If people remember

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic

What if you lived in a world of no tomorrow?

Submitted: August 23, 2018

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Submitted: August 23, 2018



One day, her eyes wandered off to the expanse of this euphonious surrounding and it dawned upon her that Oh! Wow! This world is so beautiful. It has become kind of redundant, seeing the same kind of things everyday with almost identical sequences and exclaiming in the same manner. What has changed? Nothing has. The short haired girl tries to take in every precious detail this world has to offer, like she is going to die tomorrow. Her heart redeems her soul when it synchronizes with the beat that the nature has to offer, her profound interest in others has also been her downfall. She tends to mend everyone’s hearts but in the end it leaves hers haunted. She strolls through the tall sage grasses, her legs not paying heed to the blunders that the muddy ground causes, her hands wavering through the yellow flowers and her head surrendered into the ethereal warmth. Her sudden curiosity paves way to the demeaning look that the people see her with. She doesn’t remember that they hate her always, for her, they just don’t know her. so she spends all her day, even if she doesn’t reconcile that the things ended up hurting her every single time, trying to make the obnoxious people love her. In a world where everyday is your last day, where tomorrow doesn’t exist and where people just live for the day, she fails fathom the simple principle, nobody cares. Unlike her, all the others look at life differently, or to say, they don’t look at all, their preconceived notions about this world, which remain same has caused them to become oblivious, so every other day, they just judge people. For years now, she has tried to engage herself in something more preserving, unlike time, time has been contaminated. Her sore eyes never show the sadness inside her, the soul only reflects happiness. She enters the road, where a hundred people are already looking at her naked body, her hair swinging around her back, her breasts moving along with her steps and her feet, so cold and cut yet tender. People hawk at her, preying their merciless eyes on this innocent child, whose only wish is to remember and be remembered, but she doesn’t know that yet. She notices a small child falling down, as if born to be a saviour, she slides through the rough gravel swiftly to establish a comfort bed for the child, he doesn’t mind the intrusion as he like others has never been a judgmental person, for he is as pure as there can be. The mother of the child, previously unaware of the dire danger her child has been presented with, runs to his rescue, she shoves the girl away, like her existence is something of disgust. She just smiles and exits the site of penury of humanity. he crashes into one of the elites of not giving a fuck, he slams his chest on hers, their eyes meet, and he realizes that she is not shallow, he is. “Why do you run naked? Don’t you have clothes? Take mine then.” He nudges her, speaking politely yet discreetly because he doesn’t want to offend her. his eyes stray away to her bare chest, his expression tilting, he tries to hide the grin. “Well, do you like it? Do you like what you see?” she asks him without any shame, his face flusters and he covers her with a jacket. “Well, um. I am not like that.” “Nobody is. By the way, I am Tamara.” She chuckles at the sound of her name, it speaks of familiarity, she hands his jacket over. Their eyes link for the one last time and his gaze doesn’t fall on her chest but rather it remains constricted to her heart. He pretends to not care but only this time, he does. “I am Kal. Do you want to meet up some time later?” he asks her the question that nobody has every asked her, hers eyes are about to water, but she doesn’t succumb to the feeling of being overly joyous. In some part of her brain, worries regulate themselves into fear of being raped. But it is not her naked body that causes this but the naked thinking of the people. The day draws close to an end, she runs heavily towards her house, her feet getting caught up in all of the dirt on the ground, the sun is coming down, the yellowish colour is now emitting shades of purple all across the plateau, the clouds have covered the sky, containing its naked platform for the next day. Tamara reaches her house, takes a pen and writes something down. “Remember.” In a world where remembering is a taboo and tomorrow is just fiction, she hopes to remember.

Remember. Remember. Remember. She goes on enunciating the same word in the exact monotonous manner, its 2359. Her eyes falter, as the slow pacing of her heart softens to lend her a good night’s sleep, her arms tangle around her legs forming an absolute capsule, her legs tighten with the lingering breeze that smothers her in a world where there is no sympathy. What is it that keeps her eyes wide awake in a world of disparity and hopelessness? She mulls over the possibility of knowing something absolutely incredulous, her knees dampen her bed as she settles herself in front of an ethereal show, every piece of the day before blisteringly sways with the wave of the air, their presence nulls over the prospect of remembering. Her eyes remain flabbergasted at the pace of the moving objects, her bed remains constant, but the surface around her races with time, it paces forward into the infinite vacuum. It is as if everything except for her is moving on. She looks at the surface that has been left disheveled by the constant sabotage caused by the human breed and their greed. Her hands caress the undone ground, drops of tear trickle down on the ground. She clamps her hands down on the puddle, that reveals her to herself. She touches the parts of her face that is shown to have been painted with words that are used to describe a slut, her eyes water at the sight of these letters that are so teeny but cause enormous pain, the pain shows itself in her eyes. She just recognizes the world that she lives in, passive people with passive mentality, their heads are so caught up on what’s outside that they often miss what’s inside. Their shallowness embodies them, its dearth paves way to their uncanny demises. Her eyes fall upon the most beautiful boy that she had ever seen and noticed, she thinks to herself, how can humanity endure this bliss. Her heart aches for his eyes to wander towards her, to see the cracked parts of her beautiful heart, he strides towards her, paying no attention to the furious crowd, who for some reason think of him as a person of high spirit and hence incapable of touching or talking to a prostitute like her. It is very peculiar how these people think the same thing about her, every single day though having no knowledge of the previous day. Their souls, rather their inhumanity guides them to hate on her just for showing what she truly is, a carefree person who tries her best to give all that she has to others. What is even more eccentric is how they presume her as a whore when none of them has ever seen her sell her body for acceptance. His footsteps startle her, and even though all her attention was granted to him, she flinched hearing him closer to her. Her eyes feverishly wished for him to stay there, stay at her but his hands drove her upwards and tidied her body, paying no attention to naked mass in front of him, he never faltered neither did he take advantage of her pristine self. “Here! You must be feeling cold.” he hands her his jacket, which she denies knowing how much it will hurt him, she strives to look away from those caged pearls but his swift touch brings her to reality, makes her realize that he is indeed not one of them, he doesn’t hate her. “i am sorry, I am creating a spectacle of myself. I should just leave. They will hate you for hanging out with me. Um..just go away!” she pushes the only real person away, outside the red zone and into the safe zone, the red lines of array constricts him from entering her heart and lightening them of the burden she carries, the burden of hatred. He stares at her as passive onlookers don’t just stand at the spot, but pace towards her in a disintegrated manner with only one though in their low capacity mind, kill her! Kill her for talking to a boy! Kill her for not knowing her! Kill her for putting out! Kill her for being so annoying! Kill her for being herself! All of their crazy minds speak out the same obvious thing, “SLUT! WHORE!” their faces demonstrate those of a monstrous creature, whose solace lies in the worries of others. Why is it that talking to a boy makes her a whore? Why is it that walking around showing herself to others makes her a slut but being torn apart in public every time makes it impossible for the people to lend her a hand? The aggravated faces, hold on to the horrors of the situation to scream and insult her, her eyes don’t water, they don’t break into an ocean but rather stay put, their gravity lets go of her fears. She stands delightfully as frenzy of people, who have never even bothered to look at her, hawk their eyes out at her. Such an atrocious soul! The irony of this beckons me to laugh, to laugh at the impeding humanity. Kal, the same boy she had met yesterday, stands still as if awestruck by her aroma, her strength, her demeanour, his legs try to move towards her to protect her from the world, but his paralyzed body endeavors in vain to move towards her. Her body starts to disintegrate into scanty pieces of serene particles, her face starts disheveling into sprinkling atoms of an end, she raises her hands as her entire body commences the process of withering, like a dandelion her body moves with the wind, unaware of the destiny. At the sight of this, he starts to finally move, his legs allow him to reach her, but not in time to save her. She whispers into his frantic ears, “I remember you, Kai. I remember you, now.” He has the faint images of her strangling his mind, but they cannot form a clear picture, who is she? And why does he know her? His mind tries harder and harder to contemplate the inconceivable idea of knowing someone who barely existed. He cries out loud, hoping for something to pop into his brain, trying to remember so hard that he actually materializes himself into one of the mannequins that these lusterless people are. He gasps for air, as his hands try to comprehend the bundle of soft skinned petals left on the ground, his hands move closely around them, surging them into being and that is when all that was erased is written back again. “How can you all be so cruel? You killed Tamara, you are the reason that we don’t have a tomorrow.” he shrieks impatiently at the numerous people who just as clueless as before ignore him and the fact that they were the cause of the outrageous death of his beloved, ignites the sparks inside him, making him follow the trail of the golden petals, their line interrupts him when they end near the horizon, for him to be able to see the exact time when the world changes itself astounds his entire body, he reluctantly steps into the globule of the new time. His disabled body sleeps in his bed, a sudden jerk of the prism of the sun rays, wakes him up. He looks nonchalantly at the aggravated weather, the sun hidden behind the clouds obliviously looks down at the people of this world, the birds arriving at the sight of a new day while the lazy cats yawning in disregard of the day and the people walking down the streets in the same orderly manner that they did before. And just like that, Tamara becomes a fragment of yesterday, that is just as nonexistent as tomorrow, their fates collided in the most unlikely world. How can you possibly live in a world of no tomorrow? Let me rephrase the question, how can you not live in a world with no tomorrow?

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