. break of Reality .

Episode 3 . The Opus .



the plates were already laid, of course. Raghav took the chair right next to the kitchen door; after placing the fudge in the freezer and a quick kiss on Raghav upturned lips, the other chair was occupied too.

...they had never wanted a square table; or a rectangular one or a circular one. they had never wanted more than 2 chairs and they had never wanted them on opposite ends. What they had now was the perfect shape, a curved bean, it looked like a boomerang frozen mid flight thanks to the clever designing Raghav used.

the two seats, nestled in the crook like a pile of pillows, were just as comfortable; cozy, intimate and Quirky.
Holding hands across a cold wooden top sort of  paled in comparison to dinners in embraces; a constant they came back to every evening;  
Just like this one...

 

                Raghav looked up from the caressing fingers into the affectionate eyes; sensual and yet so peaceful. They truly made him believe that Ignorance was Bliss.

how ironic that the clichés of life should seem the most real right before a dramatic event. However, clichés are clichéd precisely because they are true; no one gives them much credit, sort of like the everyday town bus.

he couldn't undo the knowing; and if Knowledge was Power and with Power came Responsibility, then with some twisted logic, it was up to him to take the decision, to set everything right, to undo the harm; he couldn’t deny that, even if the process felt like he was gutting himself.

as for the affectionate eyes, well they'd always lived in utopia didn’t they, defying the established and denying reality, that was when the proud tint glowed strongest in them; but practicality was not in their midst;

 

it was only right then that it had to be him.

The thought broke him loose from any vestigial misgivings he had about his decision. It was obvious, he would not have it turn out any other way, so there was no point in debating it. It had to happen just like this. Period.

abruptly, the fingers entwined around his, loosened; as if the energy from his thoughts had flown through his hand and into the neighbouring consciousness. 
the world paused, and replayed with supernatural speed.
Like simultaneous scenes with bad editing, a chair got pushed over, the fork clanged to the floor and the body slumped to the floor with near romantic lethargy, seemingly all at once. in a few seconds, it was all over; 
and even as the warm fingers kissed empty air, the tears started.

[“I know the pieces fit cause I watched them fall away
Mildewed and smoldering, fundamental differing,
Pure intention juxtaposed will set two lovers souls in motion
Disintegrating as it goes testing our communication
The light that fueled our fire then has burned a hole between us so
We cannot see to reach an end... ... ... –Schism, Tool] 
(author's note: for song see left sidebar)

                Love in its basest form becomes a constant of heightened emotion; it is not dependant on the nature of the emotion. whether happy, angry, blissful, sad or content. And again, with some twisted logic, One can never truly, fully appreciate jealousy, betrayal, and acceptance or sacrifice if they have not met these at the door of the one they love.

To love is to feel. A  complete, uninhibited and exponential experience.

If so, when love turns to loss should one feel Numb with the loss of feeling or heightened Misery?

Raghav was an automaton wallowing in this no man's land; even as his tears flowed unceasingly, his hands prepared for the next step. he needed ropes, something to tie... scanning the room he picked up a bedspread and began cutting it into pieces, soft strips of cloth, really soft... and with them began binding the legs. Next, the hands; so much more familiar than his own, and he would hold them for the last time. They would never wipe the paint from his forehead or slide down his arms ever again, they would not seek his fingers beneath the bedclothes in the morning.
By Morning they would be gone, taking his all with them and leaving him bereaved .
By Morning...

but he couldn't afford to think of that now... he still had a lot to finish before his plan could be anywhere near over.
slowly peeling the razor blade open Raghav resumed his task.

His tears, unlike his hands, had never stopped, and as he gathered the still warm, soft, yielding body into his arms, they only increased. With an effort he started towards the door, the reverse of the 12 seconds he counted each evening, felt like 21 lifetimes lived all over again. Time, on the other hand, was running short and ahead of itself. Getting into the car, he turned away from the house, their home.

 

the receding car lights seemed to suck out the very soul of the house, as they moved on, into darkness.

 

... Steadily the cityscape turned stretches of wild green with a suggestion of civilization every few kilometers, which soon grew far apart and slowly disappeared.

4 hours and Night had arrived.

the car turned into a hesitant path cut in the dark and followed it for long; there was no marker and no sign but just as clouds began to disappear into inky blackness Raghav spotted his destination. 

It had long lost resemblance to its material of build. low, old and reclusive it lay as if waiting for a magical note to bring it to life. He got out of the car, carried the body out and laid it on the ledge upfront just as a lantern fired up in the depths of the house; a face with ageless, all-knowing eyes appeared in its wake.  

A glance at the ledge and a short nod of acknowledgement later, she approached Raghav. Drawing close, she placed one hand on his arm and whispered into his ear. Raghav's gaze shot up, filled with apprehension, but the old eyes remained steady.

he sunk down to the earth as relief shrouded him. the tears were a deluge now; he sat there on his knees letting them devour and absolve him of everything that had been and was to come.

After a aeon passed he stood up; and taking one last look at all that he had ever cared about, he stepped into the darkness.

...
Stars fell on the dashboard of the car.

4 hours and they were interspersed with Streetlights, muddling the recognition of day and dark, surreal, like the line between life and death.


                Raghav got out of the car. He did not scream; there was torment exploding inside his head. he did not falter; he walked on like a man with a purpose, while ironically, he had lost exactly that. 

He would have walked home a "normal, regular person", a "Child Of god" created "in his Image" who "loved well and loved rightly under his watchful eye" et cetera; the norms on the counter-propaganda followed to the T, if only, the tears would stop and if only he'd look less like a man damned to the eternal wrath of hell.

. break  of Reality .

Episode 1

Episode 2

Episode 4