Vector

I stepped off the kerb. He lay staring at me with his dead eyes blood trickling down his forehead. The lights started to buzz...whirr of sirens and vehicles...
I live the life of an unwritten elegy frozen meat lying in a heap...the blood and gore. I work in a slaughter house.
The old man played the harmonica...colours flooded the floor...the leper sang "What A Wonderful world" while urinating on the sidewalk and rubbed his stubbed palms together. The street lamp flickered.
"I need to see", the child insisted. The fat man puffed at his cigarette stub. People lined up on the platform. The tunnel walls get garishly illuminated. I saw the angel hovering with his dead eyes fixed on me.
The images pass by - blurred streaks of mangled colours. The girl looked up, eyebrows, earlobes and lips pierced. The wall behind her gives away to a profusion of red. I watch helplessly as she is swallowed by the red abyss. I close my eyes only to open them again. She sits there impassive.

Pillow remnants

Why do we gloat over our miseries?
A foresaken kerchief encasing a sacred pendant...a sacred relationship gone putrid or was there one? A lizzard scurries.
Long foresaken vapours condensing to minuscule drops of congealed water. I dream of a cave...flight if birds.
Silly questions "What is your favorite color?"
A lonliness that seethes a house haunted by memories a presence that lingers a voice that chases away sanity in me...obscurity demeans reason. I perceived or so I thought.

Wedlock

Marriage is a difficult proposition especially when it's an obligation and a responsibility rather than an intense desire.
One more swig, a long drag and the stars seem brighter again. Well, let us face it... I Don't Want To Marry. Although I have to.
The far off speaker howled 'Allah - hu - Akbar' once again...reverberating into the depths of the dawn... night insects slowly conk off. Another drag, yet another love song... the smell has to be masked.
I don't return to the bed I have to share with my Mater, it's hers actually. I'm just a guest, one who isn't allowed to sleep in her own room... do I have my own room? I don't actually...in this humungous place that I've been adressing as 'my home'.
The roadside temple bellows a devotional song - People God exisits and is watching over you...periodic reminders that "Hey! You don't breach My contract and I don't have to tell the truth and all is golden and good.
One does not expect any rainfall now. Scant roads scant people scant memories scant feelings.