QB Short Stories

Irony And Surprise

“Laziness, the music that hit the eardrums and the stars too are all in unison tonight. This seems like a perfect a night to write everything that I have wished to. Since writing something is just like talking your heart to someone, it gives pleasure. More than that, it states one sort of satisfaction that there isn’t a mind that might have a possibility to judge you on the other end. It’s just having someone who is there to listen to you, understand you, precept what your heart says and utter no word apart from ‘yes honey, I understand’. That feeling is beautiful and utterly satisfying.
“When we had both met a few years ago, we had been friends, as is to be expected, but the way we got along was extremely different. The little room of air between two people that has nothing but comfort in it was something what we lived in. It used to feel great. As a matter of fact, it still does and always will. Explaining that is, what I would like to call it, just as same as explaining how the Earth was created, or how humans came into existence, or the theories behind who Adam and Eve were. There could be an endless list of comparisons, yet nothing suitable to explain what we feel.
“Back in time, reading was nothing to me, today, even writing means so much. Back in time, there were certain things that seemed like a question mark, today, I am the one having all the answers to them. You know how they say that it’s all about how you see yourself, there’s something more to it. Sometimes, the reason why we get along with somebody is the way they make you feel about yourself. At our subconscious levels, we know ourself. Not just our name or the identification with the government, but who we are, on the inside. The dreams that we have, the little things that become memories, the little things that we remember as we grow up each passing day, the possible ways in which we cry out, the possible reasons why we break down at times, etc. Things happen and we get past them, but the subconscious is a world where they all live forever. They are somehow the carvings in which we get shaped as a person. Her carvings turned out to be the way that provided for explanations why I started to feel worthy enough of life, every time she was around. Every day, I feel it as I wake up to see her face and I know that the upcoming day will be something I would want to work for, work toward and make something big happen.
“More to it was the way she used to talk or the way she still talks. There would be something going on in her head that she would just push back, or would try to. Even if that would be a different world altogether, the words that would pour out in her voice would be totally different from the song that her eyes would sing. How beautiful could it sound having lyrics that didn’t match the music? It sounded great, for some exceptional reason.
“There is a zeal about being happy with someone. Every single day, following a routine, becomes a must at a certain point. It’s just like one might feel uneasy if they don’t see their mother the entire day or maybe a weird feeling would arise if there was no eating food for twenty four hours, not out of will but out of nowhere. So did we have one. So do we have one. About making jokes, there’s something more to it than just laughter. They are memories we have. It feels glad that we still make them. Saying the same things every day is sometimes, not so boring. Knowing what you already do, but in different words, still sounds different.
“Unbound by any restrictions, we let our thoughts flow. Just as I look at her, or the way she looks at me, is how one would make a wish for magic-land. Same went the aura with her words. Not thinking before speaking is something that proves to be a great part of her life. The only reason I am narrating the story is that in the normal world, it is considered weird that a dead body narrate a story. For her, maybe even that would have been normal, but just for the sake of doing a few things that are cliche, she has stuck to this one.
“Remembering how she used to say things, every time she did, is what reminds me of that one day, when she didn’t say anything new. Those words were something I had been listening to for so long however that evening, god played irony-and-surprise with us. Just as she was about to leave, she knew I would still be standing there, waiting for her to leave before I did. The very moment she looked back towards me and said the words which were most expected out of her

“I’m not gonna die in a few seconds. You can leave.”

Just as they were spelt out, they probably thought *let’s experiment with that today* and further more in a few milliseconds, did something in that world, lose control. What I lost in that process, was her. Right in front of my eyes, a de ja vu in a time period of milliseconds happened for her words kept replaying in my head.
“That was when I remembered the one thing she used to wonder about.

*How would it be if we think about something, for quite a time and say it. How, further I wonder, would it be if we say something that we haven’t given much thought to and yet say it. Let the game get diversified, the very next moment, the same thing happens. Wouldn’t it be great?*

I never had the answer to that. Today as I do, what I wish to tell her, is ‘No, it wouldn’t be great.’

Yet as I wake up to her photograph each day, it’s still reassuring that life is always worth a try.”

 

 

 

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