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Moments - One smile

A single potato chip lay still. It lay floating upon the deep ocean. It floated like a piece of paper does as it lays on a table. The potato chip just stayed there. The waves came and went. Ripples lifted it from its perch and yet it returned to that very position that it had "acquired". And then a dolphin jumped out of the water. Its smooth exterior glinted in the light of the sun. The water dripped off its back like little children running back home after taking two steps outside. Its tail flew high up in the air as, for one split second, it remained in the air, with the grace that even the greatest gymnast probably could never match. And then the great mammal descended back to the ocean. In its way was the potato chip. There was a splash and there was a potato chip no more. A smile was smiled somewhere.

 

Grey mixed with red never really looked good. The blood dripped slowly to the grey floor, apprehensively. The knife from which it dripped glinted. Like a dolphin. Like a blood-stained dolphin. The dim light of the old bulb worked like the sun to create the glint. It worked hard to shine light upon the body from where the blood had come. It failed.

The body lay in the dark suspiciously. It remained in the shadows. There was no need for it to move. There was no need for it to be moved. The blood was still dripping. Around the body, a pool of blood was emerging from the shadows. It first appeared, more as an apparition, but it persisted and made its way to the eye of the beholder.

The body was on the floor, alone. Alone and dead. It seemed as if the word "alone" implied the second word. The knife was alone as well. The blood was leaving it. It was running away. Like the person who held the knife in its moment of glory. A momentary moment, when everything lasted for a lifetime and pain felt a million-fold stronger. A moment when a smile was smiled.

The bulb that worked so assiduously was a mere street lamp that did its best but failed. It always failed. It was like a child. Every night it tried. Every night it failed. It tried – it failed. It was a simple equation. There were no implications, no complications. Just one simple relation. One cause, one effect.

The blood that dripped coagulated after a while. It lay still, with the body. Both were dead. Both were together and alone, all at once. The knife was with them. But it was alone too, not together with the other two. And the bulb was alone too. And it still failed.

 

A fly buzzed around a room. It was a dark room. There was no light. It was a black hole. A dark black hole that was too dark to be black. But the fly could see. That’s why it was flying.

The fly stopped flying for a moment and made a landing on a respectably stable perch. It attempted to survey the room from its vantage-point. The only thing that told the fly that it had a good vantage point was its own "insectile" instinct. It completed its survey in a while. There was no result. The room was a room – a dark room. A lonely room.

A lonely room with a fly and a snoring sound. The snore was loud, for fly or human. There was no origin to the sound. Just a destination. And that destination was at every point in the room and even outside it. But there was just one destination for that moment. And it was across the room – away from the fly, away from any source.

The closed window prevented the fly from escaping. It was trapped. But there always was an exit. It still didn’t move. It watched what it could and listened to what it couldn’t. It was hidden in the dark of the room. With no voice, and nothing to say. A quiet, simple fly. And then a smile was smiled.

 

A little pool in the middle of grass quietly minded its own business. It was captive. Captive to a ring of plastic. A blue and pink ring of plastic. Plastic filled with air. It would have left, but the plastic was kept captive as well. By its own world.

A soft, gentle wind skimmed the pool. It lifted each part of the surface for a moment. And then it moved on, ever-changing. It skimmed the grass. It would have lifted each stalk of grass. But it didn’t. It didn’t try and it didn’t fail either. It played no game. There was no game to played. Maybe it would have played.

A child ran. A simple run. A happy run. A run with a smile. There was a soft voice. A voice to be heard by the sweetest ears and the purest minds. The child ran around the pool. It was an ancient ritual. A tradition older than the wheel or fire. A simple action. Nothing more … nothing less.

The child ran and ran, for a time that seemed to be forever. But it wasn’t forever. The child would wish it were forever but it was not. It just felt that way. Or it wanted to be felt that way. Then the child jumped. It flew over the air that lay above the ground. The air that kept the skies in the sky and the birds below the sky.

And then the child landed. With one instant of force, it touched the water. It didn’t hit it. It just touched it. Softly. Carefully. Quickly. It sank in the water with no fear. Some drops flew with excitement. Some didn’t. The child smiled its smile.