Waiting for Godot

Vladimir: You must be happy too, deep down, if only you knew it.
Estragon: Happy about what?
Vladimir: To be back with me again.
Estragon: Would you say so?
Vladimir: Say you are, even if its not true.
Estragon: What am I to say?
Vladimir: Say, I am happy.
Estragon: I am happy.
Vladimir: So am I.
Estragon: So am I.
Vladimir: We are happy.
Estragon: We are happy.
(SILENCE)
Estragon: What do we do now, now that we are happy?

-Samuel Beckett, Waiting for Godot

Advertisements

We are Okay

Often
I feel a sound thumping
in my ears and my heart.
It thumps loud enough
for the world to hear
for the universe to feel.
Blood pumps
through my veins,
waiting to gush
out of my ears.
Scenes run
in front of my eyes,
speeding past,
a montage of its kind.
A bullet train,
getting derailed,
crashing into a tree,
collapsing across,
the edge of a hill,
rolling and tumbling,
down the slopes,
vomiting its passengers,
out into the abyss,
luggage disassembling,
to bits and pieces,
and shreds and tatters,
and scraps.

But let us feign,
sham the world
into disbelief.

For we are okay,
aren’t we?

DSC03129

Fear

She lay huddled under those blankets, shuddering with the thought that he was coming back. Of course he was coming back.
He always did.

He waited for her to go downstairs. He waited for her to just head out that front door, and as soon as he would hear that knob turn, he would suddenly be wide awake. By then, he would already be out of bed, staggering in a hurry to the next room. These moments were an absolute bliss for him. With excitement rushing through his veins he would rush inside the dark room, leaving the door open to let the hallway light in.

Did it bother him that his wife was probably just in the elevator, ten steps from his front door? No, it didn’t.
Did it bother him that his wife was carrying three school bags on her shoulders, clasping the hands of her children, hurrying them along so as to not miss that morning bus? No, it really didn’t.

He tiptoed across the now slightly illuminated room. So excited, he was trembling. These days didn’t come often, but when they did, he made sure he didn’t miss these moments. Across the room lay the bed, and on the further left end, she was huddled. And of-course she knew he was coming for her. She hadn’t been able to sleep all night with the nightmare of the coming moment. Every time, she thought she would stand up for herself; that she would shout and scream till the entire building, street, block, city, country, continent, world would hear her…
But when the moment arrived, she lay as still as a stone, as cold as ice. She was trembling, yes. But that was somewhere deep inside her, her organs were rattling inside that frozen cage that embodied her. Almost as a curse.
Her heart was ready to burst out of that chest, and save her maybe? She knew she was crying, but her wide open eyes refused to show them. Her room was illuminated now, but all she could see was the darkness that curtained over her, huddling her closer and closer until she didn’t even feel like she existed inside that body anymore. She was silently rebelling against those harsh caressing hands and fingers. Oh those fingers, going in all possible directions. She was wailing, looking down on her body; on that embodied cage she had just exited.
Floating above the scene of crime, she wailed in pain to the body below her, “Scream! Shout! Shove him away!”,  trying to convince it to do something this time. But could anyone hear her she knew not.

It was strange, the sensation of that body’s head slowly titling itself up to her and looking at her with those huge empty eyes. Those eyes that were screeching and moaning, at their periodic death; she looked down, ever so helpless at that filthy mouth that was moving over the body. there was another moan in the room. Another, entirely different moan, that echoed of pleasure. Not guilt, just pure plain unrequited pleasure. A demanding pleasure. Those hands, fingers and mouth were getting restless and even faster, like they wanted to gain everything possible in those few minutes and gain more and more and more. There were ecstatic moans, and there were painful moans.

Did it bother him that his wife lovingly thought he was in bed, tired from last nights late shift, while he was up here doing this to his own twelve year old niece? No, it didn’t.
Did it bother him that his wife was presently thinking of giving him a loving peck on the check to wake him up with a tray of his morning breakfast right now? No, it really really didn’t.

It didn’t bother him because now he was already covering her back up. He slid the rumples of her shirt back down her neck, and gave those two taut nipples a good long look of lust and desire before covering them too. He slid his hands between her wet thighs one last time, looking up at the ceiling in pleasure. Ahh, the love of sweet untouched little girls, what taut buttocks and smooth virginity. The pyjamas were slid back into place, the blanket on top. He gave his niece a quick peck, massaged her shoulders, telling her how he had massaged her only because she had been working so hard on her school assignment all night.

Yes, she had been working in his room all night, on his laptop, as he lay on the bed in front of her with his own excited self dangling out of his meager shorts. She had been frantically trying to work with the beating anxiety inside her, as he lay there just staring at his niece with those cold blinking eyes, rubbing his meat with longer breathes.

“My baby was tired, wasn’t she? You work so hard, oh you’ve been working sooo hard. So hard. Youre more relaxed now, aren’t you?”

And then he was gone, back to his own room, his own bed, his own blanket; and his own hard desire.

I was left to die once more.