A Silent Haunting

“Am I the only man in your life?” he asked squeezing some more mayonnaise in his burger.

“Yes you are, sweetheart” she smiled.

He innocently giggled hiding his face behind his hands.

“Come on now; finish up your burger Mr. Jameson. We have to go home and feed Larry” she said.

He still did not hurry and they sat there talking about the movie they’d just watched. The weekend had come to an end, but for them it had just begun.

Sitting on a table beside them, he watched them talk. They meant the world to him. A world blissfully complete in its existence and he was so glad about it. They got up after sometime and he followed them towards the exit. He silently followed them on the deserted road. The cold December winds muffled the sound of church bells echoing from somewhere. He heard them argue about what would be the perfect Christmas gift? The conclusion was a chocolate factory. This made him giggle, but thankfully they didn’t turn back and notice him.

The ice cream stall was parked on the street adjoining their home. Two Choco blasts were ordered. He wanted to order a blackcurrant fury, but he remained silent. After finishing their ice creams while debating some more about going to watch football on Christmas Eve, they headed back home. He followed them all the way inside the house. He sneaked in and sat on a couch, behind the book shelf.

After hearing tooth-brush strokes and their conversations, silence finally took over. He carefully sneaked inside the room watching them sleep, like a fairy with a little angel wrapped in her arms.

“Good night fellows” he whispered.

He picked up a photo kept on the bed side table, “At least I’m with you somehow” he said wiping off its surface.

= = = = =

Faith

It was like any other Monday morning. Mr. Johnson strapped up his shoes and walked towards the front door with his walking stick.

After all these years, he had painted a picture in his mind, of the world outside. The people who greeted him, the dogs who ran up to him, showering him with their enthusiastic display of love, the children who came to shake hands with him. For every time he rang the bell on his walking stick, he got a response.

Mr Johnson had everything calculated , from the walk to the park, to the particular bench where he used to sit, listening to the passersby talk about their stressful lives. Sometimes he used to indulge in a silent prayer, and sometimes he broke into a long forgotten song. He didn't mind sitting behind a permanent curtain of darkness.

The walk back home was calculated too. Mr. Johnson took the road less taken, passing by the antique shops and artist stalls, away from the busy high way. That particular day his walk back home seemed different. There were noises of motors, and people calling out to each other. For a moment, Mr. Johnson felt he had miscalculated his steps. He stood there, randomly ringing his bell, waiting for his realization to reach a conclusion. Just then, he sensed a man walk up to him, "The government folks are getting this old road repaired" he heard the voice say. "I'll be glad to guide you back from an alternate way"

“I’m Richard” the voice said as Mr. Johnson sensed a hand in front of him, inviting a handshake.

Mr. Johnson didn't give a second thought and shook hands with Richard. For he could sense the right people, and this man for some strange reason seemed kind. They made their way through the crowded path way which ran parallel to the highway. Mr. Johnson felt comfortable talking to Richard, who was a patient listener, telling him about how neglecting a son and a daughter in law can be, and how lovely his grandson Andy is.

"Andy, loves making hot chocolate. Once we reach home you're in for a treat!" he said.

They slowly crossed the highway ignoring furious honks by people in their early morning hurry, and headed towards the lane which finally made Mr. Johnson feel that he was home, as he felt the path with his walking stick.

"You've been of great help, Richard. I owe you one! “said Mr. Johanson when they reached the front door of his house. “You should come in" he added.

"Some other day, sir"

"God bless you my friend. The world isn't that generous to a blind man" said Mr. Johnson.

"Without a helping hand, we’re all blind" Richard said, rhythmically ringing his own bell.

Both men could somehow picture each other's smile.

= = = = = =

Without a helping hand, we’re all blind. Yep.

She

It seems like yesterday when I'd fallen in love with her. She was always there, right in front of me, laughing her heart out at my poor humor, smiling in response to my senseless rattling. When the nights used to get cold and dark, I helplessly watched her weep. My helplessness, triggered by my inability to reach her, physically and emotionally. An invisible barrier made me unable to embrace the pain that she felt deep inside.

After surviving her emotional storms, she shone like the early morning sun in the dawn. She made me dread the nights, nights which awakened her pain and exploited my helplessness to console her.

On one night, she was weeping her heart out and like always I tried reaching out to her with my hands stopping at a distance. I waited for her eyes to meet mine and when that happened, her teary eyes tried talking out to me. She hesitantly raised a finger at something behind me. I stepped aside to see a dark figure hiding in the mist, somewhere ahead. Suddenly I saw her running towards the dark figure. She stood in front of the dark figure and began weeping. The figure remained as still as a limestone idol.

I noticed the bubble around her reflecting light. I realized my inability to reach her. For she was a prisoner, sentenced because she loved a worthless man with all her heart.

= = = = = = =

Comments welcomed...

When The Night Came To Life

He carefully lit three candles placed on a dusty table and opened the window a little, exposing a bright moon outside. A gentle breeze welcomed his gesture. He sat on a chair and began pouring his drink, hearing the liquid patter in the empty glass.

A figure appeared from the darkness. It blew the candles, headed towards the gramophone and pushed its needle down. The moonlight fell on a face which displayed beauty as clear as a dew drop. Violins started to echo as she walked towards him, with her long locks tenderly touching her waist. It was like the night had finally come to life. She sat besides him and wrapped him in her arms. He placed his head on her bosom and watched the moon outside.

The next morning he woke up on his chair. The sun was just about to rise, letting in the first signs of light through the window. He opened his eyes and saw the bottle before him, which wasn’t empty, even by a slightest bit. The glass was empty and cold.

For some reason, tears started rolling from his eyes as he managed to smile.

#StorySeptember - Wrap up

Hello one and all !

It was fun rolling a story all through September. Although, I never expected that it would turn out to be THIS successful.

This actually turned out to be a nice creative exercise to stimulate those creative juices in my head. There were days when I was down and out , but the thought of rolling a story always motivated me to shift gears. Despite the lame story flow, the countless typos and grammatical errors, a story was formulated. I'm actually proud of this accomplishment, as even a bad form of art, is art in the end.

As of now the stats are showing 13,000+ hits. I'd like to thank all those who followed the story all through the month and even those who dropped by to read a chapter or two.

Special mentions-

@Dedhshaani

For surviving through all the chapters till the end.

Check her awesome story blog.

@69fubar

For the countless re-tweets.

You can check out his story blog which is a masterpiece in itself.

There are many many stories to be told before I hit my grave...

Till the next time, it's me signing off...