>I didn’t want to get out. Didn’t see no reason to. I was safe inside, warm and comfortable. It was akin to being in a suspended state of dream and sleep, that gray area of subconscious and conscious. At times, it got slightly claustrophobic. But one gets over that when one looks at the burden-less existence inside. The protection is only cherished.

I felt I had everything I needed here. I had vague distant memories which seemed to have been born very recently. Before that, I don’t remember. Maybe there was nothing. Maybe, I was nothing. Now, I can feel what is happening within and around me, despite my inability to make any sense out of it.

At times, despite all my attempts, the world outside turns to affect me. Those moments are earth quakes, shaking me up, ruining the arrangement of things inside. The noises would be even louder, leaving small reverberations for a long time. Then it would take me days to settle back into the calm peace of this place and relax.

I think my walls have ears. They can hear everything that I have on my mind, or rather feel it. Even I could feel it at times. When I’d be nervous or high-strung, it would seem that the walls around were constricting and thudding with a dangerous beat. And at times, I could feel a slight shiver and tingling run across them, imbuing me with that same light-headed feeling. The word for that feeling was happy. Else, the rest of the time, I felt warm, safe and comfortable; and the word for these together can only be content. That constant bubble was perturbed from time to time by the place outside, with its people and rush and excesses.

I could sense that they wanted me to leave. The feeling of claustrophobia overtook me more often, but I’d still manage to get over those. I didn’t want to leave. I saw no reason to leave.

Till it was time. Till my walls evicted me. Those hours were the most difficult hours of my short-lived life within. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t turn inside to look. I couldn’t sink back into the soft beating of my heart and slight thumping of those walls. No longer was I able to curl up into myself and fall asleep.

With a great heave and a cry, I was out. Out there, naked and gasping for air, uttering an agitated cry for being thrown out of my own place. I opened my eyes to find bright blurred lights shining from behind huge faces and heads.

I was outside. I became an outsider then. There was only one thing connecting me to my way inside. Could I have gone back? After they cut the cord, I knew the answer to that was never. In my later years, I would go on to say that that was the first bruise life gave me.

Photo by: Sans.ability


One thought on “>Emergence

  1. >Beautiful. Just beautiful. The first bruise life inflicted on me ending was the icing on the cake. You have a penchant for conveying emotions so effortlessly. We have a story writing contest and would love to see you participate. Below are the details : INDImag’s Katha Sagar Contest. USD $150/- in Prizeswww.INDImag.comStories have a way of connecting people and touching their hearts. Like a good cup of coffee, a thriller can stimulates one’s senses and linger on far after enjoying it, while at the diametric opposite end of the spectrum, a story that your grandmother narrated to you as a kid, soothed you to sleep and filled you with sweet dreams.Stories, like clay, provide an endless medium of possibilities limited only by the author’s imagination. We want to unleash a sea of these stories. Hence Katha Sagar..

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s