It's not often that you die

Writing is something special for me. The ability to mould ideas of immense profundity into a stream of words on a two-dimensional canvas is something that holds me in awe.

I've always wanted to write, write the kind of words that create that magic.

Call it laziness, lack of creativity, or an unfortunate combination of variables, but I never could finish writing what I began.

Novels, novellas are out of the question. Even short-stories remained climaxless for long periods of time before I discarded them.

So I've decided to cut that length down. Write really short stories. Micro stories if you like.

What follows is my first complete story! It was 5 am when the idea came to me in bed. I resisted the thought and struggled to sleep (I have an early morning meeting!) but resistance was futile. It's 6 am now as I upload this story.

As always, nah - more so than ever - tell me what you think.



It's not often that you die. So when I did, I was intent on making the most of it. I didn't want to miss out on anything, not a moment. Now that I saw what this was all about, I wasn't going to make the same mistakes as life. Death was going to be different.

It's funny how being on the outside gives you a better perspective of things on the inside. Sort of like using satellites thousands of miles away to study the soil that you are standing on. It makes perfect sense though, once you get the imagery - once you move outside.

All through life you wonder what could have been, wonder about the road not taken. You live out the days thinking of all that you could have done. The chances that you lost, the opportunities you missed, the risks you took that ran afoul, the moments that you were denied. You think of where you came from - you think of where you are heading to. You think of where others came from and where others are heading to.

But you fail to understand life for what it really is. An appreciation of existence. The start and end points are irrelevant; it's the journey that counts. And being on the outside gave me the ability to see that truth.

So I was determined not to take the same road in death. I was going to enjoy the journey and not bother about the when, the how and the where of the destination. I felt enlightened and I was going to make full use of that awareness.

As I sat back, soaking in the feeling of completeness, I looked around me and saw what I did for most of my life. Misguided souls, weary and confused, constantly judging their surroundings - evaluating their own standing in the scheme of things. It was clear to me by their furtive glances, their unsure actions that they hadn't yet grasped the meaning of existence. I wondered whether I was in some sense better than them; someone unique who could see the truth for what it was. Why hadn't they seen the light as I had? That question, unfortunately, was left unanswered for I saw another light of my own.

It's not often that you die.

Comments

What is this another light? That you did not see this light when you were alive? Or that you found out that you were dead? Or what the light is intentionally left open for the readers to guess in order to give this micro story ambiguity?

Was it the same light or another light? Was it a death or a death in another life?

I didn't leave it open to intentionally muddle up things. It's the way life is, isn't it?

hmmm...

mmmm....good one bhai....sorry for the late comment...i read it today naa...

This is fantastic :)) Loved reading it. You are a great writer

thanks!


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