Oxymoron

“For my part I know nothing with any certainty, but the sight of the stars makes me dream.”

-Vincet Van Gogh

Prime numbers..They are like life.. logical but yet difficult to comprehend their pattern. He has been brooding over this trying to find his way out through the galleria of peculiar numbers. He tries to scribble something but pencil lead breaks. He scratches the paper with the broken pencil as if trying to sympathize with the fate of broken lead. How rough and weird is this, he thinks.

He takes out the dices from his left pocket and starts playing with them. He rolls them on the table and the numbercomes ‘2’ and ‘3’.

“Huh prime!”

“So you got a 5” someone speaks from behind. Taken aback as someone has just spoken his mind aloud he turns back.

“Actually I would say its 23 my friend”, He says

“You are again at it, aren’t you?”

“Well my friend it’s the way you want to see it”, saying that he smiles.

He has always wondered at the obscurity of life. Always been so unsure of the purpose. It has never been so right, It has never been so wrong either. This he believed is the genesis of the confusion that clogs the mind of perhaps all the people around.

He picks the dices from the table and braces them back to his left pocket.

It has been raining heavily outside.

“Are we going to wait for the rain”, His friend enquired. His friend has been always been kind of person to throw certain subtle question on him and used to watch his expressions. He always attributed this behaviour of his friend as a new religion called sadism.

He observes the tiny minuscule droplets of water on the window pane. The window was quite dusty and with showers it was looking like the holy heaven was spitting on them as if saying this is what you deserve to be there.

“Funny!” he says to himself. Funny is the nature of windows. The classic humour of the light or rather darkness being filtered through so called transparent matter. Colourless they are, yet trying to be prismatic. May be they are like the signature of our souls. Deep within everything gets filtered with the deviations. May be it’s the nature of our souls that makes us so colourful.

“Are you ready now, the rain has stopped”, His friends informs him.

“uhhh..Yes I am”, A sudden sadness engulf his face which gives an appearance of hollowness. It’s seems to be another act of luck. Bloody luck! That he is in so much need of money. A tool created by man to trade. And today he is going to trade a life for another.

“bah! Humbug”, He groans in despair.

“What! I hope you are not having second thoughts, remember you need money, and for that you have to kill this guy!”, His friend says.

“Yes I know, let’s go”.

Life they are full of permutation combinations entangled with tight strings of thoughts.

I cant kill anyone. I am not a killer. Life is what I have cherished all along in perhaps most subtle simple things. I love life how can I take one. Its the enigmatic force of joy that binds my soul with this colour. If I lose it I will lose everything.

His friend shakes him to wake him up from his  thoughts.

“C’mon pull the trigger”,

“What!”

He finds himself in front of a stranger pointing the gun towards him. Is it real? Am I going to do it? Suddenly everything seems to have stopped. Sometimes your heartbeats starts to amuse you in these times. The adrenaline gush takes you to another intersection of plane where you can see how your heartbeats slow down than your thoughts. You can see how you disintegrate in the moment with thousands of voices screaming in an obtuse manner.  Every second takes a timeframe of hours and…and they scream. They scream so you can realize, realize those moments of truth

He also realizes that and shouts “NO!!”

“No! I won’t take his life, We have never been imparted on this land to do this. To save someone by taking another life is death in itself. I won’t commit this mistake. I am not a KILLER. My heart is clean and any kind of killing is unforgivable”

“You swine, coward!, I will do it myself then..”, His friend punches him and takes away the executioner from his hand.

He feels as if pierced by numerous needles from all directions and in response he jumps on his friend and tries to snatch away the pistol.

A crashing sound blurts out and He could feel the warm blood. His eyes widens seeing this and in acknowledgment of the fact that it was not his. The horror fills his mind. His friend’s body gets heavy tearing away his left pocket from which the dices rolls out bearing no ‘1’ and ‘3’

“4” his friend utters his last word.

He whispers “Nah! It’s 13, the prime number of death”*.

 

*Acc to Chinese tarot card. Number 13 is death card.