He was lying down on the soft marshy land; legs and arms sprawled across, his mind wandering carelessly into the quagmire of oblivion. There seemed to be an ominous intensity to the whole scenery that seemed so perfectly crafted, that it had to be seen to be believed. There was not a single cloud in the sky. The eagles flew in circles, imperious and pugnacious; the eerie mountain wind had a repugnant smell to it. The smell of a dead, rotting carcass. Yet, he seemed so impervious and unperturbed.
It was another rainy day, in the ever beautiful, ever scenic home town of his. The hustle and bustle of cities and metros were completely devoid from it. Life moved at a surreal pace. So slow, so calm, it seemed to be paradise on Earth. The roads reeked the smell of fresh palm trees; replete with their scent, flaunting their beauty, exhibiting what Mother Nature had given them. The diminutive houses seemed so germane, so relevant to the setting of the town; unlike the massive bungalows in the neighbourhood town, which seemed so out of place. The entire town seemed like a Utopia. Everything was impeccable. The sparrows chirped faultlessly, the trees swayed flawlessly and the people seemed perfect.
He wondered how he was so different. He was like a fish out of water. He didn’t seem to fit in. Somehow, this Utopia of a town seemed too surreal for him. It was unreal. He was an anomaly there, no one to associate to, and no one to connect with. His body was different, his strut was different, the way he looked; entirely, was different. “How could someone be so imperfect?” he thought, when he spent endless hours staring in the mirror, reproachful of everything that came to his attention. He was too heavy on himself. He disliked how he looked. He loathed the “perfect” people of his town. He wanted to escape; he wanted to free himself from the clutches of this faultless world.
To be continued ...
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