The white carriage

Birds stopped chirping, it was odd, but they did. The air had gone still as if afraid to move. The rustling leaves gone silent. Clouds had emerged from somewhere. It was dark all over. The golden daylight from moments ago had disappeared. 

The carriage stood in front of her, unmoving, the centre of all her focus in that moment. Just as her eyes fell upon it, the carriage sprang to life. She saw the coachman, he laughed, at her? She wondered.

 Her heart was as quiet as the wind. Blood rushed to her face, she stared, unblinking, at the ruthlessness of fate. Time stopped or it was just her pulse?  The carriage moved away from her. She stood, rooted on the spot. The coachman drove it away, not sparing her a glance. The unknowing inflictor of her wounds, the merciless denier of her existence. A cloud of dust rose as the carriage rushed away fast and disappeared around the corner. It had taken moments to leave but those few seconds etched across her mind with  blunt dagger. 

The birds were singing again, the wind swaying with leaves, dancing on the sweet melodies they created together. The gold rays  fell and made the stream sparkle like stars in a maiden’s eyes. It was all magical as if a spell broken, as if the reign of an evil warlock ended, as if pain was an illusion.  



She was hurriedly gobbling down her breakfast under her mother’s stern eye. Her mother had found out she was hiding her breakfast under the table instead of eating it, now she was under strict gaze untill she finished last bite. The morning was frosty. Winters were on full swing. She had never hated winters. She loved donning sweaters, she would stand with her face towards the sun and let the sun rays kiss her closed eye lids. It warmed her to the core. 

Her mother handed her the coat as she was heading out and blowed several prayers at her. Young blooming flowers are always more attractive, their fragrance, fresher than anything else. They are more susceptible to being plucked away just because they catch the eye. She was the flower, fragile, colourful, fresh, eye catching and unknowing her charm. 

She crossed the door and embraced the cold, felt the warmth in the rays of sun peaking over her rooftop. She couldn’t stop, her school bus would be there any minute and the walk to bus stop was long. One foot outside the door and she grabbed the pane, her gaze wandered.

 Birds stopped chirping, it was odd, but they did. The air had gone still as if afraid to move. The rustling leaves gone silent. Clouds had emerged from somewhere. It was dark all over. The golden daylight from moments ago had disappeared. 

He was coming out of his house, the big mansion. His car a stood a little away in front of the house. He had put on a grey half sweater, his spectacles caught the sunlight and it blinded her. He carried his bag to his car, got in and drove away. What  an ordinary, casual event. But fragile flowers are plucked by softest of hands. She stared after his ride. She was unable to understand why her feet staggered all the way to her bus stop. 
The reign of the evil warlock, unknowing inflictor of wounds had ended. Pain was an illusion. But the flower was plucked and mangled and it lay there, frost shriveled it’s soft petals, ruthlessly.


They used to mock her at her coldness. She never cared about anyone, or missed anyone. She would get cold and not respond. She had no love interests. They would get annoyed, fight but she would not budge. They would gush over boys, she would laugh it off. They called her stone hearted, dead soul and what not. She would smile and look away, search for something in horizon for several long minutes and when she would look back, she would be talking normally about weather or their tests or anything as ordinary as that. 

She felt nothing, she was leaving her birthplace and she was as calm as a lake on a sunny day. She was the lake. Calm, deep. 

Humans are insane creatures. They get attached to something as temporary as other humans and they never care about places, that stay there forever. Humans leave, places stay. 

She was leaving and she had no affiliations with that place. She bid happy goodbyes to everyone and walked out into the yellow warm evening. She faced sun which suddenly went cold.

He drove by.  She felt an urge to look up and she did. A cloud of dust rose as the car moved away fast and disappeared around the corner. Gone! 

The lakes are calm, cold, almost dead. A stone thrown into it causes ripples which die down soon, engulfed by the lake, disturbance overcome in mere seconds but did anyone know, stones hit deep in the lake. They hit the cores and depths, undiscovered surfaces and places inside lakes. 

A tear formed in her left eye. She blinked and looked at the sun. Tear was gone. The stone had caused ripples, lake calmed soon, the stone hit something deep within.
 

She climbed down the steps and got out of the building. Dark clouds invaded the sky. Rain frightened her. She wanted to reach home before it hit. She flung her purse over her shoulder. Her mother was very always wanted her to be home early from work. With the thoughts of her mother in mind, she quickened her steps. She looked up at the sky, a storm on it’s verge. She looked forward and the storm blew hard at her. Birds were taking low flights. People laughing, enjoying the weather after long hot day.

What people don’t understand is that the storm after long hot days is never a blessing. Storms always bring massacre of leaves, twigs, flowers,branches, bird nests, tears, emotions, memories!

She stopped dead, rooted on spot. Eyes wide, hand on her purse strap. The storm, birds, people, the world disappeared. He got into his car and reversed it. Never sparing her a glance as always. The worshipped human was back again. Years disappeared. The school girl was back again. He drove away fast. She stared after him. His car slowed but it had to disappear around the corner. It did!

Birds stopped chirping, it was odd, but they did. The air had gone still as if afraid to move. The rustling leaves gone silent. Clouds had emerged from somewhere. It was dark all over. The golden daylight from moments ago had disappeared. 

We all are bound, shackled by the fate. The carriage has to move away. The young flower has to be plucked. The lake has to swallow ripples. The stone has to hit the depths. The history has to repeat itself. The pain exists to be felt. Destiny has to be fulfilled. 

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