Cost of Tears

She got down from the hammock, eased on an easy chair on the beach and stared at the Sun for few seconds. On her left was an old lady and on her right there were three undergraduate college girls who came to enjoy the beach on spring break. She picked up Cosmocomics by Italo Calvino. As she read the book, inanimate objects surrounding her started to live the life in front of her. It became tough for her to look at a beer bottle without listening to her love life, the popcorn machine told the story of hardworking guy with a single hope to make children happy, the plate and cutlery constituted a part of dysfunctional family where fights more common, the tire of trucks on the road read the plea of retirement, a cap left in restaurant gave her visions of responsibility of a captain, to whom it might have belonged and cellphone – most loved and hated person of her life. She dropped the book on her breast and stared at the Sun again. How else she could explain her tears to girls lying on easy chair right next to her?

“You shouldn’t stare at the sun this much,” the older lady said to her. She smiled. She felt an in suppressible urge to share her love story with her.

“You are right.” She only said this. Then, she smiled, and she wiped away her tears.

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Rape of Death

              Death has been raped, as usual, in front of everyone. No one comes to help her. She lay in the center of the road, with her clothes torn and strewn around, naked. Passersby wonder where has building of aristocrats, who ran an NGO for orphan Deaths, disappeared. Some of them glances at her and passes her by. A few of them stands on their ground, unsure of what they are seeing: an image of their mother, sister, or daughter or simply a sex object. Within minute’s time, she will be a sensation. Her blurry naked video will be telecasted on new channels and spread out on newspapers. Then, whatever had happened to her will become a taboo to talk, which in turn make her a taboo as well. She sobs. No one approaches her for a long time.

              An elderly gentleman shades her eyes and put his patched coat over her. Then, he pulls her up and wraps the coat around her. As it is fated, she is still bleeding. She lit up, instantly as she has been touched. Fire emanates from the patched coat. A fire engulfs the elderly gentleman. He vanishes from the spot. Naked death walks away, taking the memory of incident with her.

              Death’s childhood wasn’t unique either: her parents had been dead before she could understand the word ‘parents.’ The Living took advantage of Death ever since. She couldn’t do anything for she wasn’t aware about the power deep inside her. The blood that spurted out of her on her thirteenth birthday gave her power to burn. She burned down her own hut, her only possession, and the rapists alive. Then, she was ready to snatch the life out of Living, whenever they forcefully bled her, like those aristocratic NGOs.

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