It was a scorching summer evening. I was waiting for my bus at the stop full of people red with summer heat and contempting their environment. It looked as if everyone was contemplating about their lives as it’s a human instinct which forces us to think a lot about our lives in times of hardships.( And yes waiting for a bus in such a scenario was not less than a hardship). I suppose people ponder a lot in alone journeys as well. Anyways, not diverting too much into this. So, I was also busy making plans in my head that what things I have to do going back home.
This was limited only till the time an unrecognized figure, came into my vision spectrum. She was old, wretched and to my surprise cladded herself in a stole apart from her torn clothes in such a killing atmosphere. It seemed as if beside her stole she was hiding her most precious treasure but ironically looking into her situation, she could hardly have anything valuable with her. I could see her pestering people for something and they were driving her off with lamenting remarks. She was craving for money.
In a moment, her eyes dipped in the red ocean were gazing at me, noticing that I was showing a subtle interest in her unfulfilled purpose. She darted towards me, her eyes begging for money, stretching her hands towards me. Without thinking too much I gave her 20 bucks, enough for her to buy a meal. Taking that much, she started walking fast and in a moment she was out of my sight. The bus came after 5 minutes, but there was something else pricking me from inside. Even after 5 minutes I was unable to forget that women, that engimatic look, it gave me some kind of mixed feelings, so instead of walking towards the bus I walked down the lane were I saw her darting few moments ago. It was insanity to do so, but I couldn’t help that feeling inside me, a deep uproar it was.
At last I got her, but seeing what she was doing, gave a series of shock waves in my entire body. I was clueless about what to do seeing such a scene. She was exhaling rings of smoke into thin air, it looked as if she has been doing this for years as they were so perfect in structures. Her wrinkled hand holding a cigarette, and her body deprived of that stole.
Her arms were now visible to me but ironically, they were shielded with different figures inked onto her body, talking in a sort of peculiar hieroglyphical language, some of which I could see was a snake clutched to a tree branch, a pair of birds – one was a dove and other a black raven, some scriptures written in some unknown language, some words looked as if some sort of an incompleted sentence, a black rose, and some circles signifying some sort of geometric pattern. These inked stains on her body, told a lot about, who she was, who she is and who she will be in coming future.
As she was busy doing this, she noticed me and there was not a single change in her nonchalant behaviour. She continued with her work, with not a sense of guilt. As if it was her choice and she was accustomed to do so. I could sense a subtle smile on her face. She knew that her treasure is now visible to me. Her only inked skin which is now left with her. She looked like a darkness, with those figures shining as stars on her body. Withered of the feeling of hope and those figures on her body untouched by time. Deprived of pain, pleasure, hope, desire and living with the sense of her own soul, knowing her right and wrong, she was aware of her dark existence. Those feelings that I could see in her were inexplicable.
Instead of feeling guilty and questioning her for this. My legs moved backwards, I smiled at her and turning away went on my assigned way. I walked, remembering these lines which I read before and got an experience now, which are:
“Isn’t it time to acknowledge the ugly side? I’ve grown quite weary of the spunky heroines, brave rape victims, soul-searching fashionistas that stock so many books. I particularly mourn the lack of female villains — good, potent female villains. Not ill-tempered women who scheme about landing good men and better shoes (as if we had nothing more interesting to war over), not chilly WASP mothers (emotionally distant isn’t necessarily evil), not soapy vixens (merely bitchy doesn’t qualify either). I’m talking violent, wicked women. Scary women. Don’t tell me you don’t know some. The point is, women have spent so many years girl-powering ourselves — to the point of almost parodic encouragement — we’ve left no room to acknowledge our dark side. Dark sides are important. They should be nurtured like nasty black orchids.” – Gillian Flynn
p.s. I know people must be judging me in their own ways. But, I think writing this down was the most exhilirating experience for me.
I would love to know your views, both positive as well as negative. Do let me know about your views.
And yes, if you have a dark side to yourself(it’s not ‘If’, everybody do have it actually 😁), you can share your thoughts and experiences personally with me. I don’t care how much creepy they are.😁