Somewhere in the Tennessee mountains, life went steadily and slowly. This
was quite a cozy room. The fireplace was burning. The ticker of the big long
case of the clock was rocking. The swing of the rocking chair placed beside the
burning and crackling wood was making shadows that were tossing on the rear
wall and ceiling. A lonely candle was burning on the shelf above. Sometimes a
loud crack of the flaring wood, or the frosty wind rattling the window panes
broke the silence of the room. And there she had been sitting, on a worn out
rug that once would have been so dandyish. She was continuously staring into
the fire with flaring red sparks, that flew towards the arched roof. It seemed
as if she could stare at it for hours. The uninterrupted gaze brought tears to
her sore eyes. But they remained still as if some sort of spell had bound her.
A tear rolled down her cheek and seeped down into her lap, making the air even
more pensive. Such an agony. Out there, the sky went dark in a torrential fall
but she was numb to every sensation. Every tick of the rocking pendulum seemed
to be adding to her distress.
A loud shatter, the
frail glass pane could not stand the storm. Few broken edges still holding out
the swampy wooden frame were helpless to produce any barrier against the frosty
breeze. A glacial spout of wind struck
her body producing chills across her spine told her she was still alive. The
flames started flickering and wavering swiftly. But even that ruthless gushes
of frost gave out to break the ice on her feelings. She could not figure out
which storm was more fierce, inside her or outside. The fire was getting feeble
but still thriving for life against the cold, snappy wind. Her lips were cold
and blue and the white face seemed to be of a sculpture.
The fire was losing
the battle. And so did her soul.The flames were yielding, leaving ashes behind.
The tears had stopped falling or the small ice crystals attached to her white
cheeks might be her tears, frigid like her emotions. She wanted to cry so loud
and so badly that the echo would reach the skies. The wavering swiftened.
Another gush, another chill and a subdued sob, or it might be the quivering
soul. Her breathing was reckless. The agony had reached the climax. Her vision
was blurred, maybe because of the snow flakes tangled in her lashes. Somehow
she managed to blink, vision was better now but filled with such intense bright
light that it hurt her sore cornea. The lids fell and the eyes closed
eventually. The last starry spark went out. The sculpture dashed to the ground.
Was it ecstasy? It finally surpassed the agony. The journey was over; long
journey, from agony to ecstasy.
