Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

My dark man. (2)

December 29, 2014:

“It is not I who accepted the Dark Life. The Dark Life accepted me.”

He sat on a rock, his head bowed and hands resting on knees. “I did not want to be what I have become. But I like it now… It suits me. I feel I am where I belong. It is Real. It is Me.”

I was sitting before him on the road and there was no one else around. When he said these words, I looked at him. I wanted more answers, and I was searching for them in his eyes. They are windows to your soul, after all, but somehow his soul was a locked corridor now– the key to which was unknown to even himself, I suppose. Read more.

“You don’t know how it’s like to be what you are not.”

“I sure do. I have known you for so long and never uttered a hint about you. That is the same thing in a way, if you see.”

He turned his head. I stood at a distance from his seat: a log placed in the middle of the road. An empty road– our secret place.

“No,” he whispered. “You cannot see the sea in me. You can only see the waves.”

“I can see the sea,” said I. Then taking his name, I continued: “And I can also sense a storm. Please confide in me now, let it crash me down if it so must. Break me because I need you.”

For some time he said nothing. I walked closer to him and sat by his knees. Putting my hand on his lap, I asked him to look at me.

He did. His eyes were red.

He was crying!

I can’t say how it broke me into bits to see him unwrap himself out of that favorite strong shell of his, but I begged my eyes to not show. I was going to be brave, for once, for him.

“I got defeated, ¦_. They took away my child. You should have heard how he cried, how he wailed! I don’t know what to do. Can any man be as helpless as I am now?” Each sob pierced my heart as I heard him speak.

“My baby was snatched away. They ripped open his chest right there. He died among a crowd of brutes. His soul – it didn’t find a flower bed on exiting, but got trapped in a tube of viscous blood instead. It makes me cry. I could do nothing but watch, and watch I did as they pinched his little fingers away. My breath stops when I think of what I saw, but I saw and I am living. Why am I still living?”

3 responses

  1. Then taking his name, I continued

    We all know why you can’t write his name Maria.
    That’s not just a road you meet him upon is it?
    It’s the crossroads.

    May 8, 2015 at 10:16 pm

  2. Pingback: My dark man. (3) | Ria

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