Going Nowhere

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
A short Story, "Going Nowhere"

Submitted: December 28, 2016

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Submitted: December 28, 2016




This night is like the other previous nights. Nights come and go! Everything appears to be gloomy. Happiness has hanged its head. I still remember the joyful cries and fits of laughter but time never stays back and I have let loose my poor boat to the mercy of the waves. Maybe we are passing through a great transitional period. Nothing remains the same. Past has already said adieu while the future is obscure. You know I'm in love with the waves but I'm scared it'll devour me. You'll say that I'm dreadfully nervous but actually I'm not. I've been playing with the waves for the last twenty years and it's a fun for me but I'm not nervous. I'm feeling the extent of sagacity that how skillfully I'm driving my boat with one oar and that too almost broken. Oceans and deserts invite travelers into its lap to lull them forever but I'm not nervous and I can't be nervous. Though the waves detest me and I'm listening to its, wrath in guise of a loud roar. Maybe the stones in it are crying with pain but why 1 should listen such a painful noise! I have put my fingers in my ears but I'm not nervous and I can't be. Why I must hearken to its hypocritical smiles? Waves! I shrieked, I can't dissemble my feelings no longer. My life is a failure, no, a total failure. I've heard that life is the train and not the station but every traveler soon reaches his station and maybe my station is these cruel waves. How chilly the night is! A cold wind is blowing. I'm shivering and I must put on my jacket but no, I must enjoy its gentle touch. Up above the moon is shrouded in huge black clouds. Sometimes in a fit of frenzy, she winks at me and in its silver dim light I'm seeing some indistinct figures floating on the waves. The shore is ten miles off, and I'm at loss what's forthcoming. The sight of such unending figures frightens me but I'm not nervous. One figure seems to be a disfigured one. I think it's a shape of a young boy lying on blood stricken earth encircled by rising flames. Oh! How scary his eyes are! Blood filled eyes. The second figure is that of an old lady standing in half closed door and peering towards the deserted way. I can see her grey hair and her shawl lying at her feet. I'm seeing men in black coats in hurry and men behind bars with eyes wide open. NO, I don't want to see such figures coz I want to enjoy that lone star throwing light like spears. But no, soon it will be engulfed by the hawk sun. The hawk sun gives life to the earth but devour such twinkling stars which enlighten the path of a lone traveler like me. I'm listening to a familiar sound. Oh! It's the sound of the storm. My boat doesn't want to move forward. I feel the half broken oar has sighed its last breath. 0 storm, abate your wrath for a moment, I shrieked. I want to move forward and to reach the shore but my boat is going nowhere. 


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