Neither was she aware about her premises, nor which day she was again born into. But just from the memory fragments of the previous death, she was certain that this day is not going to be any less dreadful!

She was happy back then, the good old days, drawing cartoons for the boring old weekly magazine, and probably the only one in those countrysides. Even I knew that people hated it, and had no other choice of something to read as a time killer, oh! But she was way too adamant to prove that her cartoons and ‘artworks’ -as she called her scribbles – were the ones that made even the most boring book as a work of the Greek God Hephaestus himself!

Sometimes, it scares me to see her waking up and running like a deer, chased by a tiger! all swirling and turning and dashing and every time, every single time, she would hit her head on that hung frame of her picture with me in her hand as a baby, and her first work which was published. Who is to blame? Her sleep deprived brain? Or her night blind eyes?

But somethings are never supposed to be blamed on anyone , I guess.

May 3rd, 2016 if I am not wrong, was the day he came, to change her world and along with that mine too. At first impression, even I thought he was her date! with such a charming face and well maintained beard, and his clean yet “cool” as they say, dressing. But that was proved to be my biggest failed assumption, as I saw the bag filled with postcards and letters. Don’t blame me! How would I know that a post man would come in such a look as if to go to a ball? And who even writes letters? Actually that question came out accidentally.

Because it questions the whole point of my existence in her life.

I could see her eyes getting filled, but couldn’t walk that far at that time to see why. Was I missing something? Of course! It was her birthday. How could I forget such a thing? Is it a birthday card from her mom? Wait…

Why are her tears rolling down to a frown and not to a smile?

Without uttering a single word she brought the letter near me and kept it opened. All I could understand from a quick reading was that, she lost her job as the cartoonist!

Seems that they found her cartoons didn’t have much of an acceptance among the audience. Looking at me with reddish filled eyes, trying to hold back her tears, “maybe ,I was wrong all the way, huh! Don’t know what to do now!” mumbled the poorest and purest soul I ever knew.

But who am I to say, having met barely a few people in my whole life.

Seeing her toil everyday of her life now makes me just want to cry out loud for good. But I am not even able to do that. I have known her from when she was the bright eyed , highly enthusiastic 11 year old country girl running along the farmlands of south Virginia.

And I saw the growth of the artist in her, the way a magical glitter of letters and strokes and ink filled in her eyes. maybe that was why her eyes looked like the blue morning sky! Maybe she was born destined to be an artist.

But lately, after 4 years of solitude, I have seen that sparkle in her eyes disappear slowly, scaring me.

Along the years, I saw her growing a huge lack of happiness and an immense dissatisfaction in life. And if my memory is intact she hasn’t even touched me properly for a couple of months!

I was tensed whether my worst fear would come true. And this day, so called today, seems like a perfect day for that, But if someone decides to end their whole misery in a single day , any day is a perfect day, isn’t it?

But she seems a bit changed today morning. Is that excitement I am seeing on her face? Is she..? HAPPY?!.. But how? Why? Not in a rude way, but still what happened for some miracle like that to happen?

And she is coming to me, Yes, She is!

Why is she opening my top? Is she going to write with me again? Or even better, is she going to be drawing with me? Oh! How long I have been waiting for this day. But it is no comic, nor any letter. Wait! Why did she stop at such a small paragraph?

As much as I wanted to read that paragraph, I was reluctant also. What if it was my worst fear?

Just looking at me with wet eyes, she brought me near her moist tender lips and gave me a soft kiss, but why did I feel like it was a good bye?

But I didn’t bother to ask, because I knew… She was tired of answers and questions and mostly, Life itself…

I was afraid of the thought I might never feel the touch of those loving hands ever again. But I didnt want to ask her that too, so decided to subside as I saw her just embrace the wooden pressed floor and a pattern of blood formed from hr cute little lipside..

And even if I wanted to ask , how could I ? I was just a stupid old Pen who is never going to be used again.

---

Every stroke of an artist gives birth to a new art form.

M Ric

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