It’s cold here.. quite cold actually. The road is busy, very. No one is willing to stop, they’re all busy running. Passing by too quickly, without wasting a ‘precious’ moment, as if they’ll lose a race. Race, yes. They’re all trying to run and win. But not all can win, do they know not? There have to be just one. Just One!
One – Two – Three – GO! And off they start, to end. They run with the whistle and keep running, for a million reasons. Perhaps the best of them, those reasons, is to shut those voices within. Voices inside, outside, shouts. Good way! Temporary, but good. Good for them if they like it.
All eyes glued on her, they were all spellbound by her magnificent beauty as she entered in the main hall. And she deserved it, she was worth all praise. A delicate model dressed in red, designer jora on her big day, that elegant look those make-up men had given her from the parlor, and her looks! The bride stunned them all.
“Just perfect!”, she heard someone call. Someone, she knew. Someone, whose voice was easily recognizable among all chaos, all audience. She lifted her head and looked around, but failed to spot the carrier, the source of that wonderful voice. He was nowhere among the crowd, then where had he spoken from?
‘Oh, heart!’, she whispered as she realized where.
“It is glass, fragile. But it ain’t in any way ordinary! What it holds inside is very, very precious. I’m handing it over to you because I know that it belongs there. Just make sure you keep it safely. I also understand your way back down is tough, but you’ll make it there, won’t you? The road is dark, but if you act smart, you will do it.”
The hall shrieked as she screamed, most of them covered their faces with their hands. She fell on the ground, shouting for help, yet no one dared to touch her.
The bride’s face had burnt, and was burning still. His acid spray had caused cracks, burns, wounds. Cracks.
They began to laugh, all of them. They danced, drank, played, circled her. She cried silently as she felt herself being dragged into that dark, horrible abyss.
He kept running and running until he finally reached his ‘destination’. He had attained whatever he had wanted, faster than those who were still running. They hadn’t won the race, he had. Maybe because they were so busy running that they forgot what they were running after.
Just one wins. He had won ‘nothing’, and yet everything was now in his hands.
‘Marvelous! Just splendid!’, he praised his skills. ‘Master, you’ve carved the pot wonderfully, and those paint streaks make it look all the more charming! How do you do this? Carve pots out of mud, add such colors, make it look so real? So real, so magical, just wonderful!’
‘I am willing to pay you whatever you ask for, please tell me what you’d like?’
She stumbled as a stone hit her on her way on that dark, concrete road but she managed to keep walking. She determined not to let her bottle fall, but fate had decided otherwise. Many stones were pelted on her, in a continuous manner, until she finally fell and dropped the glass bottle of mercury.
The liquid turned into soft, small, solid balls and scattered everywhere on the black road. She looked at them, devastated. They ran everywhere, like beads from a broken necklace, and finally spread themselves all over the dark road. They glistened and shined, playing with the pebbles, as she saw them again with awe.
Finally, she stood up and wiped her forehead where it had begun to bleed. Another short sequence of beads dropped on the ground, and mixed somewhere in the concrete, with pebbles, and maybe some mercury.
Now she knew why the bottle had belonged to her.
He wasn’t sure what was to be done, was he to keep his ‘masterpiece’ to himself or hand it over to him? Memories from the past flashed in front of him, and he found himself back in his childhood.
He adored his little, colorful bird. But he couldn’t cage her, because she said so. And he couldn’t trust her either, what if she flew away? She said she would never leave him, but he was too insecure because she was after all one of the most precious, loveliest birds ever created. So he held her carefully and cut her red and yellow wings with a scissor, most lovingly.
He smiled at his idea, at ‘God’s help’ and his instinct, and picked up his carved pot. Then he threw it far away with all his might and looked as it shattered into a million, unmendable pieces.