The Slip

Every one of us has a werewolf inside, grappling to gush out of a leaky hole, dripping its flesh and scent at intervals. There is always a moment when you are utterly captivated and harnessed by your werewolf. The pull from the werewolf would feel like gravity, it seems like an inescapable one. But there is a pause, a very mild yet deep, at the brink of every transformation. 

The decision you stride on at the pinnacle of the pull defines you. But all these would happen in a snap, lesser time than it takes for a lightening, a blink of your eye, before you live a whole second in it, when you’re half way out of that one whole second. It just took a second at Hiroshima to shatter Japan forever. If that Little Boy had some conscience, would it have had second thoughts at the time of blasting? But sure that there would be no guilt.

Howsoever, guilt may seem like a sin, but there is no point in it because it is futile in the aftermath. It is furthermore destructive. It cannot bleach the sinner white. The sinner becomes the victim forever. Can’t there be a place where there is no sinner and victim?

 

1

She had something. She was a seasoned young woman, very formal and professional at work. She had a lot of privacy policies and never unveiled her personal life. Nobody knew if she could ever cry or slouch depressed. She was a perfect blend of valour and delicacy. She appeared dauntless at times and tender at another. People who saw her dauntless would never believe that she could be tender, and those who witnessed the tender in her thought that she was meek. But she was both, knew clearly when to show what and how much to show. 

He had known both of her, but she always opened the tender side for him. And he was a hero to her. He was a great ball of candy for her to assimilate as an ant. She had worthy takeaways each day from him. Things uttered by him gleamed in her memory. He was the one she liked to listen, follow and explore. She was escalating her productivity and the content she produced were all hits. She was using up all her potential. She was living at the best she could ever live. He opened new vistas of knowledge to her. She brought in an influential progress in life and career. She became the best version of human. She owed all these to him. He was pivotal and influential at all these.

He was really all of these.

He was an influence to a considerable crowd. A patriot, social worker, monetary benefiter for many – a hero, the one people around would love to come and talk to. The organization was built from scratch by him. He was a one man army.

He could draw aesthetic criticisms on a fall of a leaf, stretch hours on literature, society and political themes. The way he loved nature was inspiring. He hung with a local crowd to observe the societal and environmental happenings.

The relationship was that of a boss and an employee between them. But the way she handled things, the extremes that she could toggle between, the compassion she had in her tone, the energy she reverberated on some topics and the choice of words that she made gained his attention. He was rather inclined to her. She could incredibly sprout out on everything that he sowed. The organization was on the zenith of productivity.

It was a business trip. Just the two of them. Once exhausted with the business talk, they had a whole gamut of things to talk about – literature, music, history, society. The clock ticked 11, the night air muffled the hotel room with silence.

They were on Fur Elise. She had Beethoven brimming her mind as she recounted his confession to Therese with his masterpiece. There was music spilled over the entire room. She was rather clad and infused by the musical air.

His intentions were already contented. The way she ecstasizes Fur Elise steered him, it was like a paradise to him. He was gauging the length of her fingers while she swayed her hands, the ecstasy glimmering in her eyes, the long eye lashes that were gently thrashing and else of feminine beauty. She had an elegance, in the way she spoke, walked, dressed and even the way she kept mum.

An idea of consumption, oozed out from within. The idea escalated in energy as she kept on talking. A dilemma bashed the walls of his mind, throbbing and breaching with each bash. She was genuinely innocent and was trying to transport him to a musical universe. But he was transported with something else of her.­

She kept on talking. The swing kept on thriving in speed, sparking due to friction. He could hear neither her nor Fur Elise. All that he could hear was the groan of the werewolf and the sound of the pendulum inside him. She locked her eyes with his, asking him something. The pendulum stood still. The next swing had ardent potential to fire flood the whole place.

The brim- that’s when the werewolf exercises the whole lot of magnet on you. At the brink, you will be in the empire of trance. But there is a vent, minute and almost invisible. You will never know that this pause is going to be the game-changer, whatever way you choose. He had the feel that Dr Faustus had when he blooded his signature to Lucifer – the idea of consumption.

The idea overtook him, plagued his conscience, plaited his whims and fancies together and urged him from inside. She had a pause. He had the next swing. The werewolf is out of the cask.

 

2

It was not the first time the werewolf coming out. The werewolf had met many such enticing girls and women. His wife never knew these, or acted like she never knew these.

A staunch thrush – she ran off to the balcony from his clutch.

It ached her. Not because of the mess that happened, but for the folly that she had been bearing all these days. It was an acute ache.

His mind changed its robe on a sharp note. His colours started to change. He grew into a rustic creature, his mind with a scent of shit. The desire was overshadowed by anger, aggressiveness, and vicious-ness. He was raging. Something suddenly bashed his thoughts. He had seen her fierce face. What if she pulled him to the streets and buzzed this to people. She had the valour to do it and had capabilities to rouse people. He suddenly developed a sense of disgust upon her, he saw her like a wretched and repulsive woman. He was planning on stuff to escape from the sentences she would portray against him. He was rather planning on points to accuse her with. He was tightly packed with fury and blind revenge. He started to cast detest upon her. He could not take up the insult imposed on him by a girl half his age.

She was standing in the balcony. 

It had been an hour after the ordeal. He forwarded to coax her, sooth down her rage, just to escape from the acquisitions. He laid aside all his rage and aggression and said, “It is quite natural that a fragrant flower attracts the one who smells it. And there are times when things go beyond our hands. Come on, be a sport”.

He had been treated in many ways in such ordeals. Women have yelled “Are you not ashamed?”, thrown curse words upon him and his family, enjoyed him and his services, called him back at intervals. But she gave him a plain and ambiguous look. He could not discern what stays underneath it. The most important part is that he could not ignore it as well. And he felt rather insulted by the look she threw at him.

Time was pecking at him, it had been an hour since his coax. The plain look had been grinding his mind, rattling his peace. A sense of guilt gradually started oozing out. The tender essence of her slowly started to crowd his mind. He realised the monstrous phase of him and his brutal endeavour with the tender girl. How brutal it was trying to efface the tender elegance? How easy it was to scratch her faith? He felt like an arrow-stricken animal, he was guilt-stricken indeed.

He walked back to the balcony. She was with a pen and paper, scribbling something.

He was anticipating either a frail and glimmering look or a fierce spillage of wrath in her eyes. But what he encountered were a pair of pristine eyes still gleaming with absolute radiance. There were no strains of tears. She seemed celestially pristine and stood as if nothing happened.

This stammered him. The damsel’s eyes this time pushed him into valleys of bafflement and rather choked him with guilt, more than he could bear.

He wanted to retreat his aggression on her and patch up the mess. His eyes were brimmed with guilt and too fragile to meet hers. She extended him the paper she had been writing on.

It read, “I regret for everything from my side that contaminated you. It is quite natural that the scent of a flower prompts the one who smells it. But the same entice ditched Eve when she tasted the apple. It is after all the human instinct. Everyone arrives to this place at some point of time. It is how soon you get out of it that defines you. But you are not an ordinary human. You are someone to influence people, push them for a better self. You are a super human. Please don’t ground yourself with ordinary matters.

Lots are things that I owe to you, learned from you, not just from what you taught, but also from what you are. Now, it is my turn. Let’s work together to help you get out of it. Such ill-thoughts hinder you from savouring a big piece in your life. Let me show you how it feels being platonic with a woman, how having a true friend feels like. Let us add a new tint to your palette.”

It further read “It was just your monster out of your cask. You are not the werewolf that changes in the full moon.”

He was indeed waiting for “Are you not ashamed?” or a slap from her that would redeem him from the sins. For the first time, he staggered, like a child that’s concealing the weep.

She saw a gasping child in the grappling werewolf and she had the whip to tame it down. The werewolf melted down, like the casting iron, onto her arms. There was only fumes, no fire.

#Jaye