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Wednesday, July 20, 2016

Short Story : Call

The journey had begun.It felt overbearingly gravitating to him.Like being in a mid-swing - full of thrill yet in despair,as if in the spell of a series of whispers that asks us to run away,every now and then.Rónán held tight to the canoe's end on which he had been sitting.Had he been sitting at all? Or was it their command that was sitting on the verge,about to slip any moment?Who was the boy,wrapped up in the tattered coarse suit,through which the chilling winds made their way every now and then?Who was he,now - stillness or movement? The wood or the radar?
No matter what happened now,Rónán wouldn't surrender.Rónán had grown up - only yesterday,at five twenty-six in the evening,when they sang and he drank Uisce beatha for the first time in his life.






The journey had begun.It felt overbearingly gravitating to him.Like being in a mid-swing - full of thrill yet in despair,as if in the spell of a series of whispers that asks us to run away,every now and then.Rónán held tight to the canoe's end on which he had been sitting.Had he been sitting at all? Or was it their command that was sitting on the verge,about to slip any moment?Who was the boy,wrapped up in the tattered coarse suit,through which the chilling winds made their way every now and then?Who was he,now - stillness or movement? The wood or the radar?
No matter what happened now,Rónán wouldn't surrender.Rónán had grown up - only yesterday,at five twenty-six in the evening,when they sang and he drank Uisce beatha for the first time in his life.
Now,the light was sinking as the soul of Nore arose in waves and splashes,laughter and depth.Or one within the other.Where did the destitute light go after every evening?Was it the warmonger'e eyes that it escaped? Or was it the eyes that craves for war and hence lost light after a while? 



The dire Gaelic villages still lined the shore.His eyes dug through the foggy atmosphere as they travelled away,further into and out of the journey.His Uilleann pipe watched his eyes as they left.The parting glasses were now built,hard and strong.His brittleness beat at the left,in rhythm,cathartically inexpressive of their own delusion.

He had grown up yesterday,at five twenty-six in the evening and grown ups did not cry.The British officer's large boots demolished the life of the dead wood of the boat.Rónán looked up and narrowed his eyes.The officer's blue eyes couldn't meet the blue of the sky or the reflection of the same on Noir's bosom.He glared into the hazel of Rónán's.They had been waging for good,so that they could free them from the clutches of Germany.From a burning pot,they would be shifted to a milder boil.A steady,fast slash of a knife through the heart compared to wiping off the memory of stealthy burns.Burns and blood.Blood and death - that was one thing that happened forever.Everyone,including the sullen dusk spoke.Rónán didn't.The sound of Uilleann pipes and the band's song splashed along his mind and heart or the same damn thing that both meant at that while like the splash of water against the oars,like a forgotten tune that had come back after years of his birth,rebirth and death.A bell unfurled its tune in utter claustrophobia.
His ancestors had been imposed to stay,he was imposed to be free.So,Rónán looked back up and transformed into a warrior back at five twenty-six,right in the evening,when the eyes lost a war,and thus,light.


Disclaimer : The song is 'The Parting Glass' performed by The High Kings.
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4 comments:

  1. damned if i understand what this is about

    ReplyDelete
  2. About an Irish child who is being forcibly conscripted by the British against Germany.

    ReplyDelete
  3. And grown ups did not cry hmmmm. Titas take a now girl *bow*

    ReplyDelete

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