Walking along the cold Thames, he was kidding himself. He kept telling himself that he would rather not exist in certain moments but he knew he would rather be able to live through all of them.
THERE ARE moments, which you would not rather exist in. Hating is terribly exhausting. Walking along the cold Thames, he was kidding himself. He kept telling himself that he would rather not exist in certain moments but he knew he would rather be able to live through all of them.
You see, he loved to think of himself as a survivour. Flatter would be right word.
His hands shook a lot. Shiver would be the right word. He wasn’t ever a smoker. He detested the stench of it in his clothes. But hating is a full time job and on overdrive. It can consume you.
A cold smile cracked on his unmarked below ordinary face. Lips were chapped and he bit his skin of and tasted blood. He was laughing his head of at what he just thought. Hate can consume... he hated his talking crap to himself.
He wanted to shout. He tried and tried but didn’t. A scream, just one scream.
He stood on the railing of the bridge. He was terrified.
He took in a deep breath. The steady drizzle didn’t bother him as he saw people all around him running for cover or running with a cover.
He had been living with a constant ache for sometime now. No matter what he always had it. Each time he sneezed it felt that his head finally cleared. That half a moment his face would rid itself of the constant frown.
The drizzle had grown to be rain. He was shivering with inadequacy more than the cold. His long unruly hair was all over his face plastered.
It felt like he was in a vacuum. Thames is quite dirty, he thought. He let himself fall into the mucky black rain spattered surface of Thames thinking it can’t be close to Ganga's toxic flow.
It was cold. It was breath taking cold. It wasn’t a very high drop but it hurt. As his limp form broke the surface of water he realised that he had never heard of any swimmer having drowned. May be I can prove the world wrong. But he wasn’t here to drown.
He didn’t attempt to keep the water out. His eyes were stinging. His lungs were burning but there was absolute silence. Complete silence.
He could see the pattern the rain was making on the surface while he was going deeper. He would be coming up soon. Wasn’t it something to do with physics?
A naked guy ran to his king and that fame...
He opened his mouth and scream as the water rushed in he could feel the bile come up and greet the dirt. The loudest silent scream.
He walked back on the side of the Thames. Drenched and stinking. The sun shining bright as if it had been here all along.
Hating is a full time occupation. A dead smile plastered on his forgettable face. A shiver, a sigh.