It was a silent, innocuous knock,
so faint it could hardly be heard over the flakes of ash that fell from above.
The sky was red- a shade so deep that it looked painted- and so it was, painted
with the madness that besieged the land. Innumerable candles flickered outside
and every gust of choking wind snuffed out more than a mere wick. The air was
heavy with a mixture of emotions rubbed raw, like the chafing at your wrists
when the rope is too tight.
Looking back, the only thing
Oskar remembered from then was surprise at the incongruity of a knock at such a
time. “No”, he whispered silently and then with a force born of rage and grief
and despair at the sheer absurdity of it all, “No”. He leaned down and looked
at her lifeless face and Oskar kissed his best friend, Eva, soft and true on her
lips. Their teeth collided on the demolished world that was his now. She tasted
like regret in the shadows of trees and when he pulled himself away, his hands
were trembling.
A shadow flitted out from the
eaves and came to stand beside the small crumpled body he was clutching to
himself. He looked up to see a single
drop of tear run down from the lifeless eyes of the figure, turning to ice even
as it fell, until eons later, it shattered on the cold, hard floor. There were
so many things he wanted to ask Death, the countless questions piling up like
propaganda. “Why us?” “Because”, she answered looking him in the eyes, “I am
haunted by humans.”
[Image: Ken Matsubara, Winter Dreams - Letters, 2011]
