Thursday, May 27, 2010

Monument of Words

The numerous shelves in the room were like edicts glorifying some unknown tyrant. Each narrated its own tale of horror. Or maybe the stories were not that gruesome after all. His imagination always got the better of him. Baah. Gullible spectators roamed in their midst. They looked, searched, and often found bits and pieces of themselves in those mundane gray columns. Having eluded capture till now by lurking in dark corners, figments of their personalities shied away from discovery. Jump cut.

He craned his neck to look beyond the tinted glass of the windows. The view outside seemed mellow, as if the might of the sun had been subdued by some supernatural force. They sky seemed bluer and his fancy only exaggerated the effect. The lights in the room, reflected in the glass, seemed like orbs of radiance suspended in mid air. One could see the leaves being disturbed by gentle gusts of wind. But none could hear their rustle. The usual cacophony of existence had been muted with striking perfection. The only discernible sound was the continuous scrawl of graphite on paper. People shuffled in and out of the hushed chambers, most of them mystified by the strange ambience. An unassuming loafer caught him staring at the ceiling and he quickly hid his embarrassment in the book in front of him. Montage.

The clock ticked to a stipulated hour. It was time. He gathered his ornaments and looked around, soaking it in. “I’ll be back”, thought he and proceeded to retreat into his shell.


  1. Let me complete the story.

    "And then, enamoured once again by the silent, unconditional security of the shadows in his shell, he decided never to go back."


  2. yeah, library. not now though. quite a while ago.

    what security do you talk about? you should know better than anyone else that the shadows torment instead of providing security. so, then, why would he, if at all he decides so, not want to go back? this is not a rhetorical question. but one which seeks an answer.