Shiny Glass Crystals

Yes they sparkle


Through the haze of the evening mist, Maera waded through. She always walked fast, with quick, long steps. She wasn’t restless, she just hated it when things were slow.

She stopped at the entrance of her house which was an independent villa among many other independent villas on the lane. Fumbling through her Gucci handbag for keys, she fished out her ‘skull keychain’ which she had kept through high school. She laughed. She was 24 now and the skull didn’t look cool to her anymore.

Bottles of Corona were stacked in the fridge. Maera’s feet automatically took her there and her hand picked up a bottle. Like breathing, this was involuntary.

She walked to the window and brushed aside the curtains. Her eyes widened at the sight outside. How did she never notice it while walking back home? It was Christmas and the streets were filled with exuberant people decorating their trees and snowmen. She took another sip of her beer.

Children ran around in shapeless patterns and their parents ran behind them. People stopped to greet each other and exchanged a few courtesies. Presently, someone was giving their neighbour some freshly baked cookies. They were all smiling. Maera looked at the smiles. Their teeth were white and their tongues swirled in their mouths like poisonous snakes that glide secretly before they bite you.

She opened another beer. Her gaze fell on a child. She looked closer. She choked on her drink.

“It can’t be, I must be drinking too much!”, she thought. She looked again but saw the same thing. The eyes. Why was they all white? Shaking slightly, she clasped the window bars. She slowly looked at another child. Two transparent balls of white. There was no iris, no pupil, nothing. She panicked and ran back inside her room. She downed her beer and then downed another.

Her head seemed to be all too steady in a room that spun. She didn’t blink for some reason. She wasn’t afraid. She didn’t need to be afraid. She stood there, drinking beer after beer.

The room didn’t spin anymore.

The next day’s newspaper carried the headline in big fonts:

“Girl found dead in her apartment”

Reports said that she had a stroke because of her alcoholism. They also found a note:

In about two minutes, I know I’m going to die because I’ve understood everything.

Filed under: Through the looking glass crystals

The magic within

Red, orange, green and blue.

The paints on her colour palate never got extinguished or lost their shine. They were always as thick as she needed them to be. When she wanted to paint the sun, the orange would turn a little more fiery and the yellow would get just a little more radiant. Her colours had a mind of their own, she thought.

The canvas always absorbed her paint perfectly. Its surface was always smooth enough to make for the pencil sketches she so meticulously drew, seem to be lines of unmatched clarity and distinction. The canvas had a mind of its own, she thought.

Her brushes were always flexible when she needed them to be but sometimes they were taut and bristled. They held the paint when she wanted to paint the background and dutifully tapered down when she needed to do the corners. Her paint brushes, she thought, had a mind of their own.

So she painted with her magic colours and her brushes and her canvas and her pencils. Red, orange, green and blue. The sea in her painting came alive with tides that leaped forward boisterously. The sand gleamed under the yellow ball of fire that beamed at the world.

Across the bank of the sea, was a man. He was looking far ahead at nothing in particular but he still had his eyes focused on something of indiscernible  importance. She smiled at him. The character, she thought, had a mind of its own.

As though he read her thoughts, he turned around and looked at her with a puzzled expression on his face. For a second she was startled. Only for a second.

Then she smiled. Slowly, she ran her fingers over the completed painting. She closed her eyes. The magical vision encompassed her soul. The luminous rays of phantasms, emanating from the prism.

A mind of her own. A mind of her own.

Filed under: Through the looking glass crystals,