Wilhart Brule

Expectations are to be expected for one’s fate to hold. They are far from receiving my skepticism and I rather prefer, as I’ve so oft been found doing, losing my audacity each time I behold the vivacity of these expectations in the form of an interrogation engulfing a shape right in forth of me. Nevertheless, I’ve earned a legible hypocrisy in the same respect. Never have I been too certain about their accomplishment nor have I been too uncertain either. My mind brought these incomprehensible thoughts into my retrospection as I passed the hallway of St. Georgina, the straight route from which led to the staff offices leading to the Art and literature’s premises eventually – my reminiscence. “Oh! I’m remorseful, kindly pardon me sir. I’m actually in a hurry”, a chic visage blurted, apprehensive over her failing to avert colliding against me.  She had already drooped onto the floor before I could have a say, even before she could have her words oozing out of her mouth, which made it pretty vivid to me that she was no less blurting out.

Amongst her history part three and Shakespearean literature, I could picture her blue back clip that she kept tied up her bun with the aid of. She quickly ransacked over a few papers that flew hither and thither, composing the ambience of the hallway.  “Ah, I d consider your accidental flaw but I am not bothered out of my sanity”, I claimed. There’s no answer, no response as I waited, thinking she might like having her opportunity to have a say next. It was a feeling similar to the one of a pillar, taking a stance in her front that moment. So, I drooped down as well. I aided in collecting the papers, two of which were under my backpack that I got hurled during the collision. “Err…I’m apologetic too. Well, to the far I’m anxious; I surmise we were both running the same way. How could the collision find its way then?” I tried building up a conversation by my own self. I struggled to reach my backpack when she responded, or babbled, probably.  

  “Sir, I need you to kindly search for the other papers that happen to go missing at this moment. The papers have been the ones of my latest assignment and I can’t really find a way to even move the smallest step without them from here but, you see, I have to as I can’t envisage of conceiving the professor’s rant either.”, she expounded with an awe that shone bright on her gorgeous frame. “Keep the papers with yourself in case you happen to find them as I really need to hurry to the class. Sir, I’m extremely sorry to bother you but there seems to be no other way out through this, as per me. I anticipate your consensus.” she pulled out her watch, merely to have her beautiful countenance turning a little yellow to a little pink to a little of a red shade. The latter was there to evince havoc, utterly terrible havoc.     “Holy Providence! I’m fatal today. Do you see? I’m twenty two minutes late now to my class. Ms. Grace won’t let a speck of a chance escape, grasping it to scold me. Oh! I need to leave right now. Can you kindly keep those with you for now.” she expounded with more of a sound belief in her voice than having it sound like a plea to me. Well, claiming with a comprehensible probity, it did gain my predilection. 

  “I’ll collect them from you at this place merely but, during the lunch break. We’ll meet up near my locker in the hallway in case you get them found out. It’s numbered as thirty-three. I apologize yet, once again.”, she expounded and no sooner had I held my hands out to offer a shake of lenity and acceptance that she was on her feet, kicking my backpack with her right thumb which became explicable with a vivid clarity owing to her lace sandals and no sooner had I pondered upwards to have a look at her face that she was out of the outskirts my sight could barely envisage of traversing outside the confinement of.  It’s as needless as life is for a depressed to state in here that I did have the few papers she was conversing about and was even apprehensive about, quite terribly. I thus, waited until it was the lunch time. To my surprise, she already stood in forth of her locker.   “Hello, I surmise you’re waiting to get some papers in here.” I initiated.  I waited for her to advent with a response, an approach, to say at the least. But, there came no reply from her part as the next few moments slipped by. It was far from being engulfed, in with vagueness, her stare centered down at the lower parts of my arms, that she was too indulged in holding my hands into her evaluation to ponder over my query. Her frame divulged her disappointment that seemed to alter the vivacity she otherwise seemed to wear.  

 “I surmise you want some…..” , I was recurring that she abruptly responded, being pulled out of her dystopian scenery and compelled to conceive the spectacle of reality.     “I’m afraid you might haven’t found them. You see, they’re really vital to me. I thank you for your generosity and act of lenity. Well, you were supposed to visit my locker merely if you found it. What then brought you here sir?”, she uttered.     “I’ve been seeking a moment to hold it all explicable. My responsibility of handing you back these papers brought me here and so do I leave them on your watch from now onward as I was supposed to.” , I claimed as I handed to her, her asset.  “Oh! Good Lord! Receive my acknowledgements sir. You helped me find a way out of my otherwise deathly hallow.”   “ I entreat you for your pardon but, can I be allowed to know what a great significance they’re meant for?”, I said, pointing to the papers she held then.   “These are the papers of my assignment. It’s a treatise that lays emphasis on the literature’s era, judging it on a critical scale. I consider it significant as do the others and as they’ll do for it’s the assignment marking out the culmination of my sophomore year.”  

  “Sophomore! How come? Aren’t you a freshman?”    “No, sir. I’m not”  “How come I not see you in the past few years of my teaching in here then?”      “You might’ve never felt too bothered to ponder and might’ve lost assessing everyone under your notice.” There was an interval of unexpected silence, a pause that felt untoward. The ‘everyone’ seemed to sting like the one a bee sting feels like. Glimpses flashed out into an invasive reminiscence, a little different from the one attained palpable in the morning of that day. Glimpses into my retrospection found too vivacious for the memories to slide in, inside the disoriented part of my head, appeared as no different from the pristine veneer they’d received their own births with nor did they approach me as the ones found less conceivable than the memories drained out of the well of reminiscence, the bucket, pulling out the thoughts each time it’s offered a chance for is suspected hanging over the fathomage of…….

FIFTEEN YEARS EARLIER…..

“It’s not that simple buddy. You’ve got to give a good deal of a time to it. I don’t hold doubts in my mind regarding this nor will I, you know, ever have to lay out for you, my skepticism if you really attempt doing this. But, know that I won’t tell you to”, Mr. Alton D’SouZa spoke over the telephone as I mumbled in imprecations to my own self inside my head that stayed up hurled in their own hotchpotch, enough of a dystopia for me already. I rolled on the wire of the telephone all over the index finger of my right hand which went through the ring finger of my left hand I’d kept held the telephone with the help of.    “Are you there at the end? Don’t try pulling away buddy. I understand your …….uh! Alright. Can you meet me after school’s hours?”, Mr. Alton D’SouZa queried.        I took a few seconds to pull out words out of my mouth or, ransacked within the moments I was offered with and spoke, with reluctance getting lucid through each of the syllables that I probably babbled, “Ah….Alright. Let’s meet up then.”  

 “My office will be the destination at five ‘O’ clock sharp.”, Mr. Alton D’SouZa claimed and hung the phone.

The top ceiling cracked and, with the thunder roaring imprecations outside, my mind couldn’t even appear to settle down with its perplexity, finding it scrumptious to keep rewinding it all like a tape, assessing it in its retrospection, struggling hard and still harder to seek out the answer the question of which had kept me pestered over the last two years. But, all that my disheveled mind succeeded doing was to ransack, all in vain…..

I had been at the grade school when I first heard or, overheard, for the better to hold and for the truth to do the same as well, about a viral ailment which, to the farthest extent my memory could recall to, was the common flu and cold my naked experience to was thrice, at the sixth year of my life, already evident enough of the legible tractability of. I had thus, had it palpable as well but, never had I known about all the viral ailments nor did I need to as my fate was to be a decision of the common flu and cold, the mere one I’d known. Acquired Immuno Deficiency Syndrome or, AIDS had been a viral ailment I had seldom heard about. That was it. I got it and these had been two years since I’d been victimized of it. It all brought me to a mere single query that still remains unanswered – if people would know me. The lethal side effects came from my perpetual cold that would know me every winter, more than the much I’d known myself for these twenty three years so far. One’s vivacity, ardor and splendor, all advent to one’s precious attention when the one goes seeking fugitive. It’s often a job quite intransigent to be carved out as per one’s own desire, quite invisible to be beheld with one’s own perspective and quite injurious to be conceived bereft of pain.

“Yellow Tap, Park Street via the twenty-ninth avenues”, I claimed as I found comfort in the back seat of an ola cab.   The streets looked as submerged in their chaotic ambience as the pedestrians walking over them. There was a hurricane taking shape in me that seemed to have never known what may be addressed as the culmination of the fate – the commotion in me.   “Here we are sir, at your destination, YTPS.”, the cab driver informed.   “Thank you. How much is it?”, I queried.   “Just twenty five cents.”, the driver divulged.    I handed the money to him that he required and made my way to Mr. Alton D’SouZa’s office. The mansion had lights on, and the way the ambience was kept lit up in was essentially enough to get me all entirely blinded. I hurled my vision through the translucent glass. The curtains were kept unfolded, the light might have probably been allowed to keep the room lit but, the illumination was seemingly too infuriating, as if barely making it out of its own indolence’s clasp that its ardour seemed to lack that caliber of holding things pliable, and so was it with my own vision which wasn’t convinced at all. I abruptly had some palpable nausea, somewhere inside the middle of my stomach. I was almost at the brink of accepting my departure that a voice called out-  “Will, come on in”.    

  I tried with the utmost pretence I could to not have heard him. Moreover, I culminated shaking a few thin drapes that stood pretty proximate to my touch for I intended making him consider the presence as one of a wind. It was indeed vapid doing that because he had known me much too well to know my pranks.     “Will, I know you’re there. Stop being petulant. Come in.”, the voice recurred.   I still didn’t take a single foot ahead. All that my head was going schizoid about, giving away strident voices inside its own core that, for some reason so unknown, had been so intricately infuriating a labyrinth to me this far, was regarding making me do a runner, and I so wanted to. I got the courage to do so, and was almost there to venture doing it that he briskly rattled to the door.    

 “For I might haven’t been capable enough of having a speech with tractable a front and acceptable an amnesty that it possibly ran too inaudible inside your ears in vain, seemingly staying confined within the drapes that hide the translucent glass from the ambience you’re in, and for you probably found the utterance way too perplexed in its own self for you to decipher the words, here do I grasp my own stance to do the honour of putting it entirely in forth of you by putting it entirely in forth of you. Come. On. In.”, Mr. Alton D’SouZa expounded.

The room had a tiny table at the corner of the wall of the right side, the corner where could be visibly visualized holding onto its own stance at the further edge of the wall. I was seemingly coerced to have the intrigue of knowing the place better palpable in me, for the ambience that had constituted the surrounding around me was way too captivating. I paced with an inscrutable futility that was undoubtedly enough to irk Mr. Alton D’Souza. He stopped me by the elbow, crossed me diagonally, and made it to his seat through the piles of paper work that was seemingly too intricate a bush of a perpetually perplexing forest for me, one that seemed to be too bewildered in its own reckless orientation it was kept conferred with the arrangement of.

Although, I did have the intention of not pondering over at him through all his official stuff, as he often used to call it, into my pretence, but, digressing my muse seemed inevitably ineluctable a task to me at that moment for his actions couldn’t help succeeding in holding me a captive to themselves. He sat with his rimmed and legibly round spectacles on. Those green rims already expounded what I hadn’t known, until then – the thing that awaited me, everything that awaited me.

“Will, grab a seat.”, Mr. Alton D’Souza said. His gaze was still fixed at his ancient covers, ones with a deep brown shade that resembled the one, the barks of the trees long dead for even the memories to seek out the traces of are known to comprise of. However, too lost in having scrutiny conducted of his cabin, I seemed to not have heard him. This was what I’d merely come to know so far about Mr. Alton that he sulked at ignorance, he burnt at evasiveness and detested the people who happened to expound them to him, and as the ill fortune had it, I had just happened to be one of those mortals who  perish by the verbal stabs of Mr. Alton D’Souza. I thus, expected him to grumble, and possibly to seize my attention to the world of reality, one that I assessed as really bitter, by the aid of his inevitably indomitable imprecations, even though, I was pretty back by then.

However, Mr. Alton was much more serene than I had ever expected him to be. “Will, I’m telling you to sit down”, He repeated calmly.  I couldn’t bring myself out of the seizure of the unconvincing moment I had lived then, yet, I did urge a response out of me.    “Yes Mr. D’Souza. Um…thank you but, I surmise I’m good this way. I do take your entreaty into the grasp of my appreciation.”, I babbled.    “No Will. I said that I was telling you to sit down. It’s because, I surmise that you will need one.”, Mr. Alton D’Souza expounded.   

  I got the obligation running palpable under my breath as I heard him saying that. I took a chair under the grasp of my palms and sat down at the corner of the room. I knew that he intended reminding me about what I had taken on the commencement of visualizing as my own peculiar self, and unknowingly but, simultaneously, I didn’t want to be reminded about it. Thus, I said, “ I know I’m expounding my oddity, and I feel that it’s pretty infuriating for it must be as with my activities, I fancy I must have tested your patience way too far by now, but, I….um..I’m so caught by my throat as I sit close to anyone who intends an investigation out of me.”     A moment of silence proceeded. Elbowing my way through the cascade of cynical illusions, I continued, but, without the drop of a hat, “I will be really pleased to be conferred with your generous consensus as I make myself attain comfort this way….merely.”  

“Certainly, you’re allowed to, Will. Well, I have some news for you. Let me put it this way – Out of all the roads had I trudged, and the sorrow, the deep grief of the numbness that I bear, am I not the one, the perspective heeds a cosseted tomorrow of, am I not the leaf, whose dryness beseeches the autumn, and am I not the bliss that is envied…For am I the one that vivacity detests, the soothing wind of spring long waited necessitates the necessity of mourning for, a mourning for but, through the hands, it owns that, drenched with the steady swish of a tropical downpour, one that advents in a lonely hour of a tired afternoon, drizzling down with the urge of planting kisses being its only wish, the kisses that otherwise pester in the times a tranquil solitude constitutes the ambience at, ransack the fulfillment of a touch of the entirety of thy visage now… whispering the secrets thee have borne for legible a length of time, yet, vainly had thee traversed the routes of the darkest woods, pacing forth for the attainment of not quite a bower for that’s for the poets but, silent a hide a fugitive is known to seek…      Why! The soul beseeching normalcy! Art thou, not the one to have it?  Why! Not do thee get palpable an essence palpable, one that coerces the desire of heeding the purple of the lavenders, one that irks the impetus for thee to behold the grace of the laurels?  

Why! Mere a flesh is thine body not the bearer of. Do thou have pleasures of the orthodox kind, yet, never will they be of orthodox a kind, for they art the ones that have awaited thee long in the rough, for thou owe the million desires not heeded of thine own to the fate, elation confines, for elation merely can confine, the outskirts of.”    A moment of silence ensued. I pondered over at Mr. Alton’s face which had an entirely and utterly legible view of something really good held fixed, one that maintained the constitution of his countenance. He smiled at me with some unshed tears borne at the brink of his eyes. It was undoubtedly true that I didn’t know what it was about, but, I had my hands caught up in a quiver with the accompaniment of the same that the lower halves of both of my lower limbs were depicting, and I assessed them all as undeniably explicable. The silence was gradually taking a tight hold of an awful feeling. An infuriating nausea was conjuring inside the torso of my abdomen for his countenance decoded that he was about to divulge it all to me. My palms had rum ice cold by then, and my throat was summoning to be drenched for I did feel the necessity of quenching it as palpable under the inner edge of my tongue. I sat still.

 “Will, didn’t you get it? Oh Will! You’ll require a good deal of calmness to keep you surrounded entirely, and if not so, you so will be compelled to have it arriving to you as part of a compulsion you’ll be coerced to defy your defiance for because, you will be needing that calmness in your ambience, inside the room your taking respite on one of the chairs of; because, you’ll have an uncontrolled period of emotions coming to you pretty straightaway; and because, you’ll have to encounter something that’s incredibly unbelievable as I tell this to you.”, Mr. Alton expounded.  I sat still. I seemingly went on heeding the events with an ineluctable ambiguity into my assessment. Mr. Alton paced around his chair for a while, keeping the thumb of his left palm in touch with the unstitched corner of the brownish hood his chair was kept conferred with the attire of, one that appeared to be worn out in plethora. However, abandoning his pacing, he made his way forth to the corner I’d assessed comfort at.

“Will, you’re fine. There’s nothing you need to bother about, nor anything that should be allowed to pester you, ever, simply ever.”, Mr. Alton D’Souza exclaimed.   “Mr. Alton, um…..I truly appreciate all, and which evinces that I do to this one as well, your concerns you often got palpable the compulsion of injecting the serum of motivation in me, probably every single time we see each other for, but, there’s some sort of a special essence in the serum today that’s traversing pretty inevitably from in forth of my head. However, this is what your optimistic utterances have always been like. How am I supposed to conceive it in?”, I said in a voice that appeared to be a whisper.                                                                                                                                                                                                                         

  “Will, you’re far from being sick. You owe as beautifully ordinary a life as ecstatic normalcy happens to be like to yourself; you deserve all of those sweet little pleasures that are of any kind and of every kind at the same time, the ones that can be known and the ones that can’t be, even if all they happen to bring to you are undeniably ineluctable splashes of guilt.”          

  “Well, although, I crave for a sense which pristinely leads me out of this dystopian residence, one that trudges peacefully despite the accompaniment of nothing but, aloofness, I intend to have the lead with a proclivity; although, I have the fatigue of being ill held inside the deepest core of the world of my experience, all of my experiences conceive respite in the residence of, one that’s been associated with repulsive an evaluation by me, I intend overcoming it with a gradual pace; and although, the affliction my time paves the path for is just too remote for my acceptance’s reach to reach it, I’m sailing through it somehow, even if all I’m asked for is to engulf it with an entirety.

However, I’ll do it even the enquiry advents as an entreaty, and not as a demand, for you never can claim what the other holds beneath the lashes of either his or, her eyes while he or, she is beseeching you, respectively. I get the essence of a necessary obligation palpable in me because, your acceptance may aid the amendment of his or, her scar(s), respectively again. I am getting this earnest sense of obedience of asking you if every single syllable that found your utterance after long a time……so long a time indeed, holds indomitable a truth.”   

“It does hold indomitable a truth indeed Will, it so does.” Mr. Alton D’Souza preferred taking onto the persistence for he happened to be expounding the other details to me further, “Will, I received a call from Dr. Utmy. She is the one who considers the stance of the responsibility of having told it to me, and I,” he straightened his chest, probably with the desire of getting his lungs filled with the much amount of air the ambience, the room I had found a real comfort sitting on one of the chairs of one of the corners of by then had seemingly seemed to be clutching onto the grasp of, could possibly be assessed with the utmost caliber of, “the bearer of the sin, the one that have I sinned for did I divulge the beauty of the incandescence thee were, as thou always art, anticipated to ransack by thyself, do grasp brisk a stance beside the window, the sylvan of an impending ivy in its early green kisses the corroded wooden panes of, the dews of an invited dawn wipe the lines of dust from the transparent body of, ones that otherwise, art the wrinkles of a dying summer, and the fragile snowflakes of an icy, yet, a lovely winter prefer respite on the clumsy clutches of the hooks of, realizing having divulged it to thee, yet, not was it for never will it be hurled as a shove.”

I could take Mr. Alton D’Souza’s words in the clasps of my grasp by then. I needed the time to cease for the intention of having the essence of the feeling of my being fine had already taken on to the commencement of hurling powerfully ineluctable shrieks by then, ones that had been falling flat on my eardrums straightaway. I tried musing over Mr. Alton D’Souza’s words, however, his voices could be significantly judged as something really inevitable, and something I couldn’t put forth my evasiveness for.

“Mr. D’Souza, I….”, I was saying that he interrupted my utterance, one that had taken the entirety out me.  “Yes, Will?”, He responded, as if with a startle.  “Well, I surmise I’ll take pleasure in moving home now. I acknowledge both your time and your company. I’ll leave you on your own now.”     “Hey, I intend taking the whole of the set of your responses for I owe something to your parents…”, Mr.D’Souza was expounding or, the same might’ve been a probable trial he was trying hard to make me stay for just a little longer with the help of, that I abruptly hurled the inclusion of a rectification into what he had just uttered.    

“Parent.”     “Uhh… Will, I won’t force you for anything but, I think you should ponder over paying a visit to your parents.”      “Pare…”, I intended doing the same for a second time that he turned up a bit differently.    “No Will. Parents. When I say ‘parents’, I mean it.”    That something was inevitably out of its locus, and that the matter stated as the latter in here was indeed true, was clutching onto my breath. I could sense its presence like a lump in my throat straightaway. I opened my mouth to speak out what I assessed as an interrogation then, but, I pondered in vain. I tried to ransack a fugitive for what my visage had seemingly taken on to the display of, but, couldn’t, and thus, conferred the ease of detection to Mr. Alton D’Souza without my being beseeched for the same; and as I anticipated then, he didn’t prefer the defeat regarding his taking the notice of that for he did notice it on me. He gradually raised his arms to offer solace, but, panic had me captivated then. Those arms seemed to be the epitome of the hands I’d already had a few years back on me, his wrists were slender and gracefully thin, and thus, were my thoughts triggered, ones that were deeply in the conceived clasps of retrospection or, so as I called them.

They were no less a reminder of the embraces I’d been held in the grasps of, back at a time the kindness was worn by façade at, the sympathies were too luxurious at, and single a company had to be implored for. The moment shrieked for my evasiveness but, his arms with his wrists trudging their ways to hold me, again, would just not fade, and hence, my anxiety. I raised my hands in haste for I’d intended to be defensive for my own self. There they were, the lower halves of both of my upper limbs, taking almost perpetual a stance at about my chest, allowing both of my palms to take my skull under a cover of protection, However, Mr.Alton D’Souza arms wouldn’t cease to thrive. 

 “Mr. D’Souza, get away! Don’t do it!.”, I whispered to myself.    “What? Did you say something Will?”, Mr. Alton D’Souza enquired.       “I….I am asking….Let me go.”, I said with sufficient an impetus to make my utterance, one I’d uttered, audible enough for Mr.Alton D’Souza to heed.    “Will, I have some news for you. You need to….”, Mr. Alton D’Souza was about to expound what he had culminated conferring an utterance to that I shrieked -  “I need room. I need a BLOODY ROOM! Get away from me you LIAR! You did claim of it, you DID CLAIM! You shouldn’t have hurled the ice of betrayal to me. I laid the delicate trust I had on you, and did I do it on YOU MERELY. I fancied you knew how that was like until now. You don’t know how this is like! You DON’T KNOW THE HELL OF how it feels like!”     

 Silence had it all then. The ambience was a captive into the hands of the clever paralysis again. Mr.Alton D’Souza didn’t utter single a syllable for my wrath was seemingly audible, probably for the first ever time. The sense of commencing anything new at the moment that surrounded us both was consumed in by the confinement that kept the ambience’s makers’ stance maintained. The voices in the personal core were already assessed in a plethora by me.

“Pardon me, but I must take a …”, I was coercing an utterance out of myself that it happened. Mr.Alton D’Souza turned to beckon the two that had fixed their gazes at me. I couldn’t make my eyes retreat the levels the ground had a firm grip over. I was too ashamed to.

“Mr. and Mrs. Brule, come in and join …”, were Mr.Alton D’Souza’s utterance which was quelled amid.     “We need a private piece of conversation right now.”, My mother said, holding explicable peculiar a speech, one that drained her out with every bit of the ‘every possible’ energy she had so long been the possessor of, as she expounded a façade of a grin to Mr. D’Souza, but her inscrutable a sarcasm in the same couldn’t be any less of a treasure I had become the victor of.

We trudged our way into the room that had a golden plate at the door’s step, one that bore a black ink on itself, one that stayed conferred gracefully in inevitably cursive a manner, as it laid scribbled with a ‘Conference Room’. The latter expounded further that the official utilization would be heeded for permission merely, but, I was trespassing the garden of an unknown gardener for I was about to get into the latter for something that came from personal a perspective, to explicate figuratively.   My mother went straight ahead of me, and pulled the chair of the centrally positioned table out. It was certain that I was being hurled with a voiceless invitation. I had accomplished culminating clutching onto my seat that there she whipped the table with the seemingly new handbag she had been carrying so far till then. I had always known that that was to happen someday. I needed time to explicate, and to make them assess things from a perspective I was the bearer of, and I was merely the bearer of.   

She went ahead divulging all of the utmost of her affections for me out of the mouth of an infuriating plethora because, that was probably the only thing that would keep the sensation of her presence in the ambience, I would be held surrounded by, somehow palpable in me, and the same was the only thing that would drag me back from the brink of a reality, I would otherwise conceive a stance on, making me know that she really cared and cosseted about me, every time I would be on the verge of taking a relinquishment into my consideration regarding the fact that she was my mother, and who she still is.

“When did it happen?”, She demanded     “I…I can expound. Just let me do…”, I was saying that she intruded.    “Answer the question to me. I don’t intend to hear anything else from you!”      “Mother, I am fine. You…”, I had intended to commence uttering that she responded.      “Ahh….ah ah. No. Not at all. I don’t want a single syllable more from you; given you try saying anything else but, my answer. I want the BLOODY ANSWER RIGHT NOW!”      “It was at the end of the previous grade I had been in. I discover...”         “Why did you keep us from it?”     “I wasn’t ready to accept it. I didn’t believe it, and now you know it. I’m totally fine.”       “We had sent you to study in here, and we did think that you were sticking to the task you had been sent for. What were you busy doing? Enjoying a sluttish time huh!”   

     “Off course not! I wasn’t indulged into enjoying flings in here. We had a field – trip and were besought to volunteer. I was a student of the Medical Sciences, and thus, conferring my evasiveness couldn’t find a way through. I had to.”     My mother scrutinized me for a couple of seconds. She didn’t say anything for the next few moments that passed by. I wasn’t valiant enough to even eavesdrop her gaze for I knew that the latter had already undergone conceiving the indulgence of staring at me. I was awfully petrified, even though, I had got no wrong business done in there; I was traumatized with invisible a hand that was seemed to be strangling me by then, and there it went – twisting like a cord of rubber does, piercing my entirety from the inside, so lethally that I preferred being servile to uttering even single a syllable. The truth however, was a bewildering one. It wasn’t a facade, one of fright and terror that I had put on by then, or, one that my countenance had held explicit a display of, but, the truth was that I was too struck with fear to expound anything, and thereby, to explicate even the smidgen of a bit of the tiniest matter seemed probably far out of the vicinity of my reach. I was drowning in an ocean of my own reflections that a voice intruded for my good                                                                                                                                                                                “Look here.”, my mother said calmly.    I quivered some bit, but did it eventually for I had to, and there she placed excruciating and inevitably explicable a slap over the eye brow of my right eye. I looked above to grasp a glimpse of my father. I didn’t do so beseeching his aid for I knew there wasn’t going to be any, and there didn’t stay into an existence - explicable a reason that could explicate my action, and one that I could find, but, I did it anyway. The countenance he had on was one of nothingness. He barely did know what the ambience was holding onto, and it came from a sense of expectation for I had anticipated the same from him. The truth was that I couldn’t find a family then, not one in the farthest extents I could hurl my sight to.

My mother left the room, and after sort of a while, he did the same; and there I was with myself, again.

THE PRESENT…

She stood with a stance gained with undeniably ludicrous a conflict, one that hurled the very essence of a movement that had been taken into ceaseless a motion as I trudged past the depths of unknown a retrospection I was wrestling hard to gain my resuscitation through the vague captivity of. She smiled a sweet smile, one that wore almost successful a veneer of satiation but, was definite a failure with clarity in forth of my presence.

The sophomores kept passing by, followed by the freshmen in the aftermath. Chaos surrounded the ambience at a different light. The time running in the terrible proximity was seemingly too palpable then. The senses that I so long had been the bearer of ran with ineluctable a numbness, the sprinkles of whose showers came falling down on me like the steady swish of tropical a downpour; and it did seem no less of an epitome of a fall that had been long-awaited, so long that my evasiveness grew a stranger to me, in case I ventured to venture beckoning it in me. The instant had it all, one denial couldn’t scrounge the address of, and my long known nonsensical self did clutch onto the clumsy climbers of relinquishment, ones that were indeed wobbly as the adjunct, but, held the edifice constituted with recklessly firm a grasp.

“How are you Mr. Brule?”, She enquired. The smile her visage had, for so lengthy a time, traversed on being possessing, was then undertaking a cosseted transition into a grin of a lovely, and thus, painful a kind. The countenance held fixed as if a clay carved out, and into raw pottery, one that elucidates the art the blind can culminate beholding, necessitated a response out of me.  “How are you, Alpha?”, hurling a funeral with a mere solitude to all of my oblivion, and coercing the rise of all of the retrospections of my introspections, and the reminiscences of my quelled reticence, quelled deeply in me, I besought my utterance as I did implore its advent.   “I again ask for what you had spoken didn’t really count as one my answer can be conceived as. How are you, Mr. Wilhart Brule?”.