And I sink to my knees, head lowered, hands
clutching at the earth beneath in despair…my entire frame shaking with
antipathy.
Revulsion ripples through every fibre of my
being. I look at you with unmasked hostility as you walk towards me.
Head held high, hands jammed into pockets, a
natural look of indifference intermittently crossed with pity on those
loathsome, perfect features…you regard me coolly, a silent reproach in your
gaze at my helpless state.
But the steel lies sharply against my palm.
And you tap your foot almost impatiently,
awaiting my response.
In that moment, the wind dropped, time stood
still…everything froze.
Except for the blade carving your being, in an
explosion of vermillion.
…
“Kill me,
why don’t you?”
She mutters
to herself more than to him, as she leans against the window-sill, conveniently
turned away from him
“…I will do
no such thing,” he responds, perfectly nonchalant.
She
grimaces, her fingers instinctively reaching towards her left shoulder, wrapped
in gauze. She glances back to notice the
light bandage spread across his forearm. He catches her gaze, calmly returning
the look.
She grows
even more infuriated.
“Calm down.
You won’t get your way if you lose track so easily.”
“Darn
right. You wait.”
“Empty,
meaningless threats.”
“Cocky
much?”
“I’d rather
die than give in to you.”
“That’s it!”
And the
sabre is pulled from her hands before she can strike, her hands caught behind
her in a single grasp and he leans in to whisper, “Swordplay is like
conversation, they say. You must learn to listen to your opponent.”
She drops
to her knees and he stands before her, like the previous time.
Tower over me, your brilliance looming over my
zeal like a dark shadow. And I shall always be but a mere silhouette, my sword
not an expression of my spirit but an instrument of my regret.
Forever, forever
burning in the inferno of my ardour…
He touches
her shoulder with the sabre and she looks up, “Keep the fire alive but don’t
let it consume you.”
…and so you dance and play to the same
impatient rhythm, revelling in that violent upsurge of emotion before it gives
way to complete stillness.
The whole, the part, and the long, thin thread that connects them. The words did a kind of merry whirl before settling into a perfunctory jig. Isn't complete stillness a complete waste of emotions?
ReplyDeletePerhaps. But emotions often have an abrupt way of settling down and that stillness is not something one always prefers.
DeleteNonetheless, thank you for reading.
Alas, he couldn't kill! That will be a regret one day. Maybe not.
ReplyDeleteHe's only more helpless. And only she's burning? No.
Nice read.
Cheers,
Blasphemous Aesthete
There's always more to the dance of battle than what meets the eye. ;)
DeleteThank you for reading.
Emotions always settle down, almost always with a whimper, and, sometimes, with a bang! Even killers saunter back to the world of the living.
ReplyDeleteI believe in my heart of hearts (or kidney of kidneys) that they, too, wait for a single tap on the door!
Not all killers have a chance at redemption. And for some, the idea is not to kill the other but to vindicate themselves.
DeleteMy point, exactly. For some, vindication is akin to redemption,
Deleteand now ur whatsapp status makes sense :P
ReplyDeleteHaha. Glad you dropped by. :D
Delete