It is like a whimpering puppy. Seeking attending to, needing care. Hungry for more, so much so that it keeps me awake. It churns my stomach upside down at times. I have to stroke it with my hand, not with the affectionate palm of an expectant mother but the one who doesn’t want this rosemary's devil baby. In order for it to shut up, I do have to strangulate it with my thumbs. Not only does it keep me awake, it forces me to sit up to face it. Not only it forces me to sit up and face it, it demands me to walk up and down the corridor. But it never likes a walk in the park, or on the pavement when I can look at trees and the sky or birds flying overhead. No, damn it, it has made me a prisoner, to stay inside of this narrow basement apartment! It doesn’t want to be exposed to the outside world. It can be so embarrassed that it makes me bite my lip to hide its existence. But right it feels like as if I’m walking barefoot on the burning coals or walking on nails sticking out of a half damaged door in a Jeepers Creepers cellar. It is not only physical but it grips my mind like a leech to your skin, biting, sucking my blood. I try not to get it in my half asleep consciousness but when it comes,it doesn’t calm down unless...yes unless I snatch and tear one of the dull plastic packet from the cabinet to take one....
(Seema Gill: from my novel in progress)
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