The breath became heavy and frequent. The fists, hid themselves in the pockets, tightened. The shoulders shrunk together in reflex into a crouching posture. Everything in the man needed a support, a crutch to hold himself and to push himself further.
But all he is left is no one but himself and his self.
The man walked on with leaden steps.
The silence was echoing with the playful laughter and jovial obscenities that were tossed over drinks.
Some one called the pet name, which the man hated to called as. He knew whose voice it is…
I don’t want this. I just don’t want all this. I want to sleep. Shut the eyes and sleep. And just wake up from this bad dream. Very bad dream.
No. This ain’t no fucking dream.
‘The body’ will not smile back at me.’
‘The body’ can’t give a high five, anymore, over any arguments won together.
The man closed his eyes for a moment and breathed the memories out. They jutted out around as a small misty smoke. The inside of the building was cold. The breath was coming out as a small hazy fog. (I need the right word for this.!)
The right side of the ramp is just a wall upto the end of the corridor. On the left are the series of rooms. The first one is the mourners’ room. The other rooms were too dark to be read. And they were locked.
The keeper reached the end of the corridor and opened another door.
The man hesitated to go further. The keeper mumbled something to him, impatiently. Though the words weren’t heard, the feeling was conveyed.
The man took a deep breath and moved in.
He suddenly remembered his breath. All though his life, he never ever even thought of realizing that he was breathing. He had taken it for granted. He never thought about it when he stood panting every morning after jogging. He never thought about the smoke he exhaled as he savored the lingering taste of nicotine.
He remembered the advertisement, which describes the various breaths of life.
Breathing, suddenly, felt like a wonder.
Like a miracle.
He breathed out in relief.
He breathed out in guilt.
Guilty that he is alive?
Guilty that he could breathe?
Guilty about being relieved about him not being the dead one?
He frowned in depression. He felt heavy and dizzy.
“Saaer… please hurry. My shift is about to finish. I need to handover the keys..Plz not mind.”
The man pushed the door and entered in.
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