Love Short Story – Lucian’s Diary
Photo credit: cohdra from morguefile.com
‘Sitting on the sidewalk, with nothing but the remembrance of hers as the time passes by swiftly. With nothing left to loose and nothing left to gain, I am here in this colossal world, acting just like the mere spectator of other lives and nothing to do with mine. Forgot when I had my last meal which too I couldn’t afford but was given in charity’,
Lucian closes his withered diary as a tear falls from his eye to his weathered face. Though he is in his forties, yet he looks like a septuagenarian. Bald, rugged skin, enormous stubble, filthy clothes and all the appearances of lunacy that a person can imagine of. Once a decent money maker and now left with nothing, except that diary which has the fragments of his history.
‘Just a feeling of disappearance and vacantness are in my heart which nobody can shed except for the one whom I had lost, the one whom I can only recover in eternity. Remembering that night, sleeping on that desolate bed for the first time, her smell lingering in the air and the dreams reaching for her hair, but suddenly waking up bathed in sweat’, I turn his diary pages one by one and excavate the treasure of him. Cautiously reading each and every phrase which describes the life of this man, as he looks to the western sky silently as if a picture.
The desire to glance in his past life makes me twirl the forepart of the diary. The diary seems to speak as if a person who was confined in isolation, the one who can even talk to a demon to tell the story of his life.
‘See her hair waving as she rolls down the window like a cascade falling with the water of immortality, looking me with her alluring eyes that shine like the midnight sun as she dances as the radio plays, ignoring the anxiety of the world like an angel.’
‘The majestic rides together filled with the excitement of the youth, exploding as the night moves on as she lies in my arms.’ As I turn the pages of his diary, it makes me think how interesting it is to glance in the lives of the unknowns. But the feeling of dejection soon engulfs me. The anguish and negativity surround me as if I am their child and they want to protect me from the external world. ‘The river of dreams that lie in front of me which never cease to flow, concluding it with an eye full of sorrow for my darling to exist. But now, left with nothing except the shadows of hers, the shadows of hers…’
‘Gone in the father’s house to embellish the existing beauty by her purity. Well, some say it right He picks the novelty first.’
The life of Lucian seems to be a facsimile of mine. I too lost my wife two years ago but never lost my sense. Remembering that day still brings shiver down my spine, I was finding just one motion of hers so as to vanquish the probability of her demise, just one touch to crumble down this immense mountain, which once shatter into fragments will release those emotions which were restrained in my heart, but couldn’t find any.
Turning to the last written page of the diary assures me of something ominous,
‘The waves that the incessant seas bring, cry aloud the message of hers when they curtail into the shores. Welcoming her invitation to the other side, submerging in the water where she died.’
I turn around to see his body swimming on the surface of the river. Opening his diary gives me desire to write the last phrase,
‘Out of the shadow land, over life’s ocean,
into the raptures, and joy of the Lord.
Safe in the Father’s house, welcomed by the angels,
His the bright crown and eternal reward.
–END–
