Post-mortem of a loving heart!
One day I killed a heart and invited my love specialist friends to perform a post-mortem. I stood over the heart, which was kept on a plate, smiling with mirth and euphoric over my victory.
I ripped it open with a knife and all of us bent over it to know – what all a lover’s heart contains? All of us had wished that someone dies for us but I was the first to make a heart die for me. What a prized possession it was! Believe me, the joy of having a lover to trample over his feelings, to kill emotionally – inch by inch and to know someone is completely at your disposal, is unparalleled. Call it the vanity of the beloved or whatever but it gives such a high to kill a heart.
I killed that particular heart easily. I kept my eyes open to see, who’s the most vulnerable and reliable of the lot and went for the kill. When I saw him coming under my spell, I started ignoring him. It perplexed him and he started pursuing me with all his might. One moment I smiled at him, the other moment I smiled at his rival. I took all favours from him as my right, made him run errands for me, mocked his inability to fulfil my wishes, threw tantrums when it was beyond his means to buy those dainty gifts. When I saw him completely in my power, I knew it was the time to murder him. I did nothing much, just smiled sweetly and bid ‘adieu’, stating that I am seeing someone else. That finished him and that’s how his heart landed on the plate for a post-mortem.
Well, the dissection began. The heart was of a peculiar quality, it was as soft as a new-born babe. I did not dare touch it again with knife. As we stooped to examine the contents, we were too stunned to speak. It was so rich – full of beautiful memories. Like a video-clipping it showed memories of yore. There were so many moments I had seen, but not lived.
It showed the day I first met him, shy and sweet with fluttering lashes. It showed his anger and retort, when others called me a flirt. It showed me his loving care, when I caught cold and sneezed. It showed me, his anticipation of my wants and his attempts to fulfil it beforehand.
I saw him preserving those ugly gifts I tossed at him from time-to-time in the name of love. I saw him holding on to my hanky and crying at the time when I had called him names and quarrelled for the first time. I saw him, waiting endlessly for me on chilling nights, when I had chosen to ignore him and hang out with other friends. I saw him, insecure, silent, pathetic, completely at my disposal – a victim of my love game. I saw him gazing at my face for a smile, for approval, for love and what he got was selfish affection. I saw him wincing, his confidence failing, whenever I angrily called him a failure, a stupid loser.
The heart showed me his gradual ruin when I shunned him – he lost faith in himself and went into depression. He faltered in studies and became an all-round failure, but one thing revived him even on his deathbed – my name. He would whisper my name in his dreams, sigh and wait for me always. The day I said I would never come back to him – he died but with smile on his lips and with the hope that I will come back.
Something like a tear fell from my eyes on remembering that hollow-eyed familiar face as the heart played another masterpiece - a sweet-sad love symphony. There was also a little love note for me, which said, “Kill me but my love for you will never die.” The note was tear-stained. There were other masterpieces also but I could not bear to see them, as my heart was dying.
Agitated and guilty, I brutally cut his heart into pieces. But what oozed out was love, love and more love. My friends deserted me on seeing me frenzied and called me a love-maniac. I was left alone with nothing but a dead heart for company. The heart that died painfully was mine; his heart revived and lived, sustained by my tears and memories. I lost all.
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