Like standing on a precipice. Look down. Look down! It's amazing! Isn't it? A sheer fall of over a thousand feet into an abyss you can barely see. Is it water down there? Or is it a hard rock? You can't tell. Faith took you upto here. And faith shall see you through, you think. No use of faith. It's a block of concrete down there. Oh, actually it's water. Pure, glistening, if there were any sunlight on it ever. They say falling from such height into water, or even cotton, is like falling on a slab of steel from a three storeyed building.
Splat! That's the last thing that would go through your head.
I think it's strange that you must think so. It's just a leap. One jump, or even one step off the ledge. Faith. Gives you wings. Let's try. What say you? I wonder if it's real wings. Like in the Red Bull advertisement. Or like the guy in X-Men who breaks the window panes, and spreads his lovely white wings. Maybe it's like Icarus, who just wouldn't listen to his father. Poor Daedalus. Sheer genius, yet to have a kid who's a dolt. Wax wings. What say you? Let's try it out. Atleast in our final act of rebellion, of defiance, of breaking free from this bondage, we shall find out. In that last moment of refusal to accept tyranny, we shall experience something unique. Something we have never felt ever before. Something true. Pure. Ecstatic. Blissful. True and unadulterated freedom. Freedom. Independence.
Or something really dreadful. Fear. Horror. Regret. Shame. I wonder what we would feel. Maybe even repulsion. That the world never saw us for what we were. That we could not ever show the world our true mettle. That despite us having a stage, we were only ordinary stage actors. That nothing about us was so appealing that the universe did not even try to stop us from doing something so terrible. Or so heavenly.
Musical maybe.
I wonder if you think of what music you like when you fall. Meatloaf? Or is it Beethoven? Maybe it's Euphoria. Euphoria as in the band. Maybe, maybe, it's fusion. Like something Middle Eastern, with a dash of the Corrs. Or maybe, it's only Bryan Adams. So Far So Good.
But whatever it may be, I truly do believe that we are justified. That we took birth and lived not by our choice is something I shall not debate anymore. But that we lived and quit by our choice is something I shall want to have. It's true. It's mine to choose. To opt for. My only. My precious. Tolkien was never wrong. Not once.
Maybe it's all the books you read. Tolstoy. Chekhov. Tolkien. Goodkind. Gaiman. Or maybe even the Kings that you read. All of it culminating into something special. Spectacular. Down. You're pretty close to the bottom now.
You. Your first kiss. Your first love. Your joy at seeing your child smile at you for the first time. Your first kiss again. The eyes of your lover. That feeling of holding her so tight that you would never let go. That hair that she rolls up and ties up. That feeling of being with her. That touch. That smile. Those lovely lips. That warmth and the feeling of tenderness.
That's all. You're done.
Splat!
- Vinaykrishnan.
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