Drunken Talks: A Beautiful Vision

A hoarse call. A malodorous sensation tickled in through his nose, carrying the smell of the dead. This alerts him immediately, inducing a small dosage of terror. John looks around trying to spot the invader whose presence just broke his much needed romantic clasp, running in the background of an uncanny and surrealist nature by ruining every possible stimulus of his which throbbed of producing a string of harmonica note till then. The silence no longer speaks for it has an audience to witness the hushes it utters. It crept back to playing still, no longer clutching John.

The intruder seems to have camouflaged itself craftily, taking advantage of the darkness, its natural habitat. John can’t help, but appreciate its Machiavellian disguise and penetration in spoiling the mood. The intruder hears his thoughts and frowns upon this as it feels that it stood right before him all this time, unnoticed. The whiskey closed the doors to it, treating it as an unwelcome guest. But not today, the doors were flung open somehow and its attempts, which were in vain till then, vanquished all rivals, making its existence known to him. Just when the dirge of John’s hope of identifying it vanishes, he hears a flutter above. The intruder teases him in a playful manner.

He shifts his gaze directly at the origin of the sound immediately and finds himself looking out for something above the lamppost. The flickering light prevents his vision to make a form of the object. He steps back a few paces, rests his hand above his forehead, shunning the light as much he can and discovers a borderline of a silhouette above the lamppost. A one of a coltish fowl from the making of his blurred blaze.

“What art thou, Che? You seem to swallow up my memories, unlinking me to my dearest star, yet making me nearer to it in a forbidden way. You induce terror. You induce hope. A fool’s hope to which I clung on all this while.”

“Kraa Kraa”, the birdie replies back the same, remaining unstirred and unbothered by a response.

“Your voice bears no resemblance to any soothing note I’ve heard, but it places a sense of comfort justifying my soul and reminding me of her. O’ she was the woman. Her voice. Her chaste and godly laughter. A shockwave of a gargantuan size which struck him in his heart, leaving bits of shrapnel in him. It pricks him till date, reminding of the wonders it could do to his heart.

And all of a sudden, a vision takes over him and his eyes become stark dark when observed in the quivering light, making the light to think twice on shining on him again. A heavenly possession.

He sees her standing alone in a meadow, a vast expanse of land flushing with grass. A deep blue sky colonizes the emptiness above the land and sends in a gentle breeze occasionally across it, slapping the blossoming pasture which inhabits it in an exuberant fashion with it. She dresses in a white gown which sways gracefully as the wind charges right across her features, kissing them along. The daisies which happen to be singing a chorus of love stop abruptly, profaning their pattern and look at her in awe, grinning at her symbolizing their approval of her beauty.

A marvelous belle of the unending fields. His heart skips a beat and falls for her instantaneously. Such was her power in reinstating love in the coldest of hearts; John had but no choice in that.

The hoarse call rings one again, the echo of which seems closer to John than the previous ones. He’s in no state to heed any attention to it. Would an impending call of that unidentified fowl stir him off from the induced trance? Even if death would have shrieked at his ears, he would be the same, relishing the vision and living it.

He moves towards her end, walking through the fields in a hope to unite with her. At least now, please. He feels the earth try to shake him off the path he’s heading to but, what did it know of his burning? He goes on walking, rocking the land with his footsteps. He goes on swimming in the dark waters, splashing against the staggering and tiring waves which try to drag him down.

Finally he reaches port and looks at her who’s situated at an arm’s length from him. She lets out a snicker at his very sight, of him standing as she sees him. The cause is unknown. He doesn’t try to deduce that. He enjoys the buttery, mellow laughter which erupts from her mouth, adoring the movement of her lips swinging, whilst letting this outburst out.

Unable to restrain himself anymore, he lets go of his inhibitions and draws himself closer to her, shaking off a stimulating inertia. He places his hand on her cheekbones, cupping the soft texture of it and moves downwards towards the silky coating of a dense layer which merges into the brink of her lips; an overwhelming sensation; a gratification beyond the skill of words.

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