CONTRADICTORY

Tonight I gaped at the figure in front of me. Her fringes blew in the wind. The wind; the wind spiraled through her body as If she was transparent. Her blue earrings chimed. They somewhat agitated her. It reminded her of the long gone atrocity. It reminded her of the dusk when purple met crimson and they fell in love. It reminded her of the time when morning let its guard down to night and the white pearl in the immense dark sky outshined even her thoughts which wondered from place to place. It reminded her of the dark hazel eyes which were once filled with passion and love. It reminded her of the soothing breeze beside the colossal and cavernous ocean which she felt in the presence of those eyes. 

The atmosphere grew darker and somber. I still gazed at the beautiful view. The salt water made her numb. But it glorified her eyes. Her azure eyes sparkled. Her lips were rufescent. Her hair, still blowing in the soft zephyr, being its dance partner.  Her brownish fringes gave her parched forehead shade. I kept gazing at her and I could not take it anymore. 

The glass pieces were tinted with red, and my hand too. Everything disappeared. Her sorrow, her happiness, her worries, all faded away. Where has she gone? Is she in the presence of those same dismal, beautiful, dangerous eyes, eyes tinted with torture?

Where have I gone? Am I too contradicting myself just like she did? Can I not remind myself that the dusk when purple met crimson is actually my dress catching the red flames of the passionate fire? 

And about the time when I was locked in a lightless room from morning till night without food or anything and I felt the "white pearl" mocking me from a distance? Is it so difficult to refresh my memories of the eyes which tortured me day and night, leaving me on the road on a December night for not being able to meet expectations? Why can I not prompt myself of the reality? Why do I dwell on a non-viable fantasy?  Maybe that's why the figure agitated me.  It made me remember him. It made me remember those eyes and it made me scared because now when I look at the image I see torturous, repulsive and heinous eyes. I don't want to see them again. Ignorance is bliss. Perception is dejection.

The writer is a class IX student of Sunnydale School.