People say that time goes by; time says that the people go by.
Living life and expecting death
Life as we know it exists between two predefined points: birth and death. We spend a lot of our time around the concept of birth. In fact, we even have a dedicated day to remember and celebrate it every year. The recognition of death as part of life, on the other hand, is something we rarely come across. We spend every day not thinking about it — we actively avoid thinking about it. It is quite natural to live that way. However, two things changed that for me over the last many months.
For almost a year now (or about 47.95% of 2018) I haven’t been able to post properly on my blog. In fact, it was back in May that I last published something. It was a short fiction story that I titled Twice Upon a Time.
I could cite several reasons such as academic work, internships, or freelancing taking up my time and energy making the blog take the backseat. But the truth is that I feel that it was my choice as well. I’ve hardly done creatively satisfying work for what seems to be a really long time. I have been creating content, but truth be told, it wasn’t satisfying. I’ve taken out a piece of paper or opened up my blog to write, but to no avail.
Today would be the last day in his dorm room. He had finished packing his stuff and would be leaving behind a bunch of old clothes that he wouldn’t find a use for. He double-checked to see if he was carrying his lucky shoelaces, the ones that earned him his nickname through college. He would have walked right into the course of a car and had tripped over the laces and fell down. It was a brush with death, but ever since then, life had turned out to be just like his nickname: Perfect. His photographic memory brought back traumatic moments from the past when he should have simply died but survived solely due to his perfect luck.
Something pulled him back to the moment. It was an unnerving feeling like the calm before the storm. His confusion was replaced by disbelief as he saw himself walk in.
“Stop,” the lead archaeologist cried out, “I think we found something.”
“According to my research of the cross-lingual lexico-semantic transfer, I believe this stone has inscriptions that contain incredible information about the culture of the people who lived right here…”
12 seconds to go up a flight of stairs, 5 to dash across the overhead footpath, and 10 steps to come down right next to the train – leaving us with under a minute to spend before the train departs.
And yet, I stay here on the other end of the railway station, sending a predetermined message of farewell, written earlier in the day.
As my message lights up the phone’s screen, I can spot the smile that’s enough for me – I don’t want us to see each other, just to be separated in under a minute by predetermined fate.
This is a response to Sonya’s challenge, 3 Line Tales, where we write 3 lines about the picture above.
My writing is a bit rusty 🙂 It’s been months since I last wrote fiction. Hoping to change habits, again. Also, I’ve been unable to add comments on other blog’s posts. Have any of you faced something similar? If so, how do I set it right?