HuesA Chapter by HarishThe clouds marched
towards the city center exactly where the clinic of Mark Dawson lay, nestled
between a pharmaceutical store and a paint shop, the clinic never had an aura
of itself, not even when it used to be the only shop selling guns in the late
18th century, one could have associated Mark with everything other
than a gun. I’m Mark Dawson. A chilly gale blew past
me, a courier of the heavenly clouds, thy messengers. The coldness had grown
exponentially, its hue had encapsulated all of the vicinity, I sat by the
window looking at the shades that had formed with, the textures that arose and
minds it changed. I dazed at the rain, my gaze aimlessly followed the raindrops
that cluttered into the ground, making a soft soothing symphony, it was as
natural as it could get, a few things cluttering into each other and producing
a mellow yet intristinically beautiful tune. I could feel my ears perched out,
gallant, not at ease but at guard to catch any change in the timber of the
soothing tune. The rain fell coldly and freely upon the paved road, I could see
people hurrying past me, bellowing at the rain. The restaurant that had opened
a few days earlier, for whose inauguration I had given a small talk was
bustling with people, talking impatiently and hurrying at conversations, some I
saw were gaping with an awe at rain just like me (something we all do). I remember myself
standing in front of odd 100 people in the restaurant, most of whom were invited
guests. The words still played out in my ears, I heard them in between the
endless murmur of rain, beating of my shallow heart, yanking horns of the bikes
speeding past and conjunctions I could not figure out. “We all eat, not a day
goes by without us eating. At least I eat everyday” I said, expecting people
would laugh, but what I was met with were cold and ruthless sterns and relaxations
of pricked ears. “How many of you know what constitutes hunger?” I could see blank
faces comprehending my speech. “Hunger constitutes of some neurological
signals, never mind. But is hunger good? Sure, hunger is. How would we eat if
we don’t feel hungry at all? But isn’t hunger cruel too? Many people die out of starvation, as we speak
many people would have slept off without something seeing off their hunger. By
this speech I did not want to flinch you, but I wanted you to see the duel
nature of existence that persists in the universe.” My speech indeed was met
with applause, and the dinner that I had was particularly refreshing for I
needed not to pay for it. The rain had increased; the structures far
away that I laid my eyes on were no longer distinguishable, but swinging blanks,
pixels on a dead monitor, conjuring any anomalous shape. Occasional breeze endazalled
me with tiny raindrops, that vaguely resembled the shape of tears. I remember
how quiver I was when I fathomed what caused the clouds to cry. My mom gave a
better reason than the science. She held me close and pointed to the toy I was
planning to give away, “why are you giving them away” “I have lots.” “Such are clouds; they
have lots of it, lots. That’s why they give us a bit of it.” That was when I
understood why science could never explain causation. © 2018 HarishAuthor's Note
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