Short Stories

Yet each man kills the thing he loves..

Yet each man kills the thing he loves,
By each let this be heard,
Some do it with a bitter look,
Some with a flattering word.
The coward does it with a kiss,
The brave man with a sword!

~ Oscar Wide

An immature got hold of paints. There were colours he never saw and shades he had never seen in his poor, small life. They were right in front of him, all set on the long table. Right there, he just had to grab them

And he did not resist, resist the temptation to tamper with the things he had never been acquainted with, enter into something strange.. new.. dangerous. The desire was much too great. For once here, I could never blame him

And he did. Opened the plastic tubes and held the tray in his hand. Squeezed them brutally, eyes frantic with crazed light. He did not care, He had no idea nor the simple notion. But I saw what he did to those colours. I saw what he did. I saw the colours rising and falling and dying. I saw it all

I crashed on the floor, waves entering my brain.The books the daffodils from my hands fell on the floor. It was as if the vibrations will split my head apart. There was thunder, I was engulfed in lightening. As if someone had connected me to one end of the terminal and I was thrashing as the current leashed its way through me. I never understood what happened. What really happened. Whether he played with colours or it was really me.

Far from his view I had collapsed on the hard floor, flailing and thrashing. I clutched my head and screamed. He never listened. He had gone too far, he was deaf dumb and blind to everything but what he was doing. There was no coming back for him. Not, for me, either

I beckoned him to stop. Screamed at the torture he was putting me in. As his hand flew across the canvas, fresh waves of pain and agony threatened to rip my body apart. If only he coud stop. If only he would leave some colours to breathe. If only he could stop moving. If only he could stop touching them all. Touching me so brutally
I don’t know whether he ever stopped. Whether he ever was done with his freedom and his desire. All I know is I died in my own painting room. All I know is I died amidst something soft and yellow


6 thoughts on “Yet each man kills the thing he loves..”

  1. I love this piece! What a wonderful revision to the one you wrote before! … but sad. why does she have to die!?? … but yeah I like tragedy too … life is not always happy jolly. :) …

    You know what this story reminds me of? A short stories book titled, Mithat, in Amharic, that I once read back home. In the collection, there is this story, Mithat (illusion or surreal, closest vocabs), which is the title of the book, where the main character madly falls in love with a female character, in the beginning she too loves him, but as time goes by, he becomes so obsessive that she starts distancing herself from him, which makes him more obsessive, and he couldn’t stop pushing, outpouring his love for her, she leaves him, and he brakes down, only then that he realizes what he has done, that through loving her too much, he has killed her love for him … that he has pushed her away, that he should not have been too obsessive, that he should have given her his love stingily so that she craves for more … :)

    There is also a song by the band Queen: Too much love will kill you ( ….I like the original version, but this combo is my favorite :) I like Pavarotti as much as I like Freddie =))

    … that is what they say lol. but as far as am concerned, I think people shouldn’t be restricted on how they express their feelings, especially if it is for love. Sure, too much can be too much, but I prefer too much love than too little love lol …..

    1. I am Thomas Hardy devotee. Now you know why I write all opera-ish tragic =)

      Aye to the story. You know my favourite book is Return of The Native (also by Hardy) You may have read it. I just love the whole setup… All the craze and all the characters and shudder. I’ll dessicate if I start talking about what I feel about the characters out there. Jude The Obscure might be more shuddery but I aye Return of The Native…

      Ahoy to the song. Mr Lecturer

      And to the last part.. I disagree… A bit..Restriction is necessary on occasions.. Letting out emotions to the open dry air letting it fly waste and dessicate and disembowel.. Shudder. Too much love feels.. dunno… Unreal..

      But of course.. Humans have a natural tendency to dislike restrictions =D

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s