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...