DARKER THAN BLACK

  On the cliff, at the ledge he was sitting on, a breathtaking view stand wide before him.. A cold breeze brushed his hair, as the expanse of the land rolled up to the edges of the hills. The mountains grew dimmer as it follows another. The shadows crept slowly, changing its course now and then. Foliages studded the patches of the wild land, and took the sharp corners of the rocky mountains. “Picturesque” eh thought. He edged closer to the massive tree behind him. Its braches and twigs shading the whole ledge he was sitting at. He sighed. The winds blew the leaves upward. He lay flat on his back and propped his head against the bag. He stared at the sky, raised his hands in air and closed them into a grip. He might be thought as queer and stupid but he always suspend his hand in the air and invisibly clutch the sun, or the moon and the stars.

 

 

 He dreamt of having been into this place. -Away from the crowded streets of Cambridge, far away from mayhem. Far from the people who destroyed him. But it was no good. His mind reels of the trouble he had for the last days. He woke in the middle of a dark hall in Monday, and escaped some men in dark robes. He washed his blood sodden suit in the river and continued running but now- even  the sunlight fails to warm his skin. His body should have been twitching now because of exhaustion, but he just felt it as freezing as the breeze that brush his hair and the folds of his grimy trouser and shirt.  Now, he was wondering where every lanes and roads lead to, perhaps- just like them. He too, was lost.

 

 

 Three kilometer away, he met kids, men, and elders: they were wandering in an open field. Some were in khaki shorts, still carrying their books and schools trunks. Others were old women, with a handful of goods in their shopping baskets. Some even looked like a rider of a Harley, the others were clad in suits and satins. Men in their mid twenties carry their hunting gears and supple boots. Some huddled around, asking where are they and what happened. The others got fascinated and wandered off immediately.

 

 

 The others stood frozen on their spot, unable to believe their eyes. But most were startled and stunned. There were screams and cries: remorse and longings. They wailed names and curses. Their expressions are still vivid in his mind and he knew that those look very well. The day when his father died, he locked himself in a room and stared at the mirror. It was the same look he knew he always had. But not the same, his keeps a secret behind. The fragile eyes. The years of hatred lurking in his chest. The thirst for power that makes him ball his fist. It was heavy. Hidden and dangerous.

 

 

 He feels different. He has always been. He noticed that most of them were kids, aged perhaps twelve to sixteen. They all have the same untidy hair and dirty shirts.  He too noticed that some of them have the same splattered blood on their shirts but they seemed to be enjoying themselves. Some were sprawled on the ground. Their mirth swallowed the wails and cursing of the elders. Soon they all scattered away like birds being kids like him, who have the same untidy hair and filthy look, and who scattered away when a strange creatures hovering and drifting in mid-air clutched the elders one by one. Most of the youngsters escaped and separated. They ran whimpering and hid themselves in the deep of the woods.

 

 He looked over his shoulders, into the gorges from which he passed through. The girl trailing him must have been lost. She should have been. The last thing he need is a girl who talks too much. Perhaps he was lost in the ravines below. But like him, perhaps she was afraid too. Harren sat up and walks down the rocky lane. That must have been difficult to passed through. What worries him is the creatures he have seen floating in the air. Ivys and vines crept into the hill sides down to the walls of the ravines, creating a maze that extends into a clearing as wide as a football field.