Thursday, January 18, 2007

Death is a Maiden

Mortal coil shown unwinding
Makes believers of doubters
A sensed dark embrace
A sudden kiss then welcomed
Death is a Maiden

"Out from a white ocean she emerged her skin black as coal with blood red eyes. In one of her four arms carrying a bloodied sabre she moved toward him slowly and purposefully. Suddenly she aaccelerated."

Milind awoke with a start. Another bad dream.

It was still dark.

A Crescent moon hung high in the night sky; a reflected scythe that angled a dull light through the rooftop windows of his living room .

He had passed out while watching Priya's virtual newsreport . Out of weakness he always picked her, even when he knew watching her always loosened his train of thought.

His throat burned, his head throbbed. In a fog he cursed the aesthete claim of good vodka leaving no after effects. A lie . The smooth drink only encouraged excess. The almost empty bottle of Armadale on the glass coffee table, another reminder of his limits.

He rolled off the plush divan in an awkward way, in one turn, his body stiff, still paralysed by the nights consumption and unable to torque.

The move left him on all fours collapsed on his knees. Not fully aware of the momentary pathetic stance he pushed himself up and rose, uneasy , and staggered to his feet, then shifted his way toward the kitchen.

Reaching a countertop he used one hand to steady himself while with the other he groped around until he found an unwashed tumbler.

Filling it with water from a reservoir jug, with a single breathless draught he downed it, and then refilling without pause, another. He stood there motionless for several minutes, his gaze without focus, until a semblance of clarity began to return. He started back toward the divan and then midway stopped for no apparent reason, and chose instead to sprawl out prone on the intricate thick-knit Kashmiri rug.

The phone rang. He knew why and blocked the video option.

"Inspector Das"

"Hmm, don't tell me. Another one?"

"yes inspector"

The dreams that haunted him, but were yet to be proven wrong. He listened as the detective filled him in on the latest discovery. His mind was now working in a way all its own. He had learned not to fight its' convoluted directions; he only wished he were unaware, a faithful husband guided by a shrewd and unpredictable spouse, but this was not to be.

An ill defined but certain premonition would always be followed by news of another homicide. There was nothing to be gained from the foreknowledge, no added information, just the sense that he was tapped into a dark undercurrent that existed just to torment him, to remind him that he was helpless to avert calamity whenever she chose to visit.

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