Steve
Steve was a designer, an automotive component designer to be exact and an exemplary one at that too. He took pride in his designs; his work was everywhere-in Jaguars, Bentleys, Aston Martins, the lot.
He designed speedometers, usually only bits of it; the bits which you wouldn’t even notice unless somebody pointed out the marvelous flow of design, much like his life.
Steve woke that morning with a start. It was the 8th of September. He hated the room he woke up in, to him it was no more than a pigsty, the garish colors and the ill-matching furniture just made him feel more nauseated than the aftertaste of the rum-induced night-in-town he had. He looked at the girl lying next him wondering why he had to do that to her. The wounds on her arms from the ropes were still ripe.
The image of his friend Mike saying “Money gives you access to all kinds of shit” in a lousy diner next to his workplace came to his mind. His thoughts wandered to think why were all diners lousy. He looked at her again and noticed that she was indeed very pretty for a $50 hooker, rather young too. He considered himself lucky this time, usually it’s the disgusting ones that he ends up with. His wondered why his blackout episodes were more prominent these days. His psychiatrist blamed the alcohol for them. He thought of him as a twat.
He curled up to her and touched her face, it felt unusually cold. He noticed that she wasn’t breathing. Panic set in. He pulled off the sheets and saw the cuts, the bruises from the lashes. Like in the millions of movies he had seen growing up he checked for her pulse- there was none. His head started spinning. He gathered his clothes and ran. He ran half naked through the streets trying to make sense of it all, never realizing his nakedness.
The rains broke-out, drenching Steve and the streets. He welcomed the feel of the acid-diluted rain on his body, it felt as if it though it cleansed him from his sins.
The episodes started over a year ago, when Prozac and alcohol was a way of life for him. He had just designed a meter for Jaguar, so went out to celebrate his work, by himself as usual. He drowned his misery in a bottle of rum. Nobody saw his work as he could. He saw the intricacies, the form, the flow of his design- the ingrates at his workplace definitely did not. He remembers the next day waking up in a seedy place like the one he woke up in today with the just the memory of leaving the park. The episodes of bondage came much later, almost 4 months after the first episode. Every time he woke up from an episode he felt refreshed, the world seemed more hospitable to him. He craved for it.
He ran towards the park, the rain pelting down more heavily. St. Mary’s Park was always special to him; all his favorite moments were in this park. This was where his family came out for picnics before the accident. This was where his dad played catch with him, had his first kiss, his birthday parties.
He ran to the statue in the middle of the park, a ‘Pieta’. He fell down at the feet of the statue, exhausted. His mind was still numb from the image of the dead girl. He tried hard to remember what happened last night, searched his head for the slightest memory but in vain.
He cried.
He was overcome with remorse; he blamed his inability to deal with the world. He tried to escape from it and now it cost a life. He tried to reason, that she was a hooker and her life wouldn’t amount to anything other than making a few perverts happy. He realized his life didn’t amount to anything too, the automotive world would still continue to exist without him, he had no friends, no legacy, no relatives who cared about him, nobody that loves him, nobody to cry at his deathbed. So, why live?
His faint heart tried to reason with this thought. He looked at the compassionate face of Mother Mary looking down at the lifeless body of the Christ. He begged for forgiveness kneeling into the wet grass. He felt exhaustion creeping up his body, a numbness that was inexplicable. It seemed to take his burden away, so he gave in to it.
There in the middle of the park, next to the Pieta lies Steve, the moist grass comforting him and the rain soothing him.
He woke up in his bed to the sound of the alarm ringing on his cheap cell phone. He looked at it to see that today was the 8th of September.
He designed speedometers, usually only bits of it; the bits which you wouldn’t even notice unless somebody pointed out the marvelous flow of design, much like his life.
Steve woke that morning with a start. It was the 8th of September. He hated the room he woke up in, to him it was no more than a pigsty, the garish colors and the ill-matching furniture just made him feel more nauseated than the aftertaste of the rum-induced night-in-town he had. He looked at the girl lying next him wondering why he had to do that to her. The wounds on her arms from the ropes were still ripe.
The image of his friend Mike saying “Money gives you access to all kinds of shit” in a lousy diner next to his workplace came to his mind. His thoughts wandered to think why were all diners lousy. He looked at her again and noticed that she was indeed very pretty for a $50 hooker, rather young too. He considered himself lucky this time, usually it’s the disgusting ones that he ends up with. His wondered why his blackout episodes were more prominent these days. His psychiatrist blamed the alcohol for them. He thought of him as a twat.
He curled up to her and touched her face, it felt unusually cold. He noticed that she wasn’t breathing. Panic set in. He pulled off the sheets and saw the cuts, the bruises from the lashes. Like in the millions of movies he had seen growing up he checked for her pulse- there was none. His head started spinning. He gathered his clothes and ran. He ran half naked through the streets trying to make sense of it all, never realizing his nakedness.
The rains broke-out, drenching Steve and the streets. He welcomed the feel of the acid-diluted rain on his body, it felt as if it though it cleansed him from his sins.
The episodes started over a year ago, when Prozac and alcohol was a way of life for him. He had just designed a meter for Jaguar, so went out to celebrate his work, by himself as usual. He drowned his misery in a bottle of rum. Nobody saw his work as he could. He saw the intricacies, the form, the flow of his design- the ingrates at his workplace definitely did not. He remembers the next day waking up in a seedy place like the one he woke up in today with the just the memory of leaving the park. The episodes of bondage came much later, almost 4 months after the first episode. Every time he woke up from an episode he felt refreshed, the world seemed more hospitable to him. He craved for it.
He ran towards the park, the rain pelting down more heavily. St. Mary’s Park was always special to him; all his favorite moments were in this park. This was where his family came out for picnics before the accident. This was where his dad played catch with him, had his first kiss, his birthday parties.
He ran to the statue in the middle of the park, a ‘Pieta’. He fell down at the feet of the statue, exhausted. His mind was still numb from the image of the dead girl. He tried hard to remember what happened last night, searched his head for the slightest memory but in vain.
He cried.
He was overcome with remorse; he blamed his inability to deal with the world. He tried to escape from it and now it cost a life. He tried to reason, that she was a hooker and her life wouldn’t amount to anything other than making a few perverts happy. He realized his life didn’t amount to anything too, the automotive world would still continue to exist without him, he had no friends, no legacy, no relatives who cared about him, nobody that loves him, nobody to cry at his deathbed. So, why live?
His faint heart tried to reason with this thought. He looked at the compassionate face of Mother Mary looking down at the lifeless body of the Christ. He begged for forgiveness kneeling into the wet grass. He felt exhaustion creeping up his body, a numbness that was inexplicable. It seemed to take his burden away, so he gave in to it.
There in the middle of the park, next to the Pieta lies Steve, the moist grass comforting him and the rain soothing him.
He woke up in his bed to the sound of the alarm ringing on his cheap cell phone. He looked at it to see that today was the 8th of September.
No comments:
Post a Comment