This is really great While reading through the piece, I could feel the inner pain which I was never able to express to any outsider It was like watching a brilliantly directed 15 minute short film The trauma of Isabel, her loneliness, her fear, the wounds which have healed but the bite of pain still there,fresh,her faith, her belief that there will be a happy ending The pain and the trauma of Isabel are expressed so beautifully that one could actually feel it Sign of a matured writer You do grief well.
Good luck with your endeavors. Wednesday, November 2, Deboleena Bose. A quiet empty home. A resigned empty heart. And silenced emptiness within. Amidst them, Isabel and her defeated self struggled to strangle the turmoil within; fearful it might set itself free. Her once familiar space, the bathroom, reeked of an oddity, quite unknown to her senses. Cloistered, she could almost feel the weight of the barrenness that had engulfed her and her life.
The walls around seemed disconcerted. Perhaps, they had sensed the disquiet brewing deep under her skin, she thought. Isabel sat, all by herself, nursing a lesion she had long managed to hide from the world outside. In the gloom of her muted presence it had spread; a contagion that had left her with no hope of deliverance.
Infected, she yearned to find solace in it. It, however, chose to devour her in return. Unwrapping the past has never been easy, especially one wrought with fears, loneliness and heartaches.
The wounds heal with time; their scars linger behind, unsullied and fresh. Isabel had always run away from her times of yore; she had run as fast as she could and as distant as she could get.
Yet, they never ceased to chase her, irk her, breathe and grow with her. Like a shadow, she thought, they would follow her to her grave someday. Though orphaned at birth, deep down in her heart Isabel had clung on to a sacred belief; an unwavering faith that became the center of her existence; her conviction that sooner or later, love would certainly come knocking at her door. And so, when love did touch her life one day, she embraced it with open arms and gave it all.
Those hazel eyes and Evan came to mind. Soaked in agony, and plagued by sharp jabs inside, Isabel cringed. Inundated in emotions that bore neither a name nor form, tears arose from the depths of her subconscious and began to flow. Warm and blissful, they brought along nothing; nothing except recollections of a history she had chosen to consciously forget. And then, without a sign, those derisive visions, ominous figures, trampled forms, those muffled voices, the mayhem and the paranoia - all came rushing back to her.
A choked and breathless Isabel quivered at their retreat. As she braced herself to revisit the past, Isabel comprehended despondently the severity of the collateral damage she had inflicted upon herself. With no turning back, running away was no longer even an option. Harrowed persistently to the point of no return, she had to make one absolutely frantic strive to face the demons of the portentous night. She had to walk through hell, yet again. Shaken by the very thought of it, Isabel could feel the strong pounding of a wounded heart that beat inside her.
Her fears and the familiar sinking feeling came riding back — the ill-fated night rose from the dead. Along came fiendish recollections of the car crash that had blown it all up. One turbulent night had robbed her of all she had held dear — her faith, her future and her love.
The tempest had rocked her world and ripped her apart, crushing her and tender dreams, once and for all. When the dust settled, everything around had fallen silent. And contained in it was a shattered Isabel, her broken heart, and a motionless Evan. The night had taken him away; never to return to her again. And as she disintegrated, tears welled up her eyes. Realizing she had long lost the battle, a frail Isabel, all battered and bruised, decided to yield.
It was time to let her guard down; time to let herself go. She heaved a sigh of relief. As she turned on the shower, water began to trickle down her bare flesh and every pore of her being seemed to respond to its warmth. A burden lifted off her chest, Isabel felt light and invigorated. The foul taste of an abruptly ended nightmare still fresh in her mind, Isabel felt gratified to be jolted awake.
Exhausted by the journey, nevertheless, she was content to be a part of the experience. The past though dead would evidently never be gone. Isabel and her world had been altered perpetually, destined never to reclaim their aboriginal dimensions again.
An amicable coexistence with bygone times would make no difference to her existence, she discerned. What it could, however, do was lend some credence to her life and make living a lot more worthwhile; perhaps, hearten her some day, to see the world in a new light — through those hazel eyes. Posted by MDJB at Aviroop November 3, at 7: Pravin November 3, at 8: Anonymous November 4, at Newer Post Older Post Home.