He walked with nervous anticipation… his hands hanging awkwardly by his sides… his fingers felt like forgotten acquaintance – their movements a vague memory of a subconscious past. He trudged slowly to the farthest room of the house – the place he called his haven amidst madness. Did he still belong? Would he still match up with the sanctity of his refuge? The thought had held him back for weeks. But he had to try, or what was he but another mortal drowning in the sea of life? He had to try… he took a long breath and walked towards the closed door.
One step after another, the door got closer. He held the knob and gave it a twist. It felt like before, but as the tiny dark room showed itself, the hesitation resurfaced. At the centre sat a chair and his violin lay on it, just like he had left it a few months ago, before the accident, before the physiotherapy. He stepped in the room, the door clicked shut behind him. The dwindling light of an impending dusk filtered through the curtains making the shadow of the chair longer, beckoning him.
He held the violin in his hands and sat on the chair, adjusting his spine to its curves. The grip of the violin evoked a flood of memories; his fingers found their purpose again. Holding it in one hand, he strummed a few strings – the awkward spurts of sound brought a smile to his face. Arching his back, he held the violin between his left shoulder and chin and lifted the bow to playfully draw a few strings. The resulting clumsy sound, made him laugh like a child. Nervous, anxious wave of energy ran through him… he had not lost his way after all… It would take a while, but he still belonged… and that’s all that mattered.
This is a tribute to my blog; I am getting back to writing with the same trepidation as my MC.
It feels so good to write something again! It’s like finding my equilibrium in a way no form of meditation ever can.
Love to all!
The left heel surged ahead without warning, pulling along the unaware knee coupled with it. Stuck in its sense of righteousness, the other foot stood grounded where it was, leaving the connected knee in a limbo. Not knowing better the confused back tried to flee the scene in vain by yanking itself backwards. The conflicted right knee twitched in pain and finally caved in to the pressure of holding the weight of the entire body. The shock of the fall reverberated through my hips and rattled through my spine.
All I could manage was a weak smile as my friend gave me a hand and pulled me back on my feet. I am limping back on track slowly. Nothing seems to be broken… yet.
But only time will tell.
She closed the door behind her, the letter still in her hand.
Unfortunately we have to conclude that we do not have a good fit at this time, it read.
She walked away from the concrete road to the barren hills. A sight stopped her, made her sit down, tears filling her eyes.
An oak-nut had found its way in this disparate land of rocks and sparse soil, and had rooted itself determinedly. There will be an oak tree in this unseemly place soon, much to everyone’s surprise.
And she happily started for home. She too will surprise the world!
Inspired by this 100 Word photo prompt by Madison:
This was a super extended weekend and I made the most of it by meeting two of my dearest friends from school. While I keep meeting one of them every now and then (to my utmost pleasure!), I was meeting the other one after almost 8 years! It has been about 3 days now, but I am still basking in the glory of my friend (who was seeing me after 8 years) telling me that I have not changed at all except for becoming less serious and more expressive… so that’s progress! 😀
It is at times like these that the unsocial animal that I am, can’t help but concede that being social is a fundamental necessity of our breed. Imagine a life with absolutely no one to share a careless laugh with, or no one to share an embarrassing incident with! What would you do with an otherwise unnoticed comical observation if there was no one to share it with later? And imagine carrying the burden of all the pathos of life on your frail shoulders all the time!
Being a strong patron of solitude and personal space, I am quite amused by my admission to such thoughts and ideas. Perhaps it is a recent revelation, but I doubt that it’s a recent development. One needs pals, all the time!
The younger the age at which we make our buddies, the more pristine and guileless the equation is. For example, I can’t imagine saying things I say to my closest buddies in jest to someone I meet now. This perhaps is a very common observation, but I can’t help but wonder, when all of us feel the same, what makes us open up with the old buddies and act like an epitomized version of etiquettes with the rest of the world?
Whatever it is, I wouldn’t care to know.
As long as the few who matter are abreast, I shall happily sail through the rest! 🙂