A Martyr’s Death

2 min


0

The moment I was selectively dislodged from my space, I knew I was nearing death. Not that I couldn’t revolt, but I uncomplainingly chose not to. The pride of our race lies in the ability to embrace pain with an aching smile for an aggressor’s pleasure – an act unreciprocated. 

I was watchfully shoved into limited room, into an exceedingly stifling space where I could breathe my own breath. Entrapped in heat that refused to escape, my skin could melt away the very next second, putting me to shame. Who desires a dishevelled body? I got fidgety, but struggled to contain myself. Sporadic jerks trembled through me but they were settled quickly. Irking me to discomfort might’ve ensued some undesirable consequence.

Deafening sounds kept seeping into the space and reverberated, making it further unbearable. I realised I was familiar to this concoction of frequencies – hollers, horns, honks –  in the room I was freshly snatched away from. It was muffled, more like music. But now it was noise. To my surprise, the shiver paused. I could feel myself on a steadier ground. I heaved a sigh. Not of relief, of course. How do you think a guileless prisoner feels moments before being unduly penalised? 

I shuddered. Someone seemed staunchly against my imprisonment. Didn’t I hear footsteps? Was he inching forward to release me? I couldn’t perceive. All I knew was that altruistic volunteers were handful. He came considerably near to eying me, almost instilled a faint hope of liberty, but slid back with a smirk. My skin shimmered with beads of oily perspiration. The mounting of excitement refused to be restrained.  

The more I desired it to decelerate, the more it hastened. Time is selfishly disobedient. The freedom I was keenly awaiting, but now detesting, was round the corner – a fleeting transition from physical captivity to the perpetual one. The fog dissipated as they ushered me out to a dazzling cubicle, breathier but redolent with a peculiar aroma. I gazed at the circled assembly of dyed heads hovering above. Smelly, twirled strands of hair swooped through me, much to my disgust, as they stooped to sniff. I could sense them giggle at the whiff emanating from me. I was about to hurl myself at their golden cheeks when they pinned me down with flickering, white poles. Movement was encumbered, my body paralysed. A snub nose breached its limit and held itself precariously close to me. I saw my twins zooming in a pair of glimmering black eyes. I wondered how such intruding elements didn’t burn from the swelter scalding my skin. A shiny edge, coupled with incessant whistles, oozed into frame. 

The clock struck twelve. The aura waned as the edge punctured my core. I inwardly whimpered as they tore away everything I was comprised of. Skin that once embellished me was now being slathered on those golden cheeks. Hoots of ‘happy new year’ filled the air as I died a martyr’s death, confetti being my deathbed. 

***

Photo From: Unsplash

This is an entry for the event #twelve #Five00-10 at ArtoonsInn Writers Room.

Find the event guidelines here: https://writers.artoonsinn.com/five00-10/

Event sponsored by The Archaic House

Are you a poet? Join ArtoonsInn Poetry Parlour here: www.poetryparlour.com

Join Poetry Parlour Facebook group: https://www.facebook.com/groups/poetryparlour/

Join various other rooms dedicated to art via www.artoonsinn.com


Like it? Share with your friends!

0

What's Your Reaction?

scary scary
0
scary
The Best The Best
0
The Best
Green it Green it
0
Green it
confused confused
0
confused
love love
0
love
lol lol
0
lol
Litt Af Litt Af
0
Litt Af

0 Comments

error: Content is protected !!
Choose A Format
Story
Formatted Text with Embeds and Visuals