Requiescat in pace

-By Mehul Philip

He looked in the mirror every night, hoping he’d wake up a different man. But the truth was far from it. He woke up thirsty every morning. An insatiable thirst that parched his throat, ever growing and uncontrollable. Unsure of how he'd turned into this monster, this beast of a man, he searched for answers. He didn't know where to start. A thirst so severe was rare. Some would call it an addiction. Others, madness. He called it sustenance. Existence. Reality.

He was a brittle man. Not by build but by conscience. He had tried to escape. He had tried to end it. But he failed. How do you escape a prison so vicious, so ruthless that the devil himself would stand clear? How does one escape his own mind, his own thoughts, his own soul? He knew there was no escape. He knew his thirst was his curse...and his cure.

Torn away from reality, he looked at her with vacant eyes. Clueless as to why he was there and what she’d done to deserve him. He looked at her. She stared back at him. Cold and emotionless. He’d cry if could. But what good are tears when the soul is burning. Burning with passion, frustration, anguish. “Oh god” he thought. But god wasn't there. He'd put him there...and left. The epicentre of his turmoil. Forsaken by The Lord, adopted by an angel. A fallen angel. He caressed her cheek but she didn't move. She didn’t even flinch. She just stared.

It wasn’t new for him to find a new companion. But keeping them around wasn't the problem. Getting rid of them was. He knew that once they were in, there was no turning back. His mysteriousness was was his ally. Several had fallen prey to his wit. He listened to them. He charmed them. He won them over. Sadistic, evil, thirsty.

Before he made his move he'd look in the mirror. His eyes didn’t lie. They truly were vacant. He didn't know why he did what he did. He didn't even know how he felt about it. He jus knew that he did.

The bitter night would turn to glimmer and his path would get longer and his thirst would encore.

He stared at her and she at him. “Requiescat in pace” he whispered as he closed her eyes and turned to his road unwinding. Another day, another night. Same old thirst.

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