I looked in her eyes and was trapped, as I so often was.
She stood, statued. Her face radiating energy. Her angelic body in sublime harmony, made me believe in the existence of a Great Designer. Every part of her body in rhythm with the other; each musical note playing independently, yet concordant, forming a divine symphony. The smooth glowing terrain of her face was not disturbed by her nose and eyes, but integrated. Her big eyes opened wide, like a shining gem from a sea shell, and were so cognate to her smile, that the being of one seemed unimaginable without the other. Her smooth, slim hands were folded casually in each others' company but they appeared to be jelled in an alignment. The amble winds made her hair flow gently on her back. Her hair did not resist the flow, but became the flow.
She stood, statued. Her face, radiating energy. I looked at my drawing sheet and compared, then smiled silently at my silly thought.
"It's...", I announced,"...it's done."
She came, approaching gaily; her eagerness winning over her fatigue.
I stopped her. "Wait. Promise me you won't laugh when u see it."
"I promise. But is it because I look bad or you draw bad?" The mischief in her eyes told me it wasn't a question, just play. But I forced myself to reply, "Neither."
I let her scrutinize my efforts. The zeal in her eyes gave way to some shock, as she stared at the canvas. "Don't tell me that is me!", she said pointing to the sketch of a man who was admiring the night sky.
"Of course not. Actually...", I said, "that's me."
Amused by my reply, she asked, "Then where am I?"
I knew she would laugh, and I wanted her to. So I reminded her, "You
remember your promise?"
"I do, my lord."
I gathered some courage to get naked, and still be ignored. "That's you", said I, pointing towards the top right of the sheet.
She laughed, I rejoiced. I prayed that time would halt.
"Why do you always play pranks with me?" she complained without complaining at all and went away. When I could no longer descry her, I gazed at my creation. There, amongst the foggy night clouds was a stainless moon, chaste, serene and un-obscured, looking at the distant viewer, and laughing sacredly.
Author's Bio: Mohit Parikh works in a staffing and recruiting firm. He is 25. While he mostly writes short-fiction, he is currently working on a novel about growing up in India, before the information age. All children except one grow up.
Sacred Laugh is a very short story capturing the romance and the naivete of youth. Narrated by a nineteen year old kid (the then age of author) with an artistic bend, the story tries to portray the playful chemistry between its two protagonists. The plot has been kept extremely simple, focusing instead on the tender 'romanticization' of exchanges. The author blogs at hereismohit.blogspot.com.
It was a Good Read man..!!
ReplyDeleteWaiting for your Novel..