Viviana Lena
Sep 8, 2018 · 2 min read

Satin Coffins

The bed felt like a satin coffin full of red roses. The soft and the thorny. She wondered if it would feel this way when she dies. A soft pain throbbing in the right side of her chest. A tingling that reminds you of a life when someone close to you has to go away. To be lost. From relationships forged over day dreams and eye locks when you're at that little girl in love age.

They never came. Even if she asked, he'd always make a fuss about it and then complain to her mum. To avoid that pain, she'd say, it's okay. Like it didn't matter. Like she couldn't care less.

On a cold December morning, last year , she cried through the auto journey. The wind who knew her reasons and loved her could only pat them dry. Her cheeks remained coldly wet. Atleast Mr. Wind was happy she was back. Like she promised him. On the First of December I'll be in Bangalore. Promise.
But only he cared, I suppose. Neither them. Nor him. (Atleast not until later.)

V would tell her, as they ate out of Swiggied Chinese that she wouldn't take it from her set of old ones. They better be there. She said. One time, he didn't come and I put up a fight. Ever since then, they haven't dared.

Displacements are hard like the barks of trees. Facing the changing winds through the seasons, supplying blood from the inside.

Every second. How do we sustain life otherwise? But what when the bark is stripped away? What then? Will you say time? Time who will blow threads of bark-like tenderness over its song?

Just someone. Just someone. I wouldn't. She says. I really wouldn't if they showed they cared. I really wouldn't. I'm sorry. She says. I'm sorry I loved.

When she finally gets up from the bed, she tries to think of better things. Like hugs and old friends. (But what if this world is so delicate that old friends can be nullified? Overnight? What then? How delicate are you then? Or her or even me?)

When she goes over to A's room, to leave the keys by, they're all smiley. Oh lovely, she says. Okay bye. She says. You don't have to she says. Over and over again. No, but it's okay. A brushes it away, like the grass when the wind blows over.

They walk her to the ends of the gate. Neither V nor S have done this for her. Not even when her bag was heavier than a load of bricks. They tell her she must increase the price of the auto to the station to 20. In this darkness and in the scarcity, she won't find one, they tell her. Finally, they see her into an auto that stoops by the side of the dark lonely road. Have lots of fun, they say.
Like most goodbyes, she carelessly waves.
The wind is calm. Soft. Amiable.
Sam hugged her before she left for class.

She doesn't start to cry until she's on the train to Bangalore.

Viviana Lena

Written by

Writer. Dreamer. Curious Creature.

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