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Thursday, November 5, 2009

The wait...

Its still raining.

Three days. Time feels like a bubble gum stuck to the sole of your shoe.
I don’t know how long this will go on. Water runs around in little transparent
veins, sniffing out dry places and vanquishing them. They told me to wait and I waited.
I waited with all the patience that a defeated man ought to have. Waited in remorse, waited in guilt, waited in a drenched bunch of emotions.

The sky never breaks into a morning.

It goes from black to grey to black again. No sun. All that is there, is the rain. Plummeting with all its might, running amok, making a fool out of all that is living or pretending to survive.

“Soak in my might; don’t fight.
Don’t even think about it;
Its not gonna be all right…”

They told me that they would send across someone to get me out of here, get me to some
place dry. I lapped up their promises, a mongrel, and hungry since eternity. I knew they would lie. Making hollow promises comes second to betrayal in the human palette of psychological actions. But this time, they did a bend.

He came.

Carrying some clothing and some food supplies, he told me that he had been air dropped some two kilometers away. They were going to come pick us up within hours. There were other distress calls that had been detected from all across the terrain, and they were trying to get to as many as they could. He was talking too much. And he could use some respect for me.

War? What war?

I knew that I had been a commander in some forgotten part of my memory. I did not remember when the war got over; all I remember is that the gunfire and the bombs exploding in the vicinity slowly faded away. Then every sound was overshadowed by
the loud patter of rain. It did not allow you to talk or think.

Think about the rain. Think about me. Am I not enough?

He was still speaking. I stared at him, not really looking. He was getting louder, trying to cut through my defenses. I could see his lips moving, flinching like a maniac, his face streaked with water, mud and a lot more that I could not make out. I don’t like his way of talking. I am a Commander. I was one at least. Respect, please. Just a little.

He should not have slapped me.

Now there are two of us. I am still holding on to the knife. He lies there, his throat opened up like a fluffy pillow. His eyes carry the look of disbelief. Don’t tell me he did not see that coming. People with such low manners, ought to expect it sooner or later. There was a loud explosion a while back and I saw a flaming bird come crashing down into the forest. Seems like someone banged my fire exit . I have food now. And company. Not very lively, but surely well mannered.

I am still waiting…

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