As I Live It: April 2016

The mirror was lying to him. He just knew it.

Shapes flew around the edges of his vision as the swinging lamp did nothing to calm his demeanor. The color was warm, the moment cold and unforgiving. It was a nightmare that woke him from a troublesome sleep, coughing out the weekend flu. A nightmare that showed him he was completely alone in his mind, lost and never found. His eyes drifted towards the scratches on the concrete wall.

59.

Well, he thought, I'm breaking a new record every day.

Days were getting shorter, he knew, but there was still a doubt as to the time of the day, the sun not yet gracing his window. The stars were hidden from him, the clouds playing the part of the cruel siblings, teasing him and tormenting him in that subtle way that prevented him from lodging a complaint. Besides, in this place of ultimate solidarity, who was there to hear him? His hand drifted towards the bedside table.

The mirror was lying to him. He just knew it.

He sighed loudly, frustrated that he was left with only 7 more sticks of slow burning nicotine to compensate for his lack of sanity. The tip caught the flame with a quick embrace, the way he wished he could embrace the finality of death. Caught in this limbo of his own machination, he knew his only reprieve from this torment was a hand's breadth away. Just out of reach. To compound matters, he lost his will to try at 45. Funnily enough, he had no idea what he was to look for. His eyes drifted towards the opposite wall.

The mirror was lying to him. He just knew it.

Stubbing the dying light out 'neath his heel, he observed the cemetery of cigarette butts that was the floor of his cubicle. The only break in uniformity of the floor was the patch of clear flooring that was habituated by the day's rations. This was sacred. This was ritualistic. Other than the corner of the room that he used to relieve himself, the small tray of sustenance that had kept him alive since 1. His existence no longer held reason nor rhyme, just the passing of time that haunted his mind, for a crime unforgotten, beyond a line he once crossed. Until 7 he tried to resist the food as a protest to whoever had overpowered him, but his will gave way and survival took over. His hands drifted towards the tray.

Surely the mirror was lying to him. Doubts crossed his mind.

The shapes that flitted at the edge of his vision seemed to be on the mirror, images within images that he was sure could not exist. Was he going insane? Was his mind cracking under the pain of solitude? He watched his face countless times yet he could not find anything other than a broken man. He tried to scream but all he could hear was a soulless wail. His eyes drifted towards the window.

The food was filling, and the day continued. Sunlight cut through the thick clouds as he could observe from his sturdy, small window as he scratched 60 as a sign of continuance. At least he was not caught in an unmoving insanity, he thought idly. At least the numbers were going somewhere. He scratched his head, his hair growing longer and longer with no hope of being shortened. One day they'll fall, was what he told himself. One day he'll be rid of this annoyance.

One day.

His mind drifted towards oblivion as he picked up the small box.

The mirror never lied to him.

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"Do you think he would ever act on it?"

The observers pitied the man, yet their orders were clear. Observe.

"He has seen us behind the glass, yet he hesitates. What can we learn from this?"

They watched the man sit on the bed, his hands deftly arranging the cards. One of the observers smiled.

"At least now I know a multitude of combinations on that game. What is he playing?"

"He's playing the game of his life, win or lose, only two outcomes possible. He's playing solitaire."

Their eyes drifted towards his collection of cards. Solitaire.

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Author's note:

Dear Readers,

I wrote this piece not based on any experiences, only a subtle curiosity of the mind of a trapped man. It is loosely based on the Korean movie plotline of OldBoy, and if you haven't watched it yet, I'd recommend it.

I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as my other works! I know it's different from the others, but my style remains the same.

Love,

Axam

Here I attempt to decipher people with my mind armed with the facts and fictions they display to me, the way they carry themselves around me and the stories they tell me.

Here was a man in his early twenties the minute I wrote this, wondering if God really did notice man's suffering. Here was an unselfish man, frank, straightforward and without the need to circumvent relationships or attach like the leech that other people sometimes are. Here was the embodiment of the need to act yet hindered with the unblemished hope that just one more run of the Star Wars movies wouldn't hurt. Here was a man to walk mountains with.

I say this because he has made me into a better believer, questioning my own reasoning to reach my own conclusions and from there to grow to what I want to be. I say this because he is genuine; he has no need to hide face from others, no reason to speak evil because there was enough evil in the world without him adding any more. He is a man apart, and I say this because he has the drive and want to change the world. He has seen cruelty and he has seen a mother's love and dedication, the two extremes of compassion on this desolate planet crowded with ignorant people.

Here was a man I'd use the strongest colors to paint a picture of. No, not the bright neon that usually denotes happiness and energy, but the dark reds and clear black, thick brush lines of the ocean blue crossing over. His passions bordered on the utterly humanitarian, a deep-seated belief that lest you do it yourself, the world would forever remain stagnant. There was much he set his mind upon, but before all of his plans and all his dreams, he kept his family in mind. A thousand five hundred miles from home, I watched him labor at the papers that were to bear fruit in the form of a number, in the end, a number that would determine whether his work was, or was not, in vain. And work he did and achieve he did as well.

He set the bar for me. There was a lot to his demeanour, his persistence, and perseverance that once dug me out of my own little personal hell. Having been there when all who called him friend ever needed him, he was a saving grace; a fact that would be agreed to by anyone who knew him well enough. He was a reason I could come home to my dusty, homey apartment, someone to recount my day to, someone to make plans and then rush off on adventures with. I could build a rocket ship with him to fly over the Cayman Islands, I could hitch-hike my way to north Malaysia and he'd go with me. Someone who's dreams are alive and full of fire yet finds within himself to help burn another man's fire, his undying support and warmth makes one believe in love and miracles again.

He deserves a long and full life, for which I shall continuously pray and hope for. He has the potential and the drive to change the world in his own little way, for his presence in my life as a best friend and a brother from another mother has changed mine.

See you soon, Farhan Ferdous.

Solitaire

Portraits - Farhan Ferdous