Play with the fire, it transforms

I sat there, laughing at her misery and suffering. She was sprinting back and forth to ease her discomfort but I refused to help her. She looked at me helplessly but I decline to acknowledge her presence. My haughty and disdainful attitude failed to bring any succour to her impotent and bewildered existence.

She was hanging on by a thread, trying hard to seek some kind of assistance and help. She repented and tried to slough off her vile alter ego but it was futile…. Too late I must say. She had sinned, she had tempted fate by indulging into sacrilegious destruction of her holy carcass. She was fragile and would always descend from her citadel, slowly in a whirling mist of slush that hypnotized the human eye. But today she regrets and mourns the death of her prestige and oddity; after all she was special and distinctive.

She commemorated the sacred festival by embarking on a holy journey, thinking it might wash off her sins, but the journey would be her last and she would be immortalized as someone who tried. She did dhikr, a devotional act of showing loyalty to her supreme being. It was surreal; people were fascinated by her devotion and zeal. Nobody knew that she would never be seen again. Her prime aim in life was to chase any thing that remotely hinted of divinity. She left behind this mortal world and the schism that divided the divine world from the physical one. People saw her crying, herd her chanting hymns but she was inconsolable.

She walked for days, hoping to make in time for the big day when everyone will rise and stand together, hand in hand. She was wrong… such sacred journeys take years and great deal of commitment. She had grossly romanticized her devotion. She was nothing compared to other people standing with her. I felt sorry for her but I had promised myself that I would sit and watch her demise. I felt horrible but I had to stay committed. It was all about loyalty and allegiance.

I never saw her again as her wrongdoing consumed her reality. A traveller saw her body wrapped in a shroud being whisked away from the gathering. There were speculations that she died without a veil. Nobody could confirm it as her end came in solitary confinement. She was put there because her wailing and shrieking frightened the masses. I regret not being there to witness her demise. What a captivating sight it would have been.

I was told that a few days before her passing, she would move in repetitive circles. That was her way of reaching the state of excellence. She would cry and whirl, hoping to ascend to the celestial bodies like a ship sunken ages ago is brought up to the surface and to a state of wakefulness. Did she really rise…did she really ascend?

Her absence haunts me. Did I court danger by not helping her; did I venture out into a territory where savages and sadistic creatures rummage though abandoned premises looking for their next victim? But I am content, as I didn’t see her in her last days. My absence ensured I had nothing to do with her demise.

I can now go and sleep…

Disclaimer
 Dear Reader/Visitor

This piece is meant to be consumed as fiction and entertainment.