Messenger

prologue: As always i haven’t edited it, a random story which burst into my thoughts and made me write this on a shit pot in 37 minutes, on this cold winter night. I think there is some hidden message in this, something my sub-conscious mind wanted to tell you. Figure it out and tell me about it in the comments section. Would love to know your views & criticisms. Its time for the story now.

Except for the old security guard with the long stick, there was hardly anyone in the park. He was absorbed in thoughts about what they call the mid-life crisis of his life. Nearing thirty, deep neck in debts, a bleak career, a virgin, staying alone in the city which once adopted him and is now ruthlessly out casting him, he…his chain of thoughts broke midway. But why do they call it mid-life crisis, he thought, “..i am not sure that i will live till 60 or maybe i might outlive; midlife crisis my foot”. He said that a bit loud, someone chuckled behind him. Startled, he turned back to see a woman.

She smiled, crossed the paved joggers track and sat next to him on the bench. “I am sorry” she said gently. She was hardly a woman and more of a teenager, he was surprised. “Its okay, but what are you doing here”. Did he just curse himself for asking that? He was always like this, a sisterly affection to every strange girl while his friends would be scheming on how to take her to bed. “Why?” she was surprised. “Its a bit too late for a girl to be in a park …especially in this wretched city, don’t you read newspapers?”. It wasn’t a question but a statement. “Nobody can hurt me”, she told him. One gutsy girl, he thought.

“What are you doing here?”, it was her turn. He chuckled, “ self assessment”, that’s all he said. “Mid life crisis, huh?” she said sarcastically. He suddenly felt embarrassed and hopeful, maybe she is here by God’s will, like his mother says ‘To understand His game is impossible’. “Shouldn’t you be home’, he asked again. She looked at him calmly as she read his face, “We have few more minutes”.

She was dressed ordinarily, with a strange glow on her face. He would rate her a little above average, say 7, on the scale of beauty as in college days. “Why did you say WE?”, his turn. She looked at the stars, he followed her gaze and noticed that they were unusually bright. Everything around him was suddenly prettier than he ever saw them. A lone bee hummed and flew around the flowers on a shrub by his foot.

She stood up and said, “Its time”. He was surprised, “I am not that kind”. She laughed out loud this time, “What kind?”. He felt intimidated when he looked at her face, but he had to say it, “Look, i am not rich, in fact broke to pay you…and I am not interested”. She laughed like thunder, “I am not what you think, I am a messenger”. “Messenger!”, i can see his jaw almost touching his collar bones.

Yes, a messenger from the death, I am here to take you back. Your time is over in this world”. He laughed but stopped midway when he saw her calm face. He stood up to her face, “Look, don’t play such silly jokes on me, life is already doing that part on me. Which Radio Station are you from, or is it TV. I don’t…” he stopped and realized that he felt very light, his anger melting away like ice. Slowly he turned around and looked at the bench, there he sat perfectly still, eyes closed. He wasn’t frightened, it was enlightenment & peace, those strange emotions which people search throughout  their lives.

She took his hand and started to walk, he followed. He had to ask something, “But you are a woman!”. She seems amused by his question, “Why can’t woman be a messenger of death?”.

Beyond that i couldn’t hear them, they were gone. I walked out from the bushes and touched his body, it was cold. I saw a bald headed mans picture printed on some papers, peeping out of his pocket. I knew he wouldn’t need them. So I took them and walked past him, the kids at the street light need warm clothes & food.

I passed the gate onto the road, and saw a woman under the street light, she asked “Where do you want to go honey?”. I smiled and told her, “The time is not yet come…honey

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13 thoughts on “Messenger

  1. This was quite eerie at first and then it became warm. I felt like I was slithering through that frame where these characters were like a ghost (as in A Christmas Carol) :)

    This is the first I have read of you. Very engaging. Looking forward to more.

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