Midnights are always a beauty not,
for man every is a poet not,
if red may bring roses of love,
red may then cause swords of blood!
He was running on the pavement like never before, with tensed expressions that glowed and dimmed under the municipal street lights. There was someone behind him whose footsteps he could clearly hear with every second that elapsed on his watch’s dial. The more he ran, the faster that unknown ‘someone’ seemed to approach his back. But he failed to see anyone behind him as he ran, and that terrified him the most. He had never expected that his car would trouble him at such an hour at midnight and that too, at the graveyard’s gate. He was a film critic by profession, who wrote reviews for horror releases and midnight work was usual for him. Weakened to the extreme, he still did not give up running, and checked his watch almost regularly to see how much time was left for the morning sun to rise. He kept on wondering who was chasing him. What would that ‘someone’ want from him? Or was it not ‘someone’ but ‘something’? His brain was working on hundreds of parallel thoughts, yet it sank into deeper complications. After running for two miles at a stretch, he found himself insane, his legs paralyzed almost, and his throat yearning for water. He dropped down at the foot of the newly painted street lamp post, and although he could feel his heartbeats, he could not determine if he was alive. The footsteps approached him, but none could be seen. He tried to keep himself awake, and looked at his watch. The time read: 12:40 AM. Suddenly, he felt someone running towards him, and he could hear the frequency of footsteps increasing. He was about to get up and run, when ‘someone’ held him from his back and a knife ran across his neck and blood oozed out; he could feel the instant, his thirst for water vanished, his legs stopped moving and he dropped down on his knees, still a quantum of breath left…He turned back to see who it was but could gain no strength to overcome his death!
Ashutosh awakened with sheer suddenness. He felt his death running down his spine. He drank some water from the glass beside. The television set was still on and he could not remember when he had fallen asleep on the sofa. He found his favourite horror movie playing on the channel, At forty minutes past midnight where the death of the victim occurs when his car fails at a graveyard’s gate, and upon being chased by an unknown entity, he tries to escape but at last is killed, and the movie continues in next birth belief where the protagonist is reborn and blah blah blah. Victory for good at last. It was the nineteenth time he was watching, and why shouldn’t he fall asleep? He understood that the movie had got the better of him. He switched off the TV and before going to sleep, he checked the time. It was: FORTY MINUTES PAST MIDNIGHT!
Dreams are always a beauty not,
for dream every is a gift not,
if dream may bring an angel down,
can it not bring a disease foul?