A black comdedy

It was a dark room. The door opened swiftly when I turned the knob, I locked it and lost myself in the darkness. I was hoping someone waiting for me. No, someone waiting for the door to open and hoping someone else to come in. I had. But there was only a faint red light.

Momentarily a face would glow red, then I would hear her heavy breath. And I would imagine the smoke rising up straight from her heart.

I tried to locate something within touch to sit down upon, found nothing. I took a step forward and hit the bed. I stepped back and leaned to the wall on my back. And then I stealthily put my right foot at the wall. For sometime I rubbed my shin and then rested my hand on my knee. Those black eyes, reflecting a kind of certainty nowhere around, hadn’t acknowledged my arrival. I wiped off a few drops of sweat dripping down. Suddenly I became self-conscious, I wiped my face clean and smelled my breath. I checked if the deodorant faded off.

For sometime, I tried to gaze into the rhythmically reflecting eyes. My curiosity was insatiable, I was trying to read her age, her condition, her past, her last hour, her mood, her feelings….

The cigarette was put off and I felt a gripping silence. I didn’t mind the darkness. But like everything else of my life, even it was fading away. And I would see the white bedspread-a sight of which was making me uncomfortable, the white switchboard-I would stay away from, and few sheets of paper on the table, perfect to write the suicide note. Slowly I discovered her, laying gloomy on her back, her lips locked with an unlit cigarette, her hands behind head black hair adding comfort of the pillows, her legs together but folded at keens. She rested her heel at the margin of the bed so that her feet remained dangling. Like the two little birds coming out of water, shaking off the water and about to take off.

Yet she was stung to that bed, for who knows how many years- recount in minute and hours as I did outside- as the bedspread changed colors, as the other face in the room changed. But inside the mirror, while looking at her wrinkles, in the virtual world of images, hers was lonely. So was her heart.

It was a call my cell phone that brought me back. I took a few seconds to answer it. And I realised it was not all that dark inside. That she had been looking at me, or at my awkwardness from the beginning- pointedly and bemused. I blushed, scratched my hair and look out of the window, as I always did. It was wide shut.

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