Stained

I haven’t written anything for a while now. I have my reasons. The world has been an awfully dull place. Everyone has been religiously attending quizzes, making projects, and winning cash. As far as I am concerned, I have been passive like always. I have been a silent witness to everything – things huge and stupendous and also, things small and stupid. Contemplating about all such events, I sipped on my tea and shared drags with a couple of friends in a shady corner. Some of us making plans for trips, others for tripping.

Only a few feet away was a pup, in the middle of the road, running around restlessly. It must have hardly been two months old, white coat with grey patches. Poor little thing had no idea what was in store for it, neither did we. Before I could take my next drag, a speeding black car made a quick turn around the bend. There was a momentary squeak, quickly drowned in the throttle of the engine. Slowly, the dust cleared and people made sad remarks at the sight that emerged. Between the tire-tracks lay the motionless body of the recently-energetic being. From where I was sitting, I couldn’t see any signs of death. It was as if it was sleeping. I didn’t comment on the tragedy; instead I went closer to see what had happened.

Once I was close enough, I saw that there was no blood loss yet. It was as still as a rock until suddenly, the pup kicked its feet and with that a crimson liquid trickled out of the underside. It soon formed a halo around the head. Its eyes were open, tongue hanging out of his innocent jaw, tasting his own blood. Its body flinched every now and then, the pain was obvious. It now bathed in a pool of its own blood. I remember someone asking what we should do. My answer was, “We should put it out of his misery.” But then I had no answer for “How?” All I did was stare in those clear, gentle eyes. Maybe I am projecting more than I should when I say this – I saw the life slowly fade out of the watery eyes; they changed from bright and lively to dull and grey. There was no panic, no fear visible unlike the mother who was howling nearby. Finally, when it couldn’t endure more, the pup took its last breath and the newly born became the newly dead.

I am still not sure about how I should feel about the incident. And I am even more clueless about the question of how to put the dying out of their misery. But judging by the beasts that had gathered in the area towards the end, it would be just another feast tonight with everyone present. No one will be missed. The party will probably leave a few mysterious stains on the concrete, and a few on my mind.

“The dead are newborn awakening with ravaged limbs and wet souls.”
– Jim Morrison