Sunday, July 31, 2011

Simulating Past


Serene is the atmosphere. It’s a woman. It’s a woman on a bench. It’s a woman on a bench by a beach. The frozen imperfection smacks of auteurism. She has her back to the screen. Hairs windblown. Waves flutter. Sky quicksilver. Time lapses. She has her front to the screen. Smiling. Brings a hand to face, covers half her face. Half smiling.

There’s sound. Chuckle. Boy kid, girl kid. Screen freezes, stirs again. She arises. Four of them walk out the screen. They’re in his room. Half living, half beaming, but for real. For him they are. They face the screen from the outside. Waves crash against the screen. It’s a giant tank of violent waves. Parents cling to each other, kids cling to parents. Untouched. Drops seep through the frame.

The End

*****

The world as Issac knew it ended half a decade ago. The massive tsunami that sank half the earth had destroyed his sister, too, with her family. He isn’t mourning as much as he was a few years ago but his counselor’s advice “march onward” hasn’t sunk deep into his psyche. For some people, you can never get them wholly over their grief.

*****

The life-size screen freezes, stirs again. She arises. Four of them walk out the screen. They’re in his room. Half living, half beaming, but for real. They face him. Sound. They say ‘Hello, young man’. Waves crash against the screen. They emote oblivious to what’s behind them. ‘We heard the screening went well.’ Kids run to him. Untouched, unmoved, in motion. He takes his finger off the “Edit”. Drops seep through the frame. Says ‘Howdy’. Types.

Do Not End



………………



4 comments:

  1. Feels good to hear that. Thanks for stopping by and commenting.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Speechless. How can anyone write so brilliantly? :) Awesome

    ReplyDelete

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