The Last Note A Distant Hum Of Tinkling Bells...

http://www.flickr.com/photos/benoitcourti/5057156004/

She blows delicately through perfectedly pouted lips; a gentle blow that causes the shiny liquid layer to swell into a ball and blow off with the light breeze, only to pop seconds later. The air is thick and dry, the atmosphere near barren and devoid of much color. In the midst of it float the few bubbles that waft their way here and there before they snap into tiny unseen droplets of soap. she watches them hover in the air; illuminating tiny rainbows within the delicate little see through spheres, and sighs.

She stands with her back pressed against the back of a red car, a cup of soap mix in her hand, the other clutching a ball point pen lacking its ink fill. Next to her, sitting on the boot of the car is a little kid, like her, clutching half a bottle of slick soapy water and bubble making stick.

They keep there postures intact, not moving besides their heaving shoulders and their cheeks inflating and deflating like balloons as they blow. The midday sun grows fainter over their heads, dropping lower with time while they blow their respective bubbles, watching them flutter in the light breeze. Delightfully, they watch them dance in the wind, enjoying their lives before they are popped away.

At times the little kid shrieks with delight as he streches out to burst a big bubble even before it escapes the edge of her pen, his laugh echoing in the still air, the last note a distant hum of tinkling bells. Sometimes the bubbles shatter as they were blown in. It would burst in their face, smarting their eyes slightly; like a joke with a bad pun.

Just as the sun is on the verge of dipping down and kissing the horizon she turns, tilting the remaining liquid in her glass into the kid's bottle. As she leaves he looks startled, sad and slightly happy at the prospect of more soapy water. Sitting in her car she looks at the anonymous kid sitting in his car porch on his car in the empty neighbourhood who lended her his bubble mix. He continues to blow gently, making bubbles that light up the empty surroundings in the still July air.

She smiles at his innocent form and drives away with slippery soapy hands for a another date with the future.

-Momina.

The Middle Ground

She was senseless; her consciousness was welded deeply into her subliminal mind. She was not asleep yet the slumber had not abandoned her, it hung around her creating a shell that did not let her wander towards either. She was bemused about what was real and what was just a figment of her imagination portrayed as real. It wasn’t such deep a night, she knew that, so then why was her mind playing tricks on her? She knew that the constant drip from the bathroom tap was real, it was there every night, and so was the faint whistling sound. She heard footsteps, and listened hard, staying still as a statue she realized it was her heart beat growing louder by each minute. She saw the shadows playing around and then almost a shadowy figure, which was gone with a blink of an eye. Sometimes the darkness would seem to prevail forever and at other times it drew in light, little fading circles of white and cream. The line between reality and imagination had gone hazy; she awaited the reality desperately as she hung by loose threads at the edge of her dreams. She hummed to herself; a sole sound in the death of the night, as the night became her, and her the night.

-Momina.

Love, Life And Everything Nice.

What was originally meant to be posted on 1st January 2013. 

Her cuteness cannot be captured in pictures, nor her actions in mere words. Descriptions never do her justice; always lacking, too incomplete to her real character. Life without her is unimaginable and often I sit and wonder what life was before these five years?

When we didn’t come home anxious to see the same face daily, without a tiny person to hug after it’s every little accomplishment? What was life without her annoying whines and adorable gestures? Without her art on walls around us and rooms devoid of her beautiful laughter; without her to make most of every situation.

I bet life was incomplete, dull, without her to talk of and love, without her to weave endless stories for. What was it like when life lacked her hilariously smart views and her tiny hands to clutch our own? How hollow and lifeless I am without her. 

Here I am, at eighteen years of age, already having known what actual love is. It resides here with me in the form of my five year old sister; this darling little creature without whom life is unwanted, for whom all my prayers are formed. My life is molded around her; she’s my life, love, laughter and everything in between.

-Momina.

Fire & Ice

She had stepped out for only a moment; she assumed it would be the same cold and dark night as usual. But now, she was standing there in the light drizzle staring mystified at the sky, for almost twenty minutes. The sky which was not dark and brooding like everyday but orange as if it burned. It was extraordinary, beautiful yet scary. Transfixed she looked at the wide stretched horizon, the burn started deep from one end and faded into the grey sky at the other diagonal end. The night was lit like day, but sun had set long ago and not even midnight was upon them yet. She shivered despite the several layers she wore, something invoked deep inside her as she tore her gaze reluctantly from the orange sky, suppressing the urge to cry at it, she rushed inside.

She huddled in the three blankets, squeezing into a ball, hugging herself but not managing to stop trembling. She ducked inside, sealing all sides of the blankets, breathing hard in the stuffy air, wishing the cold to subside. She dare not even take an inch of her out; she felt cold as ice but her temperature rose way above. A fire blazed deep within her while the rest of her body turned to ice.

-Momina.

Fair chances

As the car moved another inch forward I groaned inwardly. The short fifteen hour journey felt extremely tiring to my well rested body. The cars jammed on the single road, as every other person tried to take the lead; the result was obviously havoc. I tapped my foot constantly on the car floor while my friend calmly smoked a cigarette behind the wheel; I coughed hard deliberately, wanting to make a point. But to my utter annoyance he just shrugged and hit the button that automatically rolled my window down. I looked at him, disgusted as I the clean air wafted through the car. I had come to hate these little rolls of nicotine people relied so much one, they did no good other than leaving the person delusional; that on it’s on had another history, of course.

I wasn’t intent on lecturing my friend with my already infuriated mood so I turned my head towards the window, letting out a shaky breath. I looked on to the next car in the glow of the setting sun. A sole figure in the back seat turned its head towards the window. Her eyes were closed as if in deep slumber but her eyebrows furrowed as if the sensation of pain was teasing her, yet, there was so much peace on that face. It was so simple and ordinary that I could have glimpsed of it in a crowd and not look back but right now, it put me on the edge.

I shook my head and looked down as my mobile flashed. A text message, another one. I placed the phone face down on the dash board and put my feet up next to it. I looked back at the girl in the next car. How could one be at peace with pain? The thought bothered me but the face relieved me, it was ordinarily distinctive. I frowned to myself, what was I thinking? But I was drawn to the face again. I imagined getting to know her, befriending her and chatting with her, laughing at a memory…

As the cars edged closer side by side, her eyes opened partially and looked deeply into mine, in that moment I felt something I had never felt before, a jolt, a connection. We held each other’s gaze for a long moment, till her eyes fell closed again. Maybe she was dreaming, maybe I was dreaming. My friend jolted the car forward violently, over taking as he turned in for the airport. I didn’t bother looking back to look for her car, what good would it do? Strangers. Was I delusional without drugging myself?

I rarely thought about her as I said good bye to my friend and got in for immigration and all. Was it possible to feel something yet never be able to know that person? My mind was clogged with old memories as I went through the bag and security checks, memories I thought I had lost somewhere. I still held on to them, I guess, even after all this time. I gave the flight attendant my boarding pass. I was one of the last ones so she smiled and led the way to my seat. The window seat was already taken by someone who had their head turned towards the window. I stuffed by hand carry in the compartments over the seats and sat down next to the lady in the woolly shawl.

The flight attendant arrived again at my side with a glass of water and some pain killers.

‘Ma’am?’ she whispered and the lady next to me turned her face. I felt a jolt in my nerves as our eyes met, the girl from the next car. It’s not delusional; there are always chances to be taken. 

Poisoning dreams

For Adoniah- "Taking it to the next level."

She lay there as the poison seeped through the blood circulating inside her. She lay there numb to the pain and the slight burning that she was supposed to feel. She lay dazed while her muscles and bones mashed into one another, as she repeatedly hit her head against the brick wall. Immune to the pain. She shifted her head, gazing at the blood stained pillow. Alarmed she got up suddenly, only to realize that it was her own, yet she did not bleed.  It dribbled towards her, bubbling vivid red with just a slight tinge of purple. Glowing. She was intimidated, wanting to touch it, but holding back. She backed away, abruptly falling as the room around her turned to a blur, however she never touched the ground, As if the air had halted but she was still falling. There wasn’t blood anymore, but water; pure and colorless. It fell all around her, everywhere, except on her. She cringed away as a drop fell on her, scared. Out of the blue, she was knocked down, falling into a garden, unscathed. As she rose she noticed the rain, which came down heavy and bruised her skin. It turned red, burning red and felt like pinching shards of glass on her skin. She started to run but fell too often, while someone pulled her and her eyes twitched. She rose from her dream as she dreamt on, as the poison seeped through and she slept on.

-Momina.

Once you close those eyes...

When you close your eyes there are two things you envision. Initially it’s one; as soon as you close your eyes you imagine before you scenes from your imagination, thoughts of the past and expectations and dream for the future. But focusing a little you’ll see a reality, the actual darkness of your closed eye lids, focus without opening them, it velvety and swirly and deep…endless. Infinite? Focus too much and you lose it as you pry open your eyes. Balance your concentration and you can watch it for hours that are really minutes, which are really just seconds. Because in a moment the strain of the focus will make you open your eyes.

And that my friends, is life. There are our dreams and aims and then there is reality which is endless the more you go into it the more it turns in to a labyrinth. And just when you are about to get a grasp of it you are stirred up by karma, which either gives you your dreams, or reality.

-Momina.