Tragedy of Wanderer

Scribbling:

Tragedy of Wanderer:

“He stayed there whole night, looking out of the window, waiting for her, for she had asked him to, for he wanted to, for this was supposed to be the last meeting for them. He knew it, she knew it. He was here to kill her; she was to come there to get killed. They were always coherent, they probably understood each other more then they understood themselves on their own. They had barely met more than a couple of times. He would come and sit there on a solitary table by the corner; she would notice and come to take his order. He would always order a glass of scotch, neat; he didn’t like to dilute the taste. She would serve him with dead eyes, no emotions, he would notice it without letting her know but could he, she had been in there since her childhood, she had seen people like him coming for their target again and again, she knew him the instant he entered the bar. She knew he was here to kill, and the moment she saw him observing here through smokes she knew it was her, she was the target. She had nothing to complain; she had fought her battle for too long, killing her would not have served any one’s purpose. Then why someone would want her dead, he was thinking sipping his single malt.

She had shown him his room and he sat by the window waiting for her to come back after closing the bar. It was raining heavily and he could feel tiny droplets hitting his stark face as if trying to dilute him. He did not realize how long it had been when suddenly he felt as if he could see distant mountain, there weren’t any clouds anymore. But something was wrong, he felt it was not really day, for there were no light, it was dark, still, but how come those mountains were visible in such darkness, he could even see woods, village at distance, people wandering around, all soaked in dark. He was puzzled, was he drunk, did she sedate him; he splashed a handful of water on his face, but still all dark. He looked towards sky and saw a dark round object; he could not look at it more than a couple of seconds. Suddenly a thought strike him, has the sun gone dark?

Imagine a world with a dark sun, all you see around is darkness, but dark enough to see it all as clear as ever. A world habitual of waking up to dark sun at dawn and sleeping to a dark moon by dusk. A world where the light has no place and we would do everything to keep the lights away. Imagine a world where we are exposed to ourselves and have no means to hide our sins, where the light is discriminated as carrier of lies and manipulations. She appeared to him like that dark moon he thought of just now, soft yet subtle, a distinct edge of darkness all around, he imagined her melting herself drop by drop through the night and suddenly he felt he was drowning.

Knock, knock! Suddenly he woke up to a gentle and a low yet firm voice at the door. Was he having a nightmare, before he could even blink or think of he felt a touch of cold metal against his neck, cold enough to send a shiver down his spine. He always thought himself dead enough to feel no emotion, but what he felt just now, was it fear…?”

To be continued…