Catharsis

The old man was sitting on a bench – all alone on a cold December night. People passed by him, but he paid no heed to them. His eyes were focussed on the rose he held in his hands. He watched it closely as its colour slowly faded away and its velvety red petals lost their beauty and shrivelled up. He wanted to look at it for as long as he could, before he had no choice but to execute his plan. He instantly had a flashback, a memory, of his daughter, handing him the rose the other day. The warmth of her hands brought tears to his eyes.

Another moment, a thought pulled him away from his bliss and snapped him back to reality. He remembered why he was sitting there, right in from of the mall. He had not slept yesternight for he could not stop thinking about this very day.It was time. He rose up from the bench he was sitting on, pocketed the rose, and kept it close to his heart.

The walk to the mall was a short one. That night, the chilly wind blew with all its might, hoping that it could discourage him. But the old and weather-worn overcoat, which knew of the man’s sorrow in life, clung to him and tried its best to keep the cold out. The falling snow, fell harder on the old man, it’s thousand unique flakes, screaming, begging him to stop, but he paid them no heed, and wrapped his coat closer to his chest. The half – dead rose, which was clinging to the man’s faded shirt wept bitterly when she heard the man’s tale. But the tears which fell were not white, they were red.

The man stopped outside the entrance to the mall. He could feel the pain of the thorn pricking his chest, but he dare not remove it from there as it was his daughters’ present. With pain in his hearth, he entered the mall and made his way towards the toy shop. He could feel the stare of the guard at the entrance but ignored it for one last time. Entering the shop, he looked around, and saw toys kept in ceiling-high shelves. People clad in thick fur coats walked around with their children searching for the perfect toy that would please their child - that was what he was there for. His eyes searched frantically for the toy – the clockwork engine which had fancied his daughter. He saw it in the farther end of the store and moved towards it hastily and silently. Every minute he spent there, he was attracting more attention. He picked up the toy and proceeded towards the counter “12.50”, said the cashier, with a bit of skepticism. He reached out into his pocket for the last coins he had. He took them out and held it out to the cashier. But maybe he held them for a moment too long and the cashier had to snatch it out of his hands.

His journey back home had been uneventful. The worsening weather only made him quicken his pace further. As he reached his home, he saw that the lights had already been extinguished. He reached for the door but did not knock on it. He opened it carefully, so as to not make any noise. The door, who knew of his intentions, did not creak in its usual manner. He crept stealthily to his daughter’s bed and kept the toy beside her. He did not dare to kiss her on the forehead for the fear of waking her up. But his fatherly love would not let him leave without saying goodbye. So he stayed for some time, sitting on a stool beside his daughter’s bed, looking at her under the faint light that sneaked in through the curtains. He began to lose faith in his plan, and a terrible sense of fear gripped him. He took out a cigarette to smoke, and cracked the window open a little to let the smoke escape. The wind, seeing a chance, and foolishly thinking that it could make him see reason, began to blow into the room, it’s cries wailing as it begged him to stay. But he hastily shut it off and closed the window. He got up silently and took one last, blurry look at his daughter, and left the home, noiselessly closing the door behind him. He ran as fast as his legs could carry him.

He reached the bridge out of breath. The river churned underneath the bridge, the wind blew hard, and the snow fell harder. This was where I saw him, standing on the edge of the bridge. Assuming the worst, I ran towards him pleading him to reconsider what he was going to do. He turned to look at me and for a moment, froze. I saw tears in his eyes, tears that reflected fear and sorrow, regret and anger. Alarmed, I reached out to him hoping that he would accept my warmth and compassion. But Alas! His shoes, which had been with him always and known of his sorrow, took that final decision for him. As he plummeted down towards the river, his coat left him for it knew where he was going, no coat was needed. But the rose clung on to him, because love is universal. I looked down to search for him. But he had already become a part of the world where his sorrows would no longer trouble him for no one knew tears in the Garden of Paradise.