Borrowed By The Devil

I lay there, beneath the street light, at the junction of my busy city. I was moving, trying to stand, but wasn’t conscious. My face looked stretched, pale eyes drawn in, heavy lids, lips dry and swollen, shabby clothes, and my hair looked unwashed since my birth.

It was me alright. But I did not feel the pain which looked obvious for such a body, instead I felt shame. I wasn’t in control of my own self I was watching. But how am I watching my own self? No clue. I could feel the breathing, smooth and easy, never like mine. I did not expect seeing myself in such a way. Least, I wanted others to see me this way.

My body stood, staggered and fell flat. I wasn’t beaten, but I was bleeding; and my watching form was weeping. Its heart was heavy with grief, throat filled with boulders of sadness. Hard resolve kept this form standing right there, while others walked past my sprawling body, missing not a chance to express their disapproval.

I wasn’t perfect. No, not half as perfect as I believed myself to be. My friends thought I was weird. I despised them. Teachers advised. I took no heed. Mom cried, dad threatened. But I rejected them all. I was ahead of their time. I was different and I was proud about that. Until now…when I see my shut eyes displaying fake peace; my insanitary body displeasing a diseased dog. I did not believe when they said to me, but when I see now, I realize. I am a GOD-DAMN-ADDICT!!! No matter which term you prefer to use.

Warm tears crept down the jaws of my watching form. I could feel its feelings. So I understood that the form must really be close to me, for it felt a terrible loss at the sight of my body. I, which is the active me, moved towards my body. I stood there for a moment and lowered myself to touch my body’s shoulders. No reply. I lifted its face and it slowly opened its eyes. It blinked furiously. Its vision must be bleary, I thought. I smoothly pushed its hair behind to see his face clearly. The next second, my watching form broke into terrible sobs. It shook with distress. My chest swelled with sorrow. My body has gone through physical pain. Yes, and I’ve borne it to live the next day. But this pain was burning me inside-out from the depths of my heart; and I could not bear this a second more.

But my watching form did. It endured the pain, it controlled its emotions. Its wisdom washed me over with relief, and it spoke “Come, let’s go home.” I knew this voice. But my memory would not travel beyond the illumination of the street light. It failed me.

My body looked at me, my watching form, and pulled back suddenly. It dragged itself far from me. It did not recognize me. It did not recognize its only savior. It refused its salvation. “Oh god” I cried, “How long will I run, far from every good that came my way, seeking a moment’s pleasure in exchange for an eternity of pain which burdens not me alone, as the rightful cause, but even others who hardly shied at being by my side, no matter how wrong I was.”

As I closed my eyes, I left my watching form and was back inside my crumpled body. Back to struggled breathing, back to the pungent stench, back to the crippled conscious. But now I had a clear conscience, and I needed nothing more.

As I looked at the person before me, kneeling, like he was pleading me, I sensed my essence return. No matter what I had said about him, what I had done to him, he was always there, trying to explain me just one thing that took me a lifetime, an ocean of tears and a planet of pain to learn by myself.

I held to my father’s fingers as he helped me return home alas…