A Game Called Loneliness

A Game called Loneliness-2

The last thing I saw was a wide beastly grin, which caught my eye before the door slung closed with a deafening heavy thud. I looked again to where the Rat used to be; I was grieving on the inside, and staring vacantly on the outside. I re-played in my mind what had happened, and I wasn’t even there to defend him.

I didn’t know how long I had been in that state, but the next thing I could feel was a cold wind blowing its way into the cell through the window bars. I couldn’t help sensing it prying in, as if to suck in the last trace of bodily warmth left on the bloody straws by the Rat. I lied there still, unwilling to close the window. I thought that I might as well leave the wind to fool around freely, as I for one, had the sorrow of death in my soul. But what would I be if I inflicted the suffering of my personal tragedy on everybody else? For the world, as The Almighty made it, has a natural and uncanny way of redressing the balance; striking it right between Good and Evil, Light and Darkness, Beauty and Ugliness, Joy and Sorrow, Love and Hatred.

But what good is there to talk the talk, when you are unable to walk the walk? From that day on, a grieving melancholy and a sickening weariness of life started nestling in my soul. I didn’t touch food for a week; I didn’t leave my cell, either. I had no wish to see anyone, and for all that mattered, they were all to blame for my misfortune. All I could think about was The Almighty Creator and I kept asking Him: ”Have you forgotten me, Lord? Why have you forsaken me all alone between these cursed, iron-bared, merciless walls?”

The walls of a prison feed on the days of the prisoners’ life. It ages their bodies and makes them go crazy before time.

I thought The Lord no longer cared about my crying, but I was wrong. One night, eight days later, my friend the old rat paid me a visit. He climbed up on the table taking his time like he usually would, as he did when we were friends. However, this time he was not interested in the bread crumbs. He was tangled up in the white silk thread like the first time I saw him, as if on purpose to get my sympathy. I picked him up quickly with an affectionate hug that would make us both warm and would send us into a good night’s sleep. Noticing my deep sorrow for losing him, the Rat whispered: ”What’s going on? This is not like you! Be strong my friend, you won’t be here forever. It is God’s plan to have you locked here, and it may be so to save you from a greater evil that could have come your way instead. Time comes and goes; you’ll eventually be set free and will go back to your loved ones. You’ll look back with hindsight and understand why you had to go through this. Your mission here and now is to keep going and stay in the white light, despite the darkness that surrounds you. Moreover, never forget that revolution brings about evolution. This might just be a blessing in disguise, but difficult to tell at first sight. Because every hindrance holds the promise of a step forward, and a curse can easily turn into a blessing. Similarly a blessing is likely to turn into a curse when taken the wrong way. Yet above all, your health is your wealth; life becomes joyless when you lack good health. Also, don’t put all your trust in simply what the eyes can see, as many things are happening beyond the realm of sight. You must sense the world around you with your mind, making good use of all the gifts that God gave you in His mercy. It is your mind that knows real freedom, for it alone reveals to us that good is not a fairy-tale, love is not deceptive folly and beauty is not just a flight of imagination. On the contrary, they make up the actual fabric of reality! They say it’s all in the mind: the secret gate-way opens in front of us giving us wings to fly to a land of no frontiers. Don’t let sin kill your dreams; don’t let go of your belief in ideals, even if right now they seem like hopeless fancies. God gave us soul, mind and body which together stand up for Life. The mind is a bridge between body and soul; it keeps the right balance of peace and harmony between the two. The body is a temple that hosts life whose core, like a precious flower, is the Soul. The mind guides us through life in an infinite Universe, allowing us to rejoice in the wonders that God gave us. When the body fails to achieve the longing of the soul, the mind can make up for it through the all-empowering imagination that helps you carry on. And so my dear friend, I say cast away this sorrow! Shake it off and screw it under your feet, never to pick it up again! Don’t let it gloom your glee and confidence like it has so far!”

I was listening without moving a finger. I felt so disheartened.

My lack of reaction made the old Rat let out a heavy sigh. He asked me to put him back on the table and I did so quietly. He bent over slowly like an old man, picked up the pen, and offered it to me. Just as I was about to get hold of it, the noise of departing steps made us both jump. It was as if somebody going past the cell door had stopped for a moment to listen to what my friend had to say, and then continued on their way. The Rat’s head turned swiftly in the direction of the rustle: he was terrified. But all he could see was the trace of a shadow vanishing in the moonlight.

The pen dropped out of his hand: it was shaking with nerves. As it hit the floor, the noise woke me up.

”It had all been a dream!” I said to myself in despair after coming around a bit. Just then, a rustling noise coming from the table top drew my attention. It was ass if somebody was cleaning up, and I shuddered with joy. ”Maybe, through some sort of miracle, the Rat has come back!” I thought trembling from head to toe with excitement.

I was thinking like a child, which surprised me. I suddenly stood up not even thinking twice about leaving my warm bed. But to my great disappointment, it was only the wind. I had forgotten the window was open and a cold wind began to shuffle through my diary on the table. Driven by a devouring curiosity, he wanted to find out about the secrets in my diary. Or maybe, who knows, somebody had sent him there to spy on me…

No! That can’t be! I thought to myself outraged. The wind can’t be corrupted: his only master is nature herself which makes him as free as can be. On those grounds alone, he will never come to depend on its surroundings like we do.

But what was it that made the wind so nosy? Before I went to bed I could only bring myself to write a few lines for my beloved mother. For irrespective of age, when we hit hard times, we all think of the person who gave us life.

Don’t assume that I had written to my mother about the trouble that I was in; God forbid I should do anything like that! On the contrary, I was concerned that she might get worried, as she hadn’t heard anything from me lately. I had told her in my letter, that I kept well as I had just renewed my contract with the famous company I was working for. I wanted her to have peaceful nights and quiet days, as a mother’s heart can always sense the torments of her child from miles away. Had she known what I was going through, she would have been heart-broken for the rest of her life: my poor old mum.

When I felt my eyes filling up with tears, I wiped them away and returned to what was happening to me. The pen had been resting between the pages of my diary since the night before, but that fidget of a wind managed to roll it off the table onto the floor. When he hit his head on the cold floor, he must have let out a squeak of pain while big black ink drops splashed everywhere. The wind was now rolling it on the floor this way and that way. It was trying to make him dizzy and forget all about what had happened and to forget whose fault the messay chaos was. You could tell that the wind felt very much at home, a master in his own right, blowing his way around through the realm of nature and doing pretty much what he liked.

With this scenario playing in my mind, I came back to reality as soon as the cold wind had swept across my feet, making them feel frozen cold. As a follow-up, I imagined that he just wanted to deter me from punishing him. It was his way of trying to convince me to give in to him and go back to bed because of the cold; he was looking for a way to conceal the mischief he had been up to that night. He wouldn’t have liked to have to put up with all the gossip coming out of my cell through the barred window that next morning. As for the up-coming Spring Feast, if word went around he would have been terribly embarrassed..

I could read his mind. I got a bit annoyed at his arrogance and I closed the window; I don’t think the wind expected that. I could see him standing outside wrapped up in white fluffy snowflakes trying to pick a fight with the sleepy nature around. As if to say that she had something to do with the fact that I banned him from my cell. I turned around to get my pen and lifted it up carefully, looking at it with intent sadness. The ink drops all over it took me back in a flash to the Rat’s last moments of life. I pictured in terror how his head had been bashed open, and his blood splashed by the killer’s boot.

The window, the wind, the wind-blown pages…

What was the meaning of my dream? Why did the Rat hand my pen over to me as if he meant something by it? What was the message behind it? Write what? What about? Who about and to whom? Thoughts stormed over me as if galled on by the wintry weather outside. I could feel the last remains of warmth in my soles being sucked out by the cold concrete floor. It was at that very moment when the idea struck: I knew what I was going to write! A children’s story! It was going to be a story about the sad fate of the old Rat, with all his trials and tribulations; the friends who loved him and those who loathed him, and the ones who lifted him up as well as those who let him down. It was to be a story that would touch the hearts of children and ride on the back of everlasting time, taming it once and for all. It would cleanse my freedom-starved heart and take me on a journey through a magical world, helping me to forget those sinister places.

It was 2.45 in the morning on the 1st of January 2006. I couldn’t sleep a wink. The idea that had come to my mind kept nudging me; I had been spell-bound. But where should I start? I felt as if I had found myself at a water-shed moment, not knowing which way to go. Tired, I made myself nice and snug in my bed. It had been loyal to me and had kept in the warmth of my body. More than ever, I was concerned about my health. Had I fallen ill now, it would have only added more to the troubles that were burdening me enough as it were. Rest was best. Next morning I intended to churn out all the thoughts that had been overwhelming me throughout the night. The warmth that welcomed me back to bed made me happy. The sleep folded me over in its arms in seconds just like in the times when mum tucked me up in bed, stroking my head and kissing me goodnight.