Her Last Words

About Gagan Deep Singh

Gagan Deep believes that he lives in a schizophrenic world, loving every thing and everybody occupied in his thoughts. He is employed as an artist.

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I don’t remember what her last words to me were, neither the look over her face, nor the oceans she had silenced inside herself, which she had thought would have spoken  the truth, when she’d come, to kill the both of us. So, I for her sake, for our sake, silenced mine and became a murderer by myself.

It was just the two of us, in the dim lit room that night, but to my concern, the room was so bright, it made me overcome any intuition which spoke against her. And thus I bewitched the door which was the only exit to the room, for death was inevitable now.  “For one could not have lived, till the other survived,” the heavens had conspired the night before.

I noticed, how well she had come prepared that night, endeavoring to strike some conversation between us, to conceal the true cause of her visit. I was trying to cross swords with her, poisoned her with our memories of love, but the poison soon started taking upon myself, which I have never been able to get rid of till date, and maybe she had got a hint at my intentions, growing more cautious than she was. Panicked, I tried to give her an overdose of tranquilizers, but it only made her sleep into unconsciousness, making it even more difficult for me to behold her, sleeping besides​ me, for she was beauty personified into human body.

The rain hitting the window glass alarmed me of the Opera which the night was playing with the stars and moon as its players, so as to infuse love.

And Unimaginably, I rose from my place besides her, where I had been sitting for so long, and began to sing her favourite song to her; till she rose batting her eyelids against the lights, while I caught hold of her face and made the venomous kiss.

And then, she spoke something, which I never heard or, rather have forgotten today. For all I remember, today is the last kiss and how the room returned to its dim nature after that, and thus I observed, that love was not violence or vile but serene and beautiful, just like death.


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