Tuesday, March 22, 2011

The devil

As she helped Sara lie down on the bed, her face bewitching her emotions, all she did was wait, for THE moment.

I've always been good to you, to everyone around me. Alas! Life hasn't been so fair to us, she mumbled.

Isn’t death everything
Isn’t death everything
Isn’t death everything

..crooned Elton John in the distance. The gay bastard was so right. For her, Sara's death meant everything.
However ironic the song might be, Sara would never approve of shutting off the radio. She was sure, Sara would want the radio to go with her in the coffin [since she could smell Sara's death. Soon]. But the undying love and loyalty had always remained. Funny how people set up relationships with inanimate things. The materialistic ones, but more often then not, fail to have genuine love from the animated ones, like her. Sara seemed to have only invited her hatred. 
From the very start, the better one, the closet devil. The more-loved. The equally more-hated. 

Die when I may, I want it said of me, by those who knew me best, that I always plucked a thistle and planted a flower, where I thought the flower would grow.

-Abraham Lincoln

Stupid Lincoln. It was not a flower that the dying hath planted, it was a thorn, of pure, rotting hatred.

Some water please!

She wouldn't mind taking the life off her, though she obliged.

After I die, do take care of my precious garden, I wouldn't want the roses to wither and die. My grave should be next to mother's with the same ivory craving. Not like I'd see it, she coughed some phlegm, but it would give my soul some sweetness to cherish, I'm sure. Do be a good person to all. 

She rambled on. Testing her patience, like every single time. Almost tempting her to retaliate with a few harsh words, or actions, not that she has ever done any, but how long could Sara instigate her like this. The elder, the better, the sweeter, the prettier. The one with the better husband, though dead. The one with beautiful children, though none here, not so soon, the one with a huge house, that she was allowed to live in. She, the barren, abused wife of a fucking bastard. Ah! The cruelty of life. 

She sighed, this time aloud. Took the pillow, and sucked out the remaining life off Sara. The devil had acted, after all.

Monday, March 14, 2011

The cross-legged animals.

It should help, the indifference.
Or so, I thought.
You smile at me. I do not smile back. Silently hoping that you'd realize your bad. Do you? Maybe, maybe not. Do I care? You might say no to that one, but you see, that's the funny part, I do.

There is a garden, a pretty one. With flowers, freshly dewed, or maybe watered. A lot of green, red, pink, all those happy colours. Basically, its my place, the place I live in, in my dreams. I own it, and it houses my happiness. Not that I have any particular fascination with flowers. In fact, I hate them. So, let's just replace the flowers with different coloured chocolates, which taste like M&M's. You get the picture, right? I'm an awesome story-teller like that.

I sit in the garden, cross-legged, crooning to myself a very happy song. Maybe it's the Beatles. Cross-legged, because the world makes more sense that way. I see you, or maybe it's the silhouette. You won't come into the garden, cause you very well know, that the trespassers might just be killed. You read the devil inside me very well, don't you? But little do you know, that you own the garden as much as I do. The chocolates, we live on them. We both are cross-legged animals who croon along, together. 

If you want more love,
why don't you say so?
If you want more love,
why don't you say so?

We sing the same songs, almost in unison. If you want more love, why don't you say so?

Why don't you come out of the silhouette?
Why don't you step into the garden, which you own as much as I do?
Why don't you sit cross-legged with me, and help eat the flower shaped chocolates which taste like M&M's?
Why don't you talk to me, so that I start smiling?
With you, the world is a happier place, so why don't you be with me?

Sunday, March 6, 2011


A trivial thing she was,
almost unnoticed, almost non-existent.
Almost dead.