KAAL- LIFE AFTER ALL MY DEATHS
Whilst my mind was wandering all over dinner, the sight that I had seen, my hot mug of coffee and a warm shower, there was a gentle knock at the door. For a moment, I felt that it was my imagination. No one would come to visit at this godforsaken hour. It was pouring so heavily. No sane man would step out at this time!
The knocking persisted.
“Who can come to visit at this crazy hour? It’s pouring. It’s not even safe to step out on the street. Hold on, Maybe it’s a neighbour,” I mumbled to myself as I closed in on the door and peered through the peep hole. There was no one outside. But I had definitely heard the knock.
Definitely. Not once. Twice.
Suddenly, I heard a splattering noise from the glass window where I had been sitting just a moment ago. With the coffee mug still gripped tight, I turned towards the window. What I saw gave me goose bumps. I felt a strong, cold wave pass around me. I stood frozen, staring at the window.
There was a hazy definition of a bony hand, just like the one I had seen a few minutes ago, amidst the water that was splashing on the glass. The hand had a pale, desperate feeling about it. I pushed myself closer to the window.
Was it the impression that my hand had left? No, impressions fade. They don’t melt like three dimensional objects! The hand melted into the water and disappeared. My forehead was full of sweat. My heart beat fast and my legs felt like jelly.
WHAT. THE. HELL. WAS. THIS?
The knocking at the door resumed. With wobbly and shaky legs, I went towards the door. This time, I saw a man through the peephole. The man was tall, he wore black and white clothes and had a pale bony face, with eyes that sunk into the sockets. The features were set evenly on the face and his brown hair was stuck to his head, revealing a broad forehead. There was something strikingly familiar about him. I couldn’t place it yet. But there was something, undoubtedly, which reminded me of someone I knew. He was drenched and soaked till the bone, silently waiting to be called inside.
Involuntarily, my trembling hands gravitated towards the door. For a few seconds I remained jammed there. Then, as if by sheer pressure on my hands and brain, I was compelled to open the door.
I stood looking at a man who could have been me, except that this man was much thinner and paler. We had the same sharp, grey eyes, the same height, and even the same face. I looked at him and blinked, stunned into silence. The brown hair, the broad forehead, the thick eyebrows, the sallow complexion, the dull skin tone, the lanky arms, the thing fingers.
It was me.
A wet version of me.
A thinner and paler version of me.