” As life grows up and dreams start making sense there in, at that moment my friend, you cease to exist ” Orhan Pamuk.
I woke up as the waves crashed over the stony footway and blanketed the pebbles which had some meaning for themselves. Perhaps they wondered of the static nature of things. Or perhaps they didn’t. They were differently colored yet lifelessly created. What then am I ? Am I the water seeping through as majestically as it could or am I the pebble waiting to be washed over.
I could be either, and I could be none.
” What are you doing ?? ” an angry voice stopped me for a moment. I was not afraid, unperturbed rather, to halt the process. The boy that my hands clutched on to, struggled to breathe . His head trying to pop out of the water, trying to grab on to life, but then he had to go. Go away. A strong man clutched on to my shirt from behind , steps away from the edge of the pond, trying to pull me back. To human sanity. But if I couldn’t let him die, he would never cease to exist. It had to be me. I had enough of his unbearable mimicking. Anything i do and of everything I do.
I stood up, as the waves subsided. A pleasant pecking was what they did now. Cold winds blew over my face as wetness of life dried up. You know the feeling? where you walk the fine line between sanity and insanity , and you wish you would stumble . The chance of getting somewhere sooner, if only you fall. Of not taking the stairs and letting go. I turned in these thoughts to walk back to a destination, i knew not where. A tree perhaps. A pond. Or the falling sky. Who knew. I could be anywhere but ironically I needed to be somewhere. Isn’t it tiring to just walk.
” Leave him. What is wrong with you ” The strong man pushed me away from my intent and anger. Reason never existed. Never meant anything. Once I was pinned down to the ground, the strong man got to saving another life drowning into abyss. He pulled him out, slowly and carefully. But then there’s the thing with anger, it never goes away. It may go amiss for some moments, but it’s still there. Waiting for a window. A chance. And there was mine. The strong man had stepped away from the drowning boy, trying to find some warmth for him. A mistake. A horrible mistake. Just as he turned, i plunged at him. Pushing him off the edge with all my might. And this time I had to make sure. I jumped in along with him. Grabbing his shirt and taking him underwater. Both struggled. Both fought. Both died.
Who was i then. The boy who pushed or the boy who woke up. The boy who had a choice. Or the boy who had life. The one who drowned or the one who stood up. I walked over the ledge, over the gardens teeming with sunshine. Over the murky meadows and the testing moonlights to find the pond. An old man sat there , at the edge. Throwing stones in it, with destined trajectories . It was him, the strong man who killed both of us. Us, now that I think of it, makes more sense than anything. Have i dreamt of nothing but the oddity of a dream. We both were dreams of one another. Each filling a void of another. Each mirroring a truth in both of us. Again who was what. I approached the old man, beaten of time and tempered with thought. He turned up to look at me. Then there were three of us. He survived. Not either of us. But both of us. Both who drowned and all who lived. All of us and all of me.