The stare and darkness: Flash Fiction

Ananya.s.guha

20 June, 2012

This is flash fiction on the absurd and the absurdities in life. Ever since he was born he had a habit of staring, simply staring right since his birth. In fact, at the time of his birth the doctor called him the staring baby. Believe it or not he simply stared. But he had only one eye. That eye was shut and in effect he was staring with one eye...

HIS PARENTS were distraught. Whenever they asked him to do something he stared. If he was not happy he glared. When he wanted to have his food he did not ask. He simply looked.

Words came tumbling out of his mouth only at the age of five. These words were not well formulated. Sometimes, he could create expressions of happiness and even of sadness, but when he could not speak or did not speak he would laugh or cry. But the stare was plastered on his face. One wondered what to do with him in class, the school teacher once gave him a slap thinking that the stare was insolent. He simply stared back. During examination times he stared at the questions for one hour and spent the remaining one hour scribbling on paper. He drew circles out of the figment of his imagination. He drew people staring. In fact, it seemed he was born with an irrepressible stare. What could this be all about? his parents, his friends all wondered.

One day they found him sitting in the corner of a room. He was weeping but there was a stare. His friends poked fun at him and made him the butt of ridicule. He did not seem to mind, his passion was to stare and at times glare.

One of his favourite past times was to sit on the steps of his house and simply look at the people. It was not a very good habit as people thought he was making fun of them. But he liked to do that and make a mockery of things. The first mockery was of course born with this stare. Soon, his parents gave up and asked him not to go to school. Why? he asked, why I should not go to school. I love to stare at the skies, the fields, my friends, it creates a whirlpool in my mind. They just laugh and thought he was stark raving mad.

One day, he was badly beaten up and mauled. He landed up in hospital. The boys who beat him up said he had a strange lewd look and his stare made them feel very uncomfortable. So they beat him up. Was that reason enough he thought as he stared at the ceiling. Give me some more time he said and I will stare at the world. He came out of hospital a few days later and now he was afraid of the dark, afraid of roaming in the streets, afraid that his stare would lead to beating him up. He was badly bruised in the mind.

In between all the stares he drew pictures of empty blots, empty spaces, an infinity staring at infinity. That was his philosophy. He started reading and stared at empty spaces in the books that he read. In fact, he questioned spaces and stared at these spaces. What were these he thought? What was the difference between zero and one? Was it a stare, a glare a look at infinitude?

Life gradually grew and he grew with his stares. His hair was bald, his looks more dream like. But the stare did not leave him. He looked at himself at the mirror. There was a crack somewhere. He stared at the crack.

As years went by his body wizened, shrivelled up. The body was like a comatose, the body was like the foetus all curled up. Death was beginning. The stare gradually embered. Then there was darkness.