She slowly and gently passed her index finger along the sharp end of the knife. It was rigged and left a slight scratch on the finger. Hardly noticible, hardly there. The kitchen floor was cold and her hands shook. As Naina turned the knife in her hand, the metal reflected her eyes, and the tears in her eyes reflected the shining knife. Holding the knife flat in her hand, she was intrigued by the smoothness of its finish, and the firmness of the wood. Her mind seemed to have shut out any other thoughts, apart from those of the weapon in her hand.
A bell tolled at a distance. It was a strange sound to hear, considering she lived in the middle of a crowded buzzing city. The zooming cars, the ambulance sirens, the loud motorbike engines, the barking of dogs and men, were the usual sounds to be heard. In the midst of all that, church bells were a welcome change. The bells rang, and the sound carried an unusual tranquillity with it. Naina sat still and listened, searching for the meaning of the rhythm in which the bells rang. The tone was demure and the tempo slow. "Probably a funeral," Naina thought.
The bells stopped, and Naina's mind drifted back to the knife she was holding. It was wet now. Strange. "Oh right, probably my tears fell," she reasoned logically. The cold floor pierced into her skin like thorns. Her legs were almost numb, except for the pinpricks she felt now and then. She made an effort, and rose carefully, clutching on to the knife with loving care.
"
Moonriver...wider than a mile...I'm crossing you in style...someday...." she hummed softly, letting her voice carry her to the next room. She drifted across the room and eased herself on the floor in the center. She fingered the knife again, and immersed herself into the titillating shades of metal. The feel of the cold knife against her skin felt welcoming, and even the sharp end touched her with flowery gentleness. She pressed her finger hard on the tip, and a trickle of blood oozed out. It reminded her of the redness of paint, which she'd used to create dozens of her artworks. It was inviting. It was addictive. It was a drug, which she wanted out of her body instead of inside it, to feel the serenity she so desired.
TRING TRING!The sound of her phone ringing shook her out of the daze. She looked around and saw her phone lying close by. She saw the lights, she heard the sound, she could even read the name of the caller, but she didn't move. She just stared. She had to. Her mind had imprisoned the rest of her body, and it did not want to give the command to move. The phone kept ringing, the sound became monotonous. The name blinked, screaming for response, but Naina did not reach out to answer. It was too late now.
After 4 calls, the phone relapsed back into its dark silence. It sat still. Naina slowly got up, and walked to her desk. She took a notebook, and wrote. She felt the need to. She knew what she was about to do required an explanation, and she owed it to people. She wrote without emotion or tears. She wrote, addressing no one, naming no one in particular. The feelings had left her, the writing was mechanical, and the pain had gone.
She finished the letter, ripped the paper out of her notebook, and returned to her spot on the floor. Then she blissfully held up her wrist, and with one quick motion, slit it with the knife. The blood spilled out. Naina watched it, feeling nothing. The drug worked, the numbness increased and the mind swam into a cloud of peacefulness...whiteness...purity....bliss....
...end.
