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Short Story

Waves of heart I

Heart rate monitor was beeping. People there waited for the crests to straighten. They waited for her breath to stop. The chest winds were making them stop. The anxious faces. Ah! They were the humans with a meagre humanity. The sons their wives, they all huddled for her one last breath. The children were amused to hear the beep of the machines, the machines that were keeping her alive. Crusty hair, worn out skin, wrinkles that flooded her face completed her profile. But. She seemed beautiful, beauty she had in her youth that must have lured many young hearts. A frown on her face was lying there to obscure her smile. She was asleep, her eyes masked her glistening soul. She was lying there, half dead, but death had other plans. Instead of straightening, the crests spiked and her pulse rate was acquiring the required values. She came back, maybe she was spared by the death angel, or maybe she was not needed there. Maybe her husband was happy to be alone. The life she was brought back into was not a life to live. It was more than death. The taunts she had endured made her to quit, but the exit door was still locked, locked to make her suffer.
The ICU unit was locked as the death was postponed by the death angel. The relatives left, the sons resumed their offices daughter in laws got back to parlour. But, the little one stayed back, he saw in her eyes what the blinded could not see. He saw the want of death, he saw exhilaration perched on the monuments of memories. The memories that drove her life. She still remembers when she first met her, he was dressed in khaki kurta and jeans the blue. His nerdy glasses were his peculiarity. He was a nerd and he had no information regarding that. He strolled along with the load of books he had in his arms. The arms that seemed feeble enough to even carry pamphlets. She looked at him, and he looked cute to her. Maybe he was an outcast like her, or maybe they were destined to like each other. She was dressed in a frock, the A cut one, the borders of which possessed the glistening gold tufts, at least which gave her the girl look she needed to get. She was more of a male. A patriarch in herself. Her commanding voice sifted through the dense sea of ruling male voices. She was a warrior and she carried a rebel within. But. She felt a twitch, a feeling unknown to her body, a feeling strange than the stranger she was stalking. There comes David the bully, hopping over the dividers making himself feel a hero. He got close to the nerd, close enough to nudge him down to the ground. He made no mistake in bringing him down. The books dropped from his clutches. He was sad, not angry, he looked up to him to see him laugh-the devilish laugh. He crooned something and started to lift what was dropped. She saw all this and came close to see the cowardice of this nerd. Actually he was not a coward, at least not in her eyes. He hunched to help him get his fallen books. He looked towards her, smiled as nothing had happened. He thanked her and went on like a school girl. She liked her, maybe he was complementing her character, or this was the first sight love for her. She tightened her backpack-the black one. The running shoes she wore beneath her magnanimous unending swirling frock looked more than awkward. He glided towards the classes. She sat on her seat, the seat made to be her’s, forever, as embarked on its smooth ply cover. She was really a radical in the sea of mediocre effigies of meat and blood. She had a world within herself, she was a fighter.
‘You know the new boy, he is so handsome, but I think he is already engaged’, a girl in the proceeding bench gossiping with another girl-the disinterested one.
‘Whatever, these are all dogs, the dogs that only know one thing sniffing’, she was disgruntled to the apex.
‘What is your problem, you should give it a second try’. Girl wearing the shiny pajama