Treasure Island

Rosmin Elsa Mohan

(21st December / New Delhi)

Death...


I loved candles. Now I know why.

The only sound I could hear was my own heart beat. The morning seemed no longer bright. For a fact, Room No.903, commonly known as the ICCU at AIIMS, had no windows. Morning and nights equally smelled of antiseptic. I had started to forget the smell of my skin. The needle that pierced the epidermal tissues offered no sensation after all. The insanity of the entire room as though reflected on me, as I had started to become a vegetable.
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  • Kee Thampi (2/28/2012 11:24:00 PM)

    a prelude to great write from heart and we really feel it lively
    The state was well mentioned in many of the spiritual texts I had read. Perhaps it was really an intermediate stage. The stage where gravity is no villain. I once read that some say, they traveled at an immense speed only to finally see the light. I wished I saw a light too. (Report) Reply

  • Saadat Tahir (2/24/2012 3:54:00 PM)

    a fab write
    emotive and potent...
    your prose is classy...u could write more often

    you hv that special gift, of making one stop and listen/read....the halmark of a good writer.
    good luck with yer endeavours.
    i for one was riveted to the small story.

    blessed be
    sat (Report) Reply

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