The Arrival

Finally it had arrived. Five years in the mental asylum, five treasured years, had passed since he had been wishing for it. The arrival hadn’t been foreboded, yet there was something deeply auspicious about it. The man lying at the centre of the universe marveled- marveled how all of this could be true- marveled if he was really the centre of the universe or not- marveled how he could have neglected all of it. The winds were blowing, and blowing hard; sky was roaring, roaring loud; world was whirling around him. He knew it would come, but five years, three months, twenty two days, 15 hours, 34 minutes and 19 seconds, had made him forget if it really was there or not.

Screams- screams were closing in from all directions, silence- no where to be found. He wanted to close his ears- wanted to shut his eyes- wanted to embrace what had arrived- wanted to… He wanted to think; think once in his life. He had spent all these years without thinking about anything. It was as if he had lost his ability to think- to wonder. He wanted to think why? Why is it now that the thing, he had wished for during past five years of his life, had arrived; he wanted to run away from it. Blank- that’s what his mind had turned into- a blank piece of NOTHING it was.

Moments, memories, reminiscences and memoirs; did they ever exist? Not that he wanted to have them, but not having them made him think even harder. He had spent his whole life in this mental asylum, a mental asylum that we so proudly call our world, without any hint of impression, sensation, emotion or an association with anyone. He was alone, he was euphoric, he was quenched, he was… Everything seemed to be disconsolate and surreal around him now. The very things that he adored about himself now meant nothing to him, or were, may be, disastrous- ruinous and catastrophic to him.

Answers- still not arriving. The time scampering past him, or may be he was scurrying past time. Time stood still, the world stood still. It was he who was modifying. But then he was also a part of the world, so if he was changing then the world must change as well- this mental asylum should loose one of its psychotic as well; this psychosis had to come to an end. But the world stood still, as if snubbing him completely, indulging in its own routine of ritual killing. He wanted to break the silence around him- he wanted to scream to overcome the sound of screams inside him. Foolishly helpless- yes that’s what he thought of himself at that moment.

Finally, he had stopped evolving, stopped changing, and stopped enduring. Now he stood still for the world. Answers to his queries never arrived, yet the arrival of death had made him still and stagnant, though he would have preferred being still by getting the answers to his questions. He passed away; confused, baffled and bewildered as never before.