Lazarus of Grey

The society outside his window, he knew, is a crazy breed.

He was chained to the bed and to bleak medication in the hospital room. Paralysed in the war, his limbs were now merely the souvenirs of his past glory. And memories of the war, of his home, of his tears and laughter, were all faint - like a distant haunting rhythm he could barely hear.

The shadows in his room would listen to him as he tried to remember the stories of his past. But in the dark, even these shadows would turn deaf and indifferent like the rest of the world.

His mind shifted to the window again, and he wondered how the world had changed since.

He saw the painting on the curtain that hung by the window. They had told it him it was a beautiful curtain and he knew they were refering to how much it cost them. But, he couldn't know there was a really beautiful summer outside because he'd embraced the cold in the room.

But today, he wondered why his memories seemed wilder to him than his everyday battle with his past. He tried and failed to remember the details of the long lost joy. And he began to suffocate in pain.

So he instinctively stretched out his numb hand, and wrenched down the delicate curtain. As the curtain was invaded, an army of light seemed to swim in and melt the crust of his heart in silent peace.

The sudden glare burnt his sight and his eyes closed but he was smiling in the first taste of warmth. His hand grew strength and pushed out the arrogant window. And then the breeze soothed him like an old friend.

When his eyes recovered, he saw a bird dancing to the tune that played inside his heart, and he smiled wider.

But the euphoria suddenly faded into blinding fear when he looked down onto the street.

He saw a grey hunter on the grey platform by the road, aiming at her. In that paused moment, his past flashed in his eyes and he saw his own tragedy of betrayal.

He tried to scream to dancing bird, but his voice betrayed him again... and she was hit.

She was lying numb on the grey road, wings outstretched. But the hunter was gone to find another victim to impose his amusement on.

He now repeated the prayers he'd made to his forgotten god during war. His prayers were unheard then.

Now, the bird walked half conscious along the road.

Not far away, amidst the colourless backdrop of grey men and grey houses and grey cars, was a scarlett face of a child, worried by the bird's fate.

And her fears sailed through the grey air, past the colourless everything, and fell on the child's face as silent tears.

The child dared to disturb the apathy of the grey society, and ran across the road vowing to save the bird, and wake her up as angels lulled her to eternal sleep.

But running towards the bird's colour, the child was struck by one of the mighty grey cars. And the child collapsed beside her on the grey road.

The child's breath froze and the bird cut the weak thread of her life seeing this monstrosity of fate.

The two rays of colour died out as the two lives ended and the whole world was colourless again...

The clouds cried in despair and the grey men below pretended to enjoy these tears.

The sun burnt brighter for the two young lives, and the grey men pretended to enjoy its wrath. The tides rose higher in the oceans, and the grey men celebrated the mourning.

.

When the sharp pain in his heart became unbearable, he closed the window with a plain dull cloth.

In the colourless world, he saw colour again - he saw the child's smiling face on this curtain. But if someone should prove to him that the child's face and the colour are in his mind, not the dull curtain, he would wish he was blind.

.

Months passed and the seasons outside had changed. The room was now warmer than the grey winter outside.The few who DID visit his room were apalled by this dull plain curtain replacing the expensive one. But he returned to them their indifference. And he found great joy in the child's painted smile on the curtain. On some days he saw even the bird painted on the child's shoulder. In the womb of this joy, a weak hope was born.

They told him his health was improving; and he returned to them their indifference.

His limbs grew strength through this weak hope and eventually, they decided he was alive enough to face the grey world.

He weakly walked out of the hospital and looked up at where his room could be. They had replaced the expensive curtain and kindly let him take the cloth that he'd used to cover the window. Walking through the grey street, his new found hope showed him the road to his home, where they would be waiting for him. The hope weakly whispered to him - "you will grow old with the ones that love you". He heard this whisper and looked around to spot the voice. He saw many grey men on the crowded street. It couldn't have been any of their voices. He looked down into his arm and found it. It was the child in the curtain that spoke. He wrapped the curtain around his shoulders to keep away the cold, and walked towards home...