A Vertiginous Manifestation of a Stimulating Life

The Silence Stut-t-ters

He lay there on the mound of ignominy. Interruption was futile. Blood might have oozed out; who knows, if it was his very own O+ve or strains of other bone marrow fluids from other stricken beings.

The apocryphal moment was over and staring at his languid face. A life wasted. Perdition. Noise felt its absence. All the golden thoughts of how it would be like - being there, had fallen flat. Paradise was always lost.

Speech had always held him hostage. Now it was death’s turn.

6 September 2009