RELIVE...

RELIVE...

The night-sky of south Lindogn was an inky acrylic paint of fused , muted, somber darkness, interspaced with some misplaced brighter hues…remnants of the departed daylight. The immense dome of heavenly bodies, gracefully dipped into the chaos of the industrial city…it kissed the polluted roof-tops, and caught the spiraling smoke lazing out of the chimneys. The dark-set clouds descended grudgingly into the crammed canvas of animalistic urban life. There was no mystery, save the furtively tense lone, lady crossing the street hurriedly, or the loafer who stood half-hidden in the gloom of a progressive city. The rhythm of the fast descending night life was normal, and the muted evasiveness of every person in the road was a reflection of the attitude of submission to a well programmed life , devoid of any reason to stand in the roof and shout out in joy at the moon, or to pat the back of the sweet kid next door. A wisp of smoke trailed behind a long overcoat, polished black leather shoes shone in the gas-light. A slender figure walked down the shadowy, deserted pavement on the lower suburbs of the city; as the man rounded the corner a sign caught his sight...Miss. Martha’s Home For Destitute: a low-wattage bulb glowed on the sign board. He stopped , unsure of what to do, a sudden impulse made him take a few steps towards the iron door that led deep into the red-yellow building, and again an unseen hand forced him to retrace the path...as though escaping from an evil shadow, he ran and crossed the street...panting under the lamp-post. The vendor squatting underneath the post looked at him questioningly...startled by the gaze the man straitened his countenance.
"You up to somethin' mister?", asked the vendor,” saw you shiftin by tha' house"-he pointed at the destitute home.
"N-no! not at all", came the stuttered reply,” I was wonderin' if I knew the place"
"Well your business. Went in there once to sell some wares...grim lot all of 'em...specially the ol' granny Martha...though the girl at the reception was a nice creature...Agnis...erm...ya that’s wha we called 'er......hey mister what happ'nd...wher' cha runnin'?"
The man was already running, the overcoat billowing at his wake.
The next day he was at the reception of the destitute home. The room smelled strongly of phenyl. A lone flower stood untended on a vase which was even more neglected...the desk looked like it was cleaned last when the home was started. The rickety chair, only adding to the miserly state. The man sat on the sofa, the covers moth-eaten. He stared at his hands, and a patchwork of lines stared back at him. He wondered if his life was as cries-crossed as the lines on his hands.
Twenty years ago he and Agnes, last met on the subway .She was still the sweet girl who lived beside his house: he couldn't recognize Agnes at first; he watched the woman beside the window for a long time, wondering where he had seen the jaws, that nose the lips, the curls ...curls. Yes! the curls. He went up and sat beside her, excitement throbbing in his heart like a hammer, he called, "Agnes." A pair of white eyes , concealing some pain within, like the veil of a Spanish senorita conceals her features only too partially, looked up on the man. The stare changed to uncertainty, and crossed into a frown, as annoyance took over "I am afraid I don’t know yo.."

"Its me Agnes, its John.."
The same eyes sprung into recognition and a light grew inside it.
"John!!" she gasped, "John Forbisher...that silly sweet boy who lived beside my house"...She laughed aloud, jerking back to wake, some slumbering passengers..."Oh my god!...you have metamorphosed completely, you are a man now, look at the moustache you have got."
They got down on the next station and talked over a cup of tea, spilled over their secrets, drowned in the sorrows of each other, the childhood buddies relived the younger days. For John it was recreating the uncompleted jig-saw of his fragmented childhood, the chasm that was left when Agnes departed for Millenshire, leaving behind memories that haunted John at night. Now seeing Agnes he wondered how friendship could run so deep that it infused a newer zeal to urge the self for a meeting with the past.
The next week was a blow to John's dreams.
"I am leaving for South Lindogn. I have taken a work out there in an institution I am sorry, but I don’t think we can meet any more John."
John was not listening, in his mind he saw sea waves drifting two bodies away and away from the shore, his parents had streamed far away from him...

A muffled sound of laughter broke his trance,: someone was coming through the door behind the reception table. John understood why he was shocked to see the sign last night...last time Agnes and he had met, she carried a packet bearing the same sign, Miss. Martha’s......The door started to open, John heard a familiar voice issuing instruction to someone...he felt relieved ..it was time to relive.....