A walk in the clouds
some say death is scary. some say that when death comes for them, they will look him in the eye and tell him to bugger off.
no one really does. most just sleep right through it. everyone close their eyes- no one wants to see death truly.
death comes in many ways- stealthily, unexpectedly but no one ever expects death. no one but frank.
frank simply put was an oddball. ofcourse he would take great offense at that statement. i can just hear him-
"excuse me sir! i am many things, an oddball i am not!"
who cares. frank was an old man who had been through all of life's circus. he had earned, worked and just when it was his turn to truly live- someone tried to kill him.
it wasn't a very smart attempt i must say- scallops filled with peanuts. frank was deathly allergic to peanuts; he ended up spending a month in the ICU. but then on, he was on his guard, yes he was. not a waking moment was spent not alert. and the nights- yes.... the nights were spent in dreams.
dreams of expectedly-death.
frank dreamt in his detail in explicit detail in a million ways.
*
He woke up in a surprisingly good mood. He got up, showered, had breakfast and left home. It was a sunny day and he liked walking along the park. He met his friends and had a delicious lunch. As he walked out of the restaurant, he turned a corner and saw a gun being brandished at an old lady; he tried to step away but the stranger suddenly turned to him and a shot rang out. The last thing he saw was a pool of red spreading on his shirt.
*
all of it was true for frank. he dreamt of death so many times, in so many ways; soon they were no longer dreams- they were his memories.
*
He woke up early in the morning and went about his manner whistling. he got dressed and left his house. He met his friends and was walking back home. the light turned red and he started to cross the road. a car came out of nowhere and suddenly frank was in the air. the last thing he saw was the stranger driving away; smirking as frank lay in his own blood.
*
frank was a man reborn everyday; reliving his death from last night; checking himself for stab wounds, bullet wounds, blood gushing out of a hole in his side. nothing ever existed. he would wake everyday whole in body but missing a part of his spirit, his mind.
on a monday frank dreamt of the stranger, scythe in hand, in an overcoat. he knew the end was near and there was nothing he could do. he further retreated into his shell and now lived in a single room in the middle of nowhere. that last day frank couldn't sleep; he knew the stranger was waiting for him and he didn't want to go. but as he fell asleep with a resigned air, nothing could have prepared him for what was to come.
*
as usual frank woke whole and hearty in the morning. passing through the motions, he glimpsed the stranger many times, a strange unease setting in his heart. by dusk, he was at an absolute low. he knew what was coming and as the stranger approached, frank's heart beat a wild rhythm. the stranger did nothing but extend his hand- as he took it, frank didn't go cold but was instantly warmed. he didn't fall but instead he rose. he went higher and higher till he could not see anything below. as he took a walk in the clouds, he looked back repeatedly for reassurance and every single time he saw the stranger help him and support him as he walked.
*
that morning when frank woke, he no longer feared death. he didn't expect death, but if it came, he would welcome it.
i personally liked that. some say that when death comes for them, they will look him in the eye and tell him to bugger off. i find that amusing. no one's ever done that. look me in the eye. ha! i'd like to see them try.
i didn't come for frank that day or the day after; but when i did, frank wasn't scared. he got up and took another walk in the clouds with me.
i don't normally change lives, i take them away. But i changed frank's life. and maybe he changed mine. It was refreshing to be welcomed for once.
no one really does. most just sleep right through it. everyone close their eyes- no one wants to see death truly.
death comes in many ways- stealthily, unexpectedly but no one ever expects death. no one but frank.
frank simply put was an oddball. ofcourse he would take great offense at that statement. i can just hear him-
"excuse me sir! i am many things, an oddball i am not!"
who cares. frank was an old man who had been through all of life's circus. he had earned, worked and just when it was his turn to truly live- someone tried to kill him.
it wasn't a very smart attempt i must say- scallops filled with peanuts. frank was deathly allergic to peanuts; he ended up spending a month in the ICU. but then on, he was on his guard, yes he was. not a waking moment was spent not alert. and the nights- yes.... the nights were spent in dreams.
dreams of expectedly-death.
frank dreamt in his detail in explicit detail in a million ways.
*
He woke up in a surprisingly good mood. He got up, showered, had breakfast and left home. It was a sunny day and he liked walking along the park. He met his friends and had a delicious lunch. As he walked out of the restaurant, he turned a corner and saw a gun being brandished at an old lady; he tried to step away but the stranger suddenly turned to him and a shot rang out. The last thing he saw was a pool of red spreading on his shirt.
*
all of it was true for frank. he dreamt of death so many times, in so many ways; soon they were no longer dreams- they were his memories.
*
He woke up early in the morning and went about his manner whistling. he got dressed and left his house. He met his friends and was walking back home. the light turned red and he started to cross the road. a car came out of nowhere and suddenly frank was in the air. the last thing he saw was the stranger driving away; smirking as frank lay in his own blood.
*
frank was a man reborn everyday; reliving his death from last night; checking himself for stab wounds, bullet wounds, blood gushing out of a hole in his side. nothing ever existed. he would wake everyday whole in body but missing a part of his spirit, his mind.
on a monday frank dreamt of the stranger, scythe in hand, in an overcoat. he knew the end was near and there was nothing he could do. he further retreated into his shell and now lived in a single room in the middle of nowhere. that last day frank couldn't sleep; he knew the stranger was waiting for him and he didn't want to go. but as he fell asleep with a resigned air, nothing could have prepared him for what was to come.
*
as usual frank woke whole and hearty in the morning. passing through the motions, he glimpsed the stranger many times, a strange unease setting in his heart. by dusk, he was at an absolute low. he knew what was coming and as the stranger approached, frank's heart beat a wild rhythm. the stranger did nothing but extend his hand- as he took it, frank didn't go cold but was instantly warmed. he didn't fall but instead he rose. he went higher and higher till he could not see anything below. as he took a walk in the clouds, he looked back repeatedly for reassurance and every single time he saw the stranger help him and support him as he walked.
*
that morning when frank woke, he no longer feared death. he didn't expect death, but if it came, he would welcome it.
i personally liked that. some say that when death comes for them, they will look him in the eye and tell him to bugger off. i find that amusing. no one's ever done that. look me in the eye. ha! i'd like to see them try.
i didn't come for frank that day or the day after; but when i did, frank wasn't scared. he got up and took another walk in the clouds with me.
i don't normally change lives, i take them away. But i changed frank's life. and maybe he changed mine. It was refreshing to be welcomed for once.
Wow. WOW.
ReplyDeleteDude. I swear. This is one of your BEST work.
It reminds me of The Tale of the Three Brothers. And the Book Thief. Which is a very good thing, btw. I love both.
ReplyDeleteVery very nicely written. Love it :)