February 10, 2019

#ShortStory: 'The final crossover'

She owned this blanket with cherry blossoms that she adored. You would think it had some sentimental value; maybe it was a gift from a loved one, or a prize perhaps, or perhaps a distant memory of a romantic liaison that got too close before it disappeared.

However, the truth was far from it. In actuality, this blanket helped her crossover from one world to another...from fact to fiction. She had first discovered its magic when the cherry blossoms on the fabric had teleported her to springtime in Japan. It had taken a few seconds to realize it had been just a dream. Never had she slept so soundly; it had almost felt like she was traveling through a different time frame.

Since then the blanket had become her favorite. It was a magic carpet and dream catcher rolled in one. As she lay in her bed, she would swaddle herself up head to toe in it...and never realize when the whole day’s exhaustion would sweep her away.
As she drifted off to sleep, the blanket would then start its job...of dream travel, take her to places she had only read about but never seen, show her things she could have only imagined.

Until one day, something unexpected happened. She was beside herself with grief. There was this huge tear in the center of the blanket. Something sharp had ripped a hole right across it.

As night fell, she became more and more distraught. No matter how she folded it, the rip in the blanket no longer allowed her to envelope herself in it.

“How could I have let this happen?” she wept herself to an adventure-less sleep, clutching a corner of the cherry blossom designed duvet.

She brought out her sewing kit and tried to approximate the edges of the rip, only to find her frustration grow exponentially with every pull and tug.
The rip had created a huge gap that was too large to be tacked. Her lovely blanket had been ruined. And she feared, so was the magic it had once possessed.
Heart broken, she stared at the huge hole mimicking the gaping wound she felt inside of her.

Soon enough, she confined herself to her home. She’d spend all day thinking how to mend the damaged 'cherry blossom' blanket. Her nights too went tense and sleepless. She missed the adventure the blanket provided.  The comfort, the security that she felt was now lost. And as time went by, she became increasingly convinced that they were never coming back.

The cherry blossoms were fading, drifting her away from the magical realm of her escapades, her rendezvous, her imaginings. Not allowing her to reach them from the confines of her bedroom window.

It was a cold wintry night, when an unusual sort of notion crept in her head. She could no longer bear to see the ripped off cherry blossoms on her blanket. She had to make sure they stayed intact in her mind forever. She picked up her sewing kit in one hand and clutched her blanket in the other, and for the first time in weeks made her way outside.

No sooner had she stepped out, a cold wind blew through her hair, raising a chill through her frail body. It was as if the world had changed while she was brooding.
As she dusted the blanket, she noticed in its upward motion, something she had never observed before. Her heart was no longer sulking at the hole in the blanket. Instead, it was beating faster at the breath taking sight through it...the mesmerizing canopy of a diamond studded sky.

Next morning, it was passing pedestrians who spotted her stiff and lifeless in the cold, her skin pale, her lips blue. She wasn't breathing.

“Who, in their right mind, sleeps under the stars in this kind of weather?” they scolded nobody in particular, like all witnesses to tragedies, who mean well and think they know better. “The woman should have been careful.”

Shocked bystanders speculated on her state of mind. But there weren’t many who could deny she looked happy.

As she lay there in peace, head resting on crossed palms, she appeared to be gazing at something she couldn’t tear her eyes away from. Rigor mortis had set in. But the smile on her face added to her otherwise tranquil countenance. The sewing box sat beside her, unopened.

It was a terribly windy morning. As people held on tightly to their billowing hats and coats, they found it impossible to fathom how a tattered fabric could hang still from a nearby branch..as if offended at being discarded just before the final crossover!


 ‘This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.’ 

Winning post for the weekend of 8 - 10 Feb 2019


Anonymous said...

I enjoy your writing style truly enjoying this internet site.

Sudha said...

That was a wonderful way to narrate the story. You have so beautiful described all the emotions perfectly.