The Rebel

He was fed up of writing about the skies and the stars, the sun and its rays, the stars and their shine, the night and its solemnity, the morning and its gaiety, the birds and their chirping, the rivers and their gushing, life and its perpetuity.

He was somehow fed up of writing about Life & the living. How could he betray himself when he actually held conviction contrary to what he wrote ! He didn’t wish to stay a hypocrite anymore and the truth was life had exhausted him to an extent that he , in reality, was a weary, wretched person. Life had sucked the marrow out of him.

His words were like mere show pieces…embellished…like filthy trinkets… Others read him and derived a certain pleasure….they reckoned him to be a ‘literary prodigy’. They praised his writes … they said how flawless he was, how fluid his writing was while in reality, he was the only one to know how much he had to struggle, how much he had to shred his soul , how much he had to articulate those ghastly lies to his conscience to come up with an embellished deception that THEY so ardently exalted!
While he mystically and radiantly lauded life in his inscriptions, the one inside him believed Life to be a shroud covering a despicable dead body of his.

But how long could he confine the rebel in him… The one that wanted to break open this catacomb of myth that he had been creating in his pieces ? He ardently waited for the day when he could no longer take the weight of his own lies. He waited for the grand mutiny to happen.

And the obvious did happen.

Once he picked up his pen to begin writing a new piece of mendacity. The pen revolted. The ink dried and so did his soul that could bear the anguish no more. The bitterness of his rotten inside swelled up in the form of the saline tears in his eyes. The drops trickled from his eyes, tumbled down his cheeks to reach his lips and he tasted them.

He tasted his own bitterness, his own excrement, his very own venom and he dropped dead on the paper ! The mutineer in him bellowed, broke open the vault of the carcass and came out with one sudden spurt of his breath through his mouth. He moaned shrilly and closed his eyes.

Who could stop the rebel? It smirked at the dead carcass. It knew it was liberated. It flew away promptly to a region beyond the understanding of an ignorant Euclidean brain.