I happened to be the last living being who stared in her eyes. I still remember that exchange. She looked into my eyes while she was struggling for life. Those deep blue wonders had something to say, some request for me. At that moment I was unable to understand that tacit conversation. I felt sorry for her, made a requiem and left the place as she left the world.
That look mystified me, but I ignored all that happened. I forced myself into believing that it was a mere coincidence. I never wanted to crop up my brain with it for the fear of getting sore again.
But two or three days from her passage, when I found the same two hypnotic wonders staring at me, in a moment I could understand everything. I was taken aback when I saw it, sitting behind a pot, trembling like a leaf and looking at me as if it were told to pay me a visit. It was quite frightened and ran away when I stood up.
Her eyes haunted me that night. Did she want me to take this responsibility? Or was she just sharing her sorrow with a fellow being?
– Mundane
Do read the article Mundane, for a reference to the pen name used above. I wrote this story when I was in grade 9th. I remember getting it reviewed by my Literature teacher, Arpita Bhattacharya Mam. She grew visibly disturbed after reading the story and asked me if I were alright. She thought I had narrated some personal tragedy. I had a hard time convincing her that it was pure fiction. Throughout school she had been my driving force for quality in my reading and writing. Her reviews used to be critical and painfully honest. And her attempts to restrict me from reading pop literature were legendary. Because of her instructions I was not issued any piece of literature in our school library that was not a Classic.