What If..

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 7; the seventh edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

He glared at the languid silhouette in the corner of the capacious hall, rage and fury flaring in his eyes. The pain was unbearable. An excruciating force was gripping his heart. He was too numb to feel. He clasped the machete so tight that his knuckles turned blue from lack of blood. His forehead and elbows were badly bruised from the clash earlier. But the agony and distress within him was making him callous on the veneer.

Crouched in the corner of the tenebrous hall, she shuddered. She was too shaken to cry out. She whimpered under her breath. She had never seen him like this before. The light from the streetlights reflected on the edge of the machete. Drops of blood trickled down the slick blade, spotting their new beige carpet. She wanted to fall on her knees and cry out. But something within her refrained her.

As he staggered towards the silhouette, bits of his past flickered through his eyes. The first time he had caught a glimpse of her he knew that she was person he would grow old with. She was the person he would sit on the porch with and look at stars in a clear night sky. She was so naïve yet exotic, so serene yet vibrant. When he had confessed his love to her, she had coyly nodded her head. Few months into courtship, he had proposed marriage and she had graciously consented. Two weeks later, they had tied the knot and moved into their Home, this house.

The blood tainted beast masqueraded by darkness, closing up on her, did not resemble the charming young man she had married. Those bloodshot flaring eyes were nothing close to the alluring eyes the love of her life had. A fiend had taken over her angel. The first time she had seen him, he had approached her with a bunch of white lilies, her favorite flowers. He had instantly stolen her heart. She was heads over heels in love with him. But she was dreading the moment, the moment when she would have to disclose the truth about her. Her anxiety coerced her to tuck her past away.  

He gazed at the frail crouching form in the corner. For a split second, his gaze was softened by the love he harbored for her. But a voice in his head bellowed at him. “She is a seething liar. She has used her cloying demeanor to allure other men into your Home.” Hatred and fury flashed in his eyes. He couldn’t believe his own thoughts. But his eyes couldn’t have deceived him. Today he had waited in anticipation outside the house for his adversary to arrive, the machete on his side. He had his moments of diffidence a few days ago. Today was the denouement.

She had been in an impasse ever since that anonymous man had showed up at their doorstep. Her better half was away for work.  He was in his late 50s, with a Porsche and a receding hairline. He seemed weirdly familiar to her. He showed up more than often at her doorstep, always in the absence of her husband. He offered exorbitant gifts and flowers. She spurned them all. Today he pleaded for a few moments to spend with her. That she couldn’t evade. She faltered. The predicament became leaden. He was the man who had compelled her mother to..

 “You Ho’! I won’t be fooled by you anymore.” He spurted out.

..compelled her mother to take up prostitution. That man was her Father.

He had felt an eerie gratification, a queer abatement of his agony as he had slashed the throat of his adversary. He had granted them no time to comprehend. Her dazed expression could not veil her agony. That infuriated him even more. In that instant he had committed himself to..  

She could see his rage going wild. Her mind and body were incapacitated. The remorse and lament held her back from elucidating and justifying herself. She had resigned to her fate. It was her redemption for keeping the truth from him. He moved faster across the hall. He hovered over her and heaved his arm. She peered at him for the last time, her eyes filled with tears. Before the machete could slash into her flesh, there was a deafening bang,

The machete was heaved high up in the air, all set to carve through her tender flesh. Before it could reel down, there was a smoldering pang in his back. He could feel the crimson spread across his clothes.

His lifeless body slumped on the ground. She couldn’t endure the pain in his eyes. He was still breathing. His breaths were short and he was gasping for air. She wailed at the top of her voice, “He was my father. But I had nothing to do with him. I loathe him. Why did you do this.. I loved you, I still love you and I will always love you.”

Each word lacerated his soul and severed his heart. He could feel his life drain out, but more than that he felt  remorse for his judgments, actions and most of all, his temper. His anguish and hatred flowed out with his cardinal fluid. His eyes were teeming with tears. It wasn’t for the pain or the fear of death. It was sheer despair. Despair at segregation from his Love and only he himself was culpable for it.

As she watched the cops take away his lifeless body, the only thought that she could conjure was that now she had a lifetime ahead of her, a desolate and solitary lifetime, to speculate.. to speculate What If..

What if.. she had confided in him? What if.. she had shared with him the trepidations of her heart? What if.. she had relied on him? Perhaps he would still be with her and they would have had a beautiful life together.

As he succumbed to his injuries, the last thought he had was regret and lament. “What if.. he had the fortitude to confront her? What if.. he had believed in his faith? What if.. he had harnessed his temper? Maybe he would still be with her and they would have had the life he had dreamt of. What if..

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Image Courtesy: Deviant Art