THE
DARK SIDE
He
could hear the sound of the wind howling. The rattling of the leaves tickled
him, leaving him smiling without any apparent reason. The howling grew louder
and he knew what awaited him; the rain. The summer has passed, everyone was awaiting
the winter. But he wanted the droplets of heaven to touch his face and slither
down his skin. With a thunder, the raining started.
The
howling died soon enough. Droplets slithered down his
smooth hair and his dark
skin. Inside his eyes, everyone could see a light. But for him, all he saw was
darkness. Standing by a road side tea shop, he rested his chin and hand on his
walking stick, sitting down on one of the benches, letting the smooth nature
embrace him.
He
could hear the sound of the tea hitting the bottom of the
silver mug, the sound
of paper against the snack taking in all the oil, the chewing of the tobacco leaves in
the mouth of the ones that waited for the tea to arrive. He enjoyed the strange
noise of everything and it suited well for his scene: darkness.
Something
wet nestled on his leg. The cold at the end of the body made him realise that
it was a dog’s nose, and for a dog to wander around the rain would be a stray
dog. The dog pawed on his legs and his footwear for some time, and then rested
against his legs and the wooden cane.
The
rain stopped, the howling never came back, and the shops closed down. The dog
left him a few moments later in search of food. Sitting on a bench beside the
highway, he could hear loud music from the heavy vehicles carrying goods and
families on vacation. For a moment, he closed his eyes, letting in more
darkness. Taking in a large breath, he waited for the patterns in the darkness
to arrive. Soon, between his closed eyes, he saw the patterns dance in front of
him, changing every now and then, and never coming back.
The
swoosh of a car woke him up, leaving him alone to ponder in the darkness,
thinking how he came here. He felt like it has been forever, although he had
been there only for a few years. The grey in his hair spread like a forest
fire, and his jaw line tightened day after day. His wrinkled pale hands rested
on the cane with his chin. The world was developing every day, and for him,
each day meant one step closer to the crossroad of hell and heaven. It would
all be in the hands of the one behind The Chair, he believed.
Beside the highway resided his small beautiful house few
years ago, the one with a white fence, yellow and red flowers, and a small wooden cabin with climbers climbing upon the roof, making it look like a haywire. Then, out of the blue, the development began. He signed the papers for his new home, and moved out the day when the machines came in a brought down his haven to ashes. Then, the masters behind the treacherous game never came for him with the money they owed him. Widowed old blind man with rusted up books and an ‘arakka petti.’ That’s how the masters had branded him before they left in their luxurious ride. Each day after that, he sat on the wooden chair of the tea shop, waiting for them to come for him, for one of the masters was his son.
The howling began again and the dog came back to nestle against his warm leg. The howling grew louder and he knew what awaited him the next. One, two, five... the droplets falling on his face increased, so did the speed of the wipers on the car. He wrapped the towel into a cover, so that he could dry himself up later. Under the night sky where the moon hid behind the monstrous clouds, he rested on his cane, hidden under an unjust world.
