Panopticon

The wind was blowing with a vigorous force that day. Stilled objects stirred with a passion just like their underlying emotions would have when removed from their cocoon. Nobody noticed, nobody cared. The one thing I craved the most was human touch. But that’s the side effect of living in a city; you don’t belong to anyone.

So I moved against the current and walked straight to the electronic store. Today, I felt strong willed; today was my day of freedom. Yes, today was liberation.

I walked through the concrete jungle, a microcosm of a kind. The transparent double doors opened magically, to let me into their world, as if they knew, they just knew today I would achieve the impossible. What machine should I choose to make my minion for this divine act? Well, frankly, any crap would do. I walked to the aisle with no salesman and picked up a video camera that was attached to a wire.

Because the desire to be watched fulfils the innate human need for vulgar criticism, it’s the satisfaction of knowing that no stone is left unturned and no life is a waste. It’s quiet, so I began filming.

“The good die young and in a way, are buried alive. It’s a painstakingly beautiful life, I agree. It’s filled with passionate violence that blows my mind away into a deep abyss, from which, there’s no looking back. I have seen the sea, I have seen the snow. I have discovered hatred in the eyes of a projection of love and I have known regret the size of this deep abyss. I am here because this is it. Today, I end this adventure; today I become free. If you are the unfortunate one that finds this, do not blame yourself for you are just a creature of God, loving this world and doing your thing. This is my suicide note to you, mankind. This is the music of my departure. And this is my eulogy.”

I shut the video recorder and walk off with a big smile. The tough part was over.

 

It had been a horrible day, so far. I had given countless demos and wasted so much energy. I felt so tired. It’s another windy day in this hopeless city. It’s no paradise, I admit, but it’s better than being home. These little bouts of hell are better than the fireball in your skull, every day.

“Yes Sir, that video recorder is on sale.”

I press the play button to find a beautiful woman staring at my face, with gorgeous dark eyes. The wannabe director and I, stand mesmerized for a few micro seconds till reality dawns upon us. She was dying; she wanted to die. For a second I lose my breath and as I gain consciousness, I notice the time and date this video has been taken and quickly my eyes scan the store for any sign of straight black hair.

I run.

I run for what seems like an eternity. Where could she have gone? What direction? Where would one go to kill themselves?  I have to stop her. I know my life will change if I don’t.

I chase demons, I just swim and swim. There was no time to come up for air somebody would lose their breath forever, if I did.

Keep running. Keep saving.

 

The pills I was going to choose today, the colours of choice flashing before me. I had been there in my dizziest daydream. This wasn’t the end. Life is rosy, I promise you. Its contours light up and shine for you, I swear on my mother. My mother. You haven’t seen her, have you? Well, that’s another story.

Keep running, keep saving.

 

I reached the Central station. It was a bad hour to search for a suicidal woman on the loose. My martyred eyes scanned, unrelentingly they moved; dutifully responding to their tiger mother. And, at last, I saw her. She stood in a corner, a big smile on her face. I had never seen such a satiated visage before. She saw me looking at her and smiled.

The train entered the station and gracefully, I let her go.

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