The best thing about life is to experience death. Several ones. With different intensities. Different ways. I smile when I even think about the idea of “she died peacefully in her sleep”. Would that not be immensely ironic? Or would it be fate’s way of finally giving respite?
Why am I talking about death? No. I am talking about life. Different kinds of dying lives.
So, there I was experiencing a few deaths.
Some came stealthily, barefoot, gliding with the ease of a ballerina, leaving me transfixed. Till those harmless shoes magically grew porcupine-sharp hairs and poked me in the eye as the leg raised gracefully like a swan.
Some hit like a hammer. Just a thud leaving me numb. Not a trace of blood.
Some came from behind in a sudden embrace. Surprise! I thrilled with the feel of strong arms encircling my waist…and then the fangs were deep in the back of my neck, poison dripping.
Some came in eyes that looked mellow, inviting. I returned the gaze and the laser beams that penetrated first blinded me and then rendered me immobile and lifeless.
Some came with a searing sword, already blood-soaked. This was the worst. My blood would mix with another’s; my mortality was tied up with another’s. The blade was merely flashed. It did not shine because it was already covered with old blood. Perhaps ageing. Perhaps a past that refused to go. I watched it and did not realise when it was thrust in my stomach.
My womb fell out. A cry came out. It was another birth. Another life. Another reason to die.