Tipping Point.

There was no energy and no strength, whatever was going on in his head essentially ceased to drive his actions. He looked pale and cold. He sat on a chair next to the television. His chin hoisted by his arms elbowing on his knees. His eyes rolled around the living room, and he wondered whether he knew what he was looking or whether he didn’t. He wondered if it was his speech or his mannerism,whether it was who he was or just what he was. And he didn’t know if it was what he spoke or what he didn’t . Whatever it was, he just didn’t know. And if it was just how he did things or how he didn’t. There was something, something that he personally could not just conclusively define. He physically could not bring himself to move off his seat either. For someone like him, he found it pretty difficult to understand why some people were so electric in their reaction. Why some people behaved as though they had discovered some new planet, and given it to all-mankind as a gift. And to him, such things were so distasteful. He was just sitting there, looking like he was contemplating something that was yet to be unfolded to mankind as well . Sackcloth and ashes look excitingly by comparison. 

The house was big and empty and in the deep solemn silence, he heard his heart beating, it was slow but unstopping . And he wondered whether finally, it would come to a stop on notice or just snap and whether it would be soothing or painful when it does . In the doubts and the questions he was certain, certain of only one thing, he was still breathing. He first met his father around a bonfire the summer he turned 10. And was keen to have a much better understanding of the person he was. It was like he had run into one person he only heard of and never met, never saw and never had the chance to trade ideas . It was time to learn from the legal eagle ; his father . He taught him through observation, that every coin has two sides and every rat has it’s own point of view. And they spied the animal planet on a silent channel one afternoon. He told him that lions never go for the weakest or the slowest. They target the juicy member of the herd and chase it down for better or for drought. What moral was he to learn from that decidedly unrelated tale to questions he had, like where the hell he had been? Never go for the tail ends. Set the bar high, focus have drive and if you flop, then what a glorious failure! Being a mediocre is safe and easy. But it takes much guts to be a brilliant failure. Devotion and faithfulness to a cause, country, group, or person is loyalty.Philosophers disagree on what can be an object of loyalty, as some have argued that loyalty is strictly interpersonal and only another human being can be the object of loyalty. But if there’s one thing there exists, is blind loyalty. Listening to his father speak, he honestly thought him, a great motivational speaker. Someone who had the ability to talk another into the belief that, it is actually possible to jump from a 26ft height and out of nowhere grow spiritual wings and drop down in a colourful style leaving every person awe striken. As it is one thing to listen, it’s another to keep listening and especially when it’s becoming very repetitive. At age six he had become a boy of dubious splendour. A kid of fixed and unbending rules and principles, one of which to be flexible at all times. Even though he had thought his father was good at what he said, he knew that, what it is that he said were things that were relevant only yesterday and irrelevant for the present and very obsolete for the future . He hated repetition. And he believed only in progressive learning and not regressive. Everything his dad told him he had heard before. Respectfully to him, the words of his father were below his pay grade and little less ,below his sense of humour. 

The ship was sinking fast and he had a slightly twisted version of the events. The angst that had resurfaced had provoked recriminations and inquests within himself and he felt unceremoniously dumped from his own life and questioned his very own future. The trust, the belief and the confidence he had built had been blown to smithereens. And as much as he could not relate it, the complete absurdity and certainly the extremely unreliable circumstance, could not keep him from thinking about the hard truth ; his historical past. And in that crazy mix, the moments he floated in the utter unforgettably delight again came to the fore. He could perfectly remember the characteristic utterances of the horse expressed audibly when he stroke its neck gently, and rhythmically the day he last visited the stables . He had been hooked to horses ; the last thing he could possibly rely on for better connection and understanding . He loved them ,he loved talking to them except when he talked to himself. Which he preferred the most in moments of distress or when he felt he wanted to express something with much absolute importance . He believed that in talking to himself, he had an equal, someone who experienced the same as he did . Someone whose witty and idiosyncratic nature he could attest. 

Sometimes we may want to keep things the way they are. But as it is, change is inevitable and innovation is not just about why, its about why not. Writing had become his new found realistic adventure. His manner had always caused him trouble with those less equipped to keep up and simultaneously he found himself the prisoner of lesser minds. And for that he kept his life pretty much to his pen and paper. Everything he did was defined by pragmatism , steadfast application to a Stakhanovite work ethic, standing up for oneself and aggravating whatever was that stood against his will . And above all though, it was about true faith. He didn’t just take to writing, it was what brought out who and what he truly was. A person surrounded by no friends and not much . Writing connected his life to the world and the only proof he wanted to show that, there was another way . That life can be good if you stay committed to a course. The papers were scattered on the ground and he was still sitting on his chair. “What do you do sitting here,” he asked himself finally . That’s when he understood that, he was looking for something. Something to keep living for. Listening to his own frivolous empty chatter on his white papers had become boring. And he was hoping that by looking at the things he had done before something would ignite in him. The realisation he had, stroke his senses with a deafening thud and numbed his whole sense of life . The situation was different and there was something insincere. There was a lot that he needed to push down the drain. He finally stood from his chair,and pushed the table out of his way. Yes it is rare to find unspoilt peace. It is difficult, sometimes nearly impossible to find some peace. As he walked around the living room, he finally cought the picture. He needed to be free, not thinking and not worried about anything. He wanted to stop thinking about getting fixed. He wanted to stop thinking about what, there was to think about. He didn’t seem very much in the mood to smile, but he couldn’t resist a broad grin and a collective ripple of gasp swept across the room. He knew just what to do.

The idea he had formulated for a moment exceeded his expectations. And remembered the day he was riding in the back of boeing 747. Life under the horizon was refreshingly beautiful and glorious . Sightseeing was impressive and when the pilots shifted the plane to a much more serious level of height he seriously thought about the day he will be far above the horizon beyond the sky . The day he would have the chance to be in the after life to be in heaven . Someday, someday he thought. It was candor and consummate win beneath his wings when eventually, he picked the gun from his shelf. He released the safety and that’s when he heard the door bell buzz. “Martin , Martin,” rang round the house and it washed away some of the doubts. The voice he had was one that had gotten him out of a whole heap of trouble before. He couldn’t figure how on earth that same person was there. He stood there in the far end corner, the pistol on his hand raised to his head and wondered whether it was a reality or it was just a stunt. In the end, the card was surely his and only his to play.


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