DRUGS by S. Karan Abrari (free reads TXT) 📕

One may find a fair model of it in one of Salvador Dali's paintings called, "The Stairs". It is an endless circle which keeps you moving towards no progress; a third meaning of to be, beyond any good or bad, which conquers your wisdom with non-interpretable notions, and of course it often tastes fresh.

They had an exact example of this structure in their town: an endless woven line of stairs with a starting point to which they scarcely dared to approach. At any time of the day, you would find some people walking up or downward there, yet, from down on the ground, it was rather impossible to guess what exactly they were doing or thinking about. That was why the first thing any couple tried to induce in their child was an abundant fear of the stairs:
"They are crazy people. Look! They are not living in peace, nor can they go on a pick nick or love each other. Promise that you will never get close to that dirty structure!"
"I promise Papa! I promise Mama!"

He always hated family gatherings, not because of the members, but due to their so called interesting subjects and issues. He believed he was not a man of a job & a car & a house. Long before had he found out he was not such an ordinary person, when he fell in love with his niece at the early age of six. Then he stayed at home for a long summer and spoiled his nights and days just thinking about her. Soon later he recognized the major difference between what he felt inside and what others dreamt to bring about and he did never forget it until he was a young man.

The man who sacrificed himself for the glory of love, he wanted to be.

That Sunday morning was the last time he attended a family gathering, the last happy hour of a normal life. They were talking, like any other similar situation, about the same particular things like football, fashion, most repeatedly the weather, that how nice it was, pretty warmer than last year this time, and of course, about the politics. Bulgaria and Mozambique were fighting a brutal battle those days and the news about this war could be heard out of any cubic box which had some buttons on it, and of course out of any mouth with a little hair tips above it.
"Isn't someone going to talk about love one day?" he asked angrily.
Every one laughed.
"Why not darling!" said Aunt Mary in a kidding tone, "but we are not under the same blanket for the time being, are we?"
Every one laughed.

Where love was in deal with a blanket, its glory could be nothing more than a better blanket, and to be sacrificed for a better piece of machined wool was pretty far from what he thought he wanted to be. That smooth fashionable ignorance had scratched a big sore on his heart.
It was all because of human reflection and his open eyes. He didn't like it. He wanted to live free from realistic considerations, so that he would understand things in a boundless atmosphere!!

He lit a cigarette.
"Sacrificed!" someone told him in his head, right at the moment he had put a glance at the stairs.
That was what others would translate as a juvenile attention-seeking thirst. As for him, however, were there someone who confirmed how love and truthfulness could immune the human race from a lot of pains, he would never take those hasty, thoughtless steps towards that structure.

Now he was on it, completely focused on the fresh height in growth away from the previous 'always', walking along some other sort of people who paid no care for the fashion of that summer. He was getting rid of all that repeatable boredom, and feeling different.

"Human soul is abused by the tricky sequence of events" he heard from a passenger, who walked up, heedless to his surroundings.
He thought, yes, it was; human soul was abused … .

Sitting on a high dangerous edge, someone was talking to the clouds, "Don't be afraid! Come on! Cover this fat sphere of fire! Please! My delicate feelings are boiling in my head! Stop it!"

"Do you think we may live another life after this?" asked someone.
"I won't call it another life" the other one replied, "It must be pretty different from our current anticipation of life".
"Well, I don't have a clear anticipation of this current life either!"
"Nor do I, ha hah, I think I am just dreaming this!"

He stopped at a corner and stared at the quiet town down there. Now he could realize that he shouldn't have been seeking for love in an enclosed piece of land like that. He could feel love was a pretty higher notion of a higher level of perception.
So he climbed higher.

There he came across a man with his head blown, singing:
"That's my entity to show
Some meet and a considerable length of veins.
The sweet feelings were
Nothing but some irresistible storms of imagination"

Then he noticed a number of flying people in the air, some of them moving their imaginary wings and some other ridding on real bicycles. No falling down! They were just floating in the air – he could believe it!

Two angels had brought a girl's demised mom down to the stairs. Holding from her armpits, the angles had kept the corpse in front of her and she was cravingly touching her on the face. Then they vanished and they girl shouted a long breathless cry out to the lord. They appeared again, yet this time the beloved mother had worn a red nose of clowns. The girl burst in laughter and ran upward on the stairs, and the triple fancy followed her.

He was so impressed in the whole scene that he didn't notice who had put that red rose in his pocket. It was a talking flower:
"I'd like to share the secret of life with you;
Listen!
As the flower withers
And the flavored colorful memory of her stays living in heads,
It's always possible for it to rebirth,
For the little gap between to be and non-existence,
Can be filled in with our beliefs."

Then the rose withered, yet he didn't try to revive it, because he had got the massage: The monarchy of LOVE has always been dominated by THOUGHTS.
That was such a perfect defeat to him: Love depends on "thought", something he always wanted to omit.

It all passed too quickly.

He turned around to the memory of his family and the town. Indeed, it resembled a memory, rather than something real down there.
He couldn't realize them any more:
He couldn't understand why they greeted each other when they thought they knew each other. For him, to know someone was an ideal further beyond imagination now:
Any character was an inseparable blend of infinite "wonders", each of which to serve him with a reliable weapon in a particular battle field, the way the antler would help the animal to survive;
Smile was a white flag people waved to be secure, passing by;
Kindness was pretty less pure than any reason to defy it;
Hope was a childish poem to rehearse, when something depended on the feedbacks;
Mother was your daddy's wife, daddy your mom's husband;
Chance was a five-cent coin spinning around Venus, when everyone had already left the earth;
Dream was the only reality to experience and
Love was a quick fading time-out for one's daggering mind to refresh.

It all passed too quickly.

He climbed higher.
He couldn't believe he was a man of forty five.
He swallowed the smoke.

Well, nothing much happened in his life!

Publication Date: 01-30-2009

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