Scenery of Dawn - A Short Story
Scenery of Dawn
The clock was striking 6:30AM. In one of spring's cool days, in which you realized why they called spring, beautiful, majority of people were still fast asleep in their beds. At this time of the year, it was still dark at this hour. Stars were yet to trade their place with the bright shade that takes over the sky before the sunrise. At some place near 7, the darkness would reluctantly give in to a mellow grey, and slowly start to shift towards a brighter hue.
Ah, these moments of twilight... Few are sceneries that can rival its beauty in all of nature. For years he dreamt of passing away in such moments. There is something glorious about it, he thought. It didn't truly make sense even to himself, but he believed, that if even by chance, the last picture his eyes witnessed determined what he felt and saw for eternity thereafter, it was definitely worth the try to say your last goodbye to none but the twilight.
Yet up until some days before, for him it was what it was; a fantasy. The more realistic alternative in his mind was closing his eyes in a warm and cozy bed, surrounded by a lovely wife and caring children -not that he had any. Like his grandparents had, and perhaps, his grandchildren would have.
Instead of lounging in a soft bed however, he was counting his steps, as he walked in the Valiasr street1. At least it was more sentimental than breathing your life away in a single exhale, he presumed. Be that as it may, he wasn't here at this hour to create a cinematic scene. He was there merely because he was tired. Somewhere between the darkness and brightness of the sky, perhaps there was a way out of his misery. Perhaps the aching of his ankles was his last torment. Perhaps...
It was some 70 years since the last time the pavement of the street had seen direct sunlight, for the both sides of the not so wide avenue was cluttered with platan trees. It was a magnificent sight per se, and combined with the astounding lighting of the twilight, it reminded one of heaven - if there existed such a place, as he saw these things. When it came to belief and all that, hardly anything concerned him. Aside from a simplistic and unorthodox view of such concepts as God and heaven, which was unique to his own, he discarded the rest as fairy-tales. Even now, in spite of what he was about to do, he hardly cared to what will he open his eyes, if they ever were to be reopened in the first place. All that cared about was, to be gone from where he was. The destination, was of no consequence. To hell with it... To hell with it all. Any place but here would be welcome.
He had never seen the street that vacant; usually one of the busiest streets of the capital during normal hours, was now as bleak as a ghost town. Rarely a lonely stranger would pass by without a side glance. In less than two hours though, the feet now under warm sheets and blankets, will be walking the cobblestones again. Many, many feet; like nothing had changed in the past few hours they were sleeping.
It was strange to see the street this way. He had never been there at this hour. He never needed to. But now walking there, he was enthralled with a strange fixation. It was like a feeling you get, when you're left alone after a crowded party; that tingling sensation you experience when you look into the empty space and instead of the wall in front of you, see images of the people who were recently there. It is a both inviting and disturbing feeling. Sweet, yet filled with a hazy hiraedd3. One of those feelings, from which you run away, but you don't detest it taking over you.
Although he kept to himself some of the times, he enjoyed good company when he saw any. Not really a loner exactly, but like some people have, he had a taste for solitude. From early childhood, he had learnt to find contentment in keeping himself company. Although a sane person never laughs while alone -and laughing is usually the ultimate measure for evaluating one's share of happiness- for him there was a strange form of satisfaction hidden in his solitary shell, that he could find in no laughter.
The landscape altogether, was bound to one of his fantasies; to walk the earth while everyone else is dead. The view reminded him of it very much. It was a strange fantasy, yet one he loved.
The rain from the night before had washed the street clean, and had filled the air with a mild scent of dampness. He did seem to have picked the most magnificent time to do this. The sight could never be as perfect as it was right now.
It was nearly 6:45AM. He was used to staying up throughout nights, in many of which he didn't go to bed until it was morning. In all of those boring nights he stayed up late for almost no reason the only thing he did was brooding and thinking about his life. But, there was this one year period in his life that he had to work hard at home for a project he was participating in, and because of the fact that he'd never been any good at waking up early, he usually let himself enjoy his dreams until noon, and instead of that, he worked through the night to make up for the time lost. The first time he stayed up until dawn in those nights, he remembered vividly.
It was a warm spring night and the cooling system of his apartment had been down for some days. Trying as he was to focus on his work, the heat was taking the best of him. He had fully opened the long window of his room for a little breeze that may or may not pass through. He was seated at his desk which faced the wall, working, and the window at the opposite end of the room was trying its best -which wasn't much- to let in the spring air, lest his only inhabitant was boiled to death. Like most of the times during that year, he was exhausted. Half working, and half staring at his empty teacup, and wishing it would fill itself, he was killing another day-or rather, night- that stood between him and the life he longed for. He was lost in thought, when all of a sudden he heard a commotion from a flock of birds, coming from somewhere near his balcony. He turns his head to investigate what is causing it, and he sees it... He stared open-mouthed like an idiot, unable to move for a minute or two; the sky... it was... it was magnificent. He put the pen down and walked to the window, like a sleepwalker. Mesmerized by the beauty of what he was seeing, he stood there, looking out the window, until the it was over, and the heavenly view of sky was replaced by a ordinary morning indigo. He had seen it before, but, this time... it was different. It struck him that no one sees beauty better than someone who is desperate. It was the first time he had really looked at it, with all his heart, and had felt its beauty better than ever. He lost his heart to the lovemaking of darkness and light, to the harmony of the tenuous twitter of those little birds. To the ethereal scent of a new day. A portion of his soul flew away from the windows of his eyes to savour that sky for eternity. At that small little while, nothing seemed impossible, least of all being happy. It was okay to smile for no reason. Looking at the wall, looking at the sky, jumping up and down, shouting, laughing, crying, sobbing, the very act of breathing, they all seemed like an cheerful, exquisite and sane act.
The sound of a passing vehicle brought him back to himself. Nearby, a kiosk owner was sorting out his newspapers, yawning. The feeble yellow light coming from the kiosk was starting to lose its edge to the cosmic blue light. The song he was listening to through his earphones -Higher High2- finished, and was starting again, for a hundredth time. For years it was his favorite song. Somehow, it always reminded him of dying. He was trying to hear as much of it as he could before he did it.
He looked at his wristwatch; a gift from his brother. It was almost 7. He didn't have much more. He was going to do it... He had to, or he'd never consider himself capable of doing anything in his life thereafter. This time, I won't let anything distract me. This one time, I won't let me down. All these thoughts sped through his mind as he walked through the night. For once, I will finish what I've started. For once...
He checked the street; there was no one near him. He didn't want to make a trouble for anyone, neither did he want to ruin anyone's day. Nevertheless, someone was bound to find his body and the troubles that came along with it. He couldn't do anything about that, but at least, he could trouble them less. He wouldn't wish seeing what he was about to do, to any person enjoying that beautiful morning. After making sure there was no one nearby once again, he went to a obscured corner and put out the knife he was carrying in his pocket, and swept the safety catch open. He raised his left wrist. His heart was racing...
Somewhere in the nearby trees, the tune of a flock of tiny birds, brushed past the earphones and touched his ears. In a languid motion, his eyes shifted from his wrist and his head turned to the trees, of their own devices. His eyes caught a glimpse of the first grey rays of the morning, coming all the way from hundreds of million kilometers, and let them caress his eyes. With the thumb of right hand, he took out the earphones. The silence alone was more beautiful than any other harmony he had ever listened to; the cadence of tranquillity. And it wasn't just any kind of silence. Not that kind you experience when it is 3 AM and your alone at home, It wasn't that empty; it was full and rich. That kind of silence which is more evident during a heavy, but calm snowfall. You hear no sound, yet it isn't quite. In those moments before the sunrise, tranquillity sings to oneself, and its silent song is more alluring than call of sirens. And now it was being played along with the charming chirping of the pigeons. He Inhaled the fresh wet air of the morning. He could almost sniff the raindrops which hung in the air.
Once again, he had fallen victim to contiguity. To the beauty of what he saw and felt. He threw his knife to the nearby bushes, and put his hands in his pockets. Somewhere not far away, in the taxi stop, drivers recently awakened to another routine day of work, were waiting for passengers to start their first ride of the day; it was a tempting notion. He was tired and could use a warm seat. Slowly, he started walking back the way he had came. The birds were singing yet another dawn away.
1. It is a street in Tehran.
2. By Epica. From the album 'The Divine Conspiracy'.
3. A took this word from my favourite series, 'Deverry Cycle'. This is the meaning of the word as the writer, Katharine Kerr, describes it:
"A peculiarly Celtic form of depression, marked by a deep, tormented longing for some unobtainable thing; also and in particular, homesickness to the third power."
Taken from the book, 'Dragonspell'.
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Originally Posted by Dance
