Dark Clouds

Dark clouds have turned day into dullness. A magnificent wind blows, entering this window and exiting that window. It is so dark I cannot read, yet I have not switched on any lights yet. The darkness corresponds to my mood. For days now, weeks, the weather had been the same: either oppressive heat with unbearable humidity, or continuous rainfall still with humidity. Why should I call a continuous rainfall “still”? It was so. Everything was still. Days rolled into weeks, weeks into months, and yet all was still. Utter monotony. I sat on the floor, amidst cotton amd nail polish. Looking out, seeing the hours while away, away to be lost in monotony. People ask: are you well? Yes, I am well. Well enough. I have everything I could need and more: monotony. An unchanging routine with no chance of excitement. No prospect for difference for another year or so. People are dying around the globe, death visits the neighbors and here I am. Perhaps the most ungrateful of them all? Perhaps just human? Books find me a way to escape: sometimes the past, sometimes in lands so far from my eye and yet, as soon as we come back, the sameness returns, the circumstances are still, our ways uninterrupted. We have done so much and yet nothing. Looking out I see a freshness in the green of the leaves but I know as I leave the house in accordance with my routine, I shall come back to find even that stale with dust. Sometimes the rain intensifies, sometimes it calms down, sometimes it even stops. I know I have a lot to do and not enough time, yet I know if these words are not penned down they too will be lost in the vast expanses of my thoughts. Just like yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that. When I prioritise something above words, I am punished by their loss. Yet writing deprives me of words too. This is sometimes pleasant: no words to think of, a clear mind, a consciousness. However, sometimes it has the reverse effect: I am overburdened with words and they keep forming until I have no alternative except to put my mind at rest: sleep. But all this does not relieve me of the current monotony. Seeing the time, however, I realise that I have nothing new to offer to anyone. I am NOT depressed, or upset. These feelings have now turned into cliches and irritate me to an extent that is unbearable. Perhaps you wouldn’t understand, but try living your entire life with the female species of this society… particularly the Homo sapiens. Felis felidae would make a nicer alternative for this society but that has other problems and anyways, I have yet to write about that another day. Anyways, as I was saying, I am not upset or anything, I am just tired of the same sameness that engulfs my world, even though the Earth is in chaos.

Until next time, stay hydrated.

Rab Rakhan. 

(P.S. If you happen to be a female of the species mentioned, please do not be offended, I was referring to the females found in my society that I face. Just like when I do my post on the females of Felis felidae, I shall be referring to those of my society too. I should add that this post reflects my mood for this passage of time, and that almost none of my posts reflect my “permanent” moods or stances on anything, if such a thing exists. Also if there is someone genuinely depressed or upset, you have my sympathies. I was referring to all those people who have turned this into cliches. May Allah bless us all with His bounties. Remember me in your prayers.)

Her

Dry and cracked lips. A face already powdered. Two fat fingers dipped into the lip balm, and then smeared all over those lips. Trying and trying to hide. The dryness, the cracks. Anybody could’ve told she bit her lips when she was nervous. Like right now. She took out some lipstick and put it over the lip balm. Her dress seemed to be too tight for the new spots her acne had left on her back. Nevertheless, she walked out the door, feeling ugly in spite of everything she had done not to.

……….

“Ugh look what she’s wearing,” her friend whispered. “Ugly.”

“Who? What?” She answered carelessly.

“Her. Look.” And so she did. Beautiful jet black straight hair. A waist that thin. A face done up to perfection. Even if her lips were a bit cracked. The dress wasn’t ugly, it just made the rest of them feel uglier than their insides. She suddenly felt as if her own jewellery was somewhat outdated and shouldn’t have been worn at all. The earrings were the pride of her family. It was family tradition to wear them at this dinner every year. But maybe her brown hair didn’t complement her jewellery the way her mother’s had.

……….

Well now was not the time to feel so conscious about her lips. Ugly though they did seem, to her. Now was the time to feel proud of herself and show off. That is, until she hadn’t seen those two girls whispering in her direction. A taller one with an amazing jaw line. And the other, slightly shorter one with hazel eyes. And what amazing jewellery. A complete vintage look. The way she wore that chain around her neck complemented her hair perfectly. And one could tell her hair was naturally like that. The shorter one looked away carelessly. And doubt started in her mind. Perhaps her own hair were to plain.

……….

Two arms grasping the bars of an iron gate. A body trying to gather the will to let go and stand without any support. Black spots formed infront of her eyes every time she blinked. Parched lips and a smudged nose picked up the aroma of a feast here.

A black car pulled up. It was big. Bigger than the cars s he had seen in her nine years.

A man came out. Black suit. Red tie. “Out! Out you bloody little beggar! Out with you hideous beasts!”

The will was summoned for one last move. The bony arms that dragged her into the bushes beside the gate collapsed as they found fresh dirt. Her knees buckled as she saw two beautiful ladies inside the gate and a third one getting out of the car. The last thing her innocent eyes saw was the look of disgust and hatred as the man pulled out something shiny from the car.

……….

The woman must have been around thirty. Probably less. A black fur coat wrapped around her shoulders. The air of uncertainty looming around her. The driver had gotten out to get the wheel chair. Some peasant must’ve been blocking the gate. He didn’t seem too happy about that. The door opened and she placed one hand on his shoulder as he helped her in the wheelchair. Even this simple act was too tiring for her these days. She breathed deeply. Not at this party. She would get through it. Her hand instinctively went to the area above her left knee, where her leg had been amputated last year. It still hurt. A year was not enough to get used to being legless. Especially at social events like these. People judged too much. And stared. Like right at this moment, she could feel the gaze of a black haired girl from one end of the lawn and a brown haired girl with hazel eyes at the other end. She wondered what they might think about her. 

And from somewhere, just somewhere behind her, she could feel an accusing glare that seemed to penetrate through her.