And he sat there, below the flimsy shade of the elephant tree, gleefully shielded from the wayward blaze of the summer sun. His vision flailed, across the vast void of emptiness, into the dreadful evasiveness, he was now trapped into. He was dejected at this very prospect, for the stream of essential hope he had clinged onto, was running itself dry upon this dreary wasteland. Sweat trickled down in acute proportions and he felt as if he was nearing an inglorious end. He wanted to live. But there was something within him, which wasn’t entirely him or surreally his and it didn’t. He closed his eyes, they were too incapacitative, too tired to indulge with reality. He felt something within his body causing a rummage, trying to break itself free from the concrete box, from all this pain. His body flinched in a crackling display of mortality. The probation period was crippling, too. The court proceedings and the scourge of living in jail had petrified him, triffled him, back then.
But at least, he was aware then, if not alive. The hapless isolation he felt here was different than the loneliness, he had encountered when lodged in that tiny compartment. His eyes stung; too unavailing to be of use. Another flinch almost crippled him, leaving his body- in a state of jeopardy; too still, too lifeless. And then he thought of Myriam. Myriam. The justification for this sinful desire of pleading for mercy, clinging to life. He wanted to live for her. For Myriam. His penchant for life reasoned with Myriam. Her impeccable face ran through his blurred vision. So dearly did he wish to see her! In his last moments. He wanted to profess his love.
And at that precise moment, something within him snapped, rather deliriously. It didn’t make a chime of a sound but he was sure that he had heard something snap. He saw his vision blurring, saw the unscathed sky galvanizing with the layer of ground like two entwined lovers. He felt a subtle current, originating from the lower end of his spine, carving up its path, rising rapidly, rushing its way, hurrying tourtuously towards his christ center. Breathing became an arduous task, too tiring an obligation to undertake. He sipped and galloped air down his throat, his body refused to take it any further. He tried again, more consciously but to no avail.
A paranormal force which never reckoned its presence rushed its way and it struck, struck phard as a hammer, thereby crushing his fragile hopes of living into such infinitesimal pieces that they(& he) appeared long dead.
Myriam was sitting on the veranda. Her gaze was transfixed into nothingness, remoteness adored her face like an ornament. Suddenly she felt the wind, the eastward wind, the one which came from the dreary wasteland blazing past her, into her. She felt the tingling, the sensation, the cacophony, the shrieked tone of a redundant voice, ringing in a dried tone. “Myriam”, it bore, “I love you.” Myriam stood up in a flash, startling the air, with her frisk moment. She hurried towards the door, ensuringly bolted it from inside. Tears rolled down her cheeks. She was crying. She was crying for Ali.
The Great Perhaps 