Short Story: The Summoning Of The Re-incarnation

Short Story: The Summoning Of The Re-incarnation

She woke up to the usual morning, with the birds playing euphonies, the enigmatic sun rays embracing the earth surface but, even the intense gracefulness of nature failed to win a smile of composure on her face.

She wandered in her abandoned house like an erratic spirit seeking for salvation. She folded the quilt in the neatest possible way, placed it at the tail of the bed & puffed the pillow. She grabbed the hair chopstick from the side table & crafted it in her hair. The tiny chopstick performed a mini-martial art inside her tresses and then rested still. Ending the daily morning chores in the timely manner, she walked out of the bathroom, dripping water from her hair onto the soft snowy carpet. She looked like a girl next door, like any woman in a perfect morning look, beautiful and vulnerable.

Fifteen minutes later there stood an entirely different individual in front of the mirror, a lean, mean, and numb, corporate dame. She attired herself in a perfect pin-striped black business suit. She pulled out the shirt’s cuffs from the sleeves of her suit's jacket & examined herself again in the mirror. She felt like a mannequin.

She saw a bitter woman, not fancied by many owing to her solid rigid lamination she wore on her true self. She saw her inner age a decade older than she really was. She knew the reason why she was loved before and why she was hated now but, she didn't understand what to make out of her, If she was a winner with an attitude of a loser or vice-versa. Her eyes she saw were an ocean of grief. She tried hard to find the girl she had in her some years ago and she failed miserably. She landed her eyes on her diary on the work desk, opened the usual last page & read to herself, her self-written sonnet to begin her day. And that was her daily routine:

When the early venture of the dawn seemed thence blazing,

I glimpsed out of the window and entireness appeared so right

The demons in my creeds kept staring,

When the tear in my smile seemed outright,

I yearn to shed the outfit of stress; wish to own a cactus dress,

Like the shining armor of yours, my knight.

Stroke my hair before you desert my mess,

I am the warrior alone to embark my fight.

The rampant chaos is my melody I cherish,

The anguish is the moon of my dark night

When all the sufferings once will perish

My languid spirit will endure in bright.

The rain of my ancient memories will downpour,

With the beat of the drums, I'll march ahead for my war.

She felt a profound feeling of boldness together with courage and she was composed to encounter the day. She adored her camouflaged cactus dress & smiled. A dress to keep everyone away with the fear of her thorns, as for one in thorns can never be pricked.

While she walked on the streets of the foreign land, she tried to read those cold faces as they passed by. She wished she could peek deep down in to their souls & see if they were like hers, frigid from outside but, entirely distinct from inside. The unfamiliarity in their eyes pinched her and she always searched for home. She kept swaying on the street like an invisible flow of wind or like Richard Ashcroft in "Bitter Sweet Symphony".

As close as she was getting to her destination she was feeling a sense of attachment, a sense of belonging, a sense of tranquillity. She tried to seal her soul, like one would close their eyes & thought how bizarre her journey was. The guiltless happy childhood decade expired in a blink & the time from then never craved to move ahead. She thought of the fact of separation from the loved ones, for education and then the separation for money and then the separation for the rituals & the hypocrisy of the mankind called Marriage! The bunch of orchids in her hand surfaced the irony in a more absolute way. She thought of him. If he was the reason or if he could change…if he was the reaper or the saviour.

When she walked more on the street, she questioned her existence, not in this world but, in the city where there existed no part of her own. She recollected the time when she runs to keep the pace with the people. She recalls how she tries to await those friendly eyes but, finally ends up embracing all the coldness with a fake warm smile & with a moaning heart inside.

When she was less than a foot away from her destination, she took a deep breath, closing her eyes & swallowed the silence which rode around. It was her homecoming. She entered in to the soothing serene ambience & it tempted her. She pictured the anguish & cries the place accumulated inside it. She saw bouquets and she saw tombstones. She saw life inside each & she saw death outside them, ironically. A feeling of people inside with life & outside with death occurred. Demise embossed in the form of names. She knew which one was calling for her. She walked swiftly & knelt down as the earth beneath magnetized her.

With the most elegant way, she blew the dust from the stone & placed the orchids in the centre. She didn’t feel the need to pray, she didn’t feel the need to have the selfish chat with God, where she could ask for more. The gushing breeze blew her hair & she could hear them as the unsaid prayer. She swallowed all the emptiness of the place & merged them with the one inside her. She was the murderer, the person behind the death of the one inside the stone. After spending few unspoken moments with the dead, she stood up & felt again the same sense of boldness & this time, assembled with blackness. As she started to leave, she turned back for the final time, for the final closure & generated the first genuine smile of the day while she read the tombstone.....

¨ME¨