Thursday, June 19, 2008

The Beast

He's a right bastard, I tell you. Sometimes he can be logical, calm, cool and so between the two of us, the more reasonable and level headed, the firm restraining hand holding me back from rushing into where even angels fear to tread. And yet sometimes, he can be the worse of the two, scheming twisted and dangerous thoughts and wicked suggestions, tantalizing me with their possibilities. It's during those times that I feel he harbours murderous intent for me, though I am certain it shall not be his hands that carries out the deed. Though we hardly speak to each other, for the most part we both know each other only too well; save for that bit of darkness in our soul of which no one will ever know of save for ourselves. He calls that 'The Beast' and tells me that we all have our own Beasts. He is smiling as he tells me this, as if in relief. Don't let it consume you, he cautioned cheerily.

I asked him once, How is it we know each other so well and communicate almost telepathically, and yet are so different in thought?
That is not the question, he replied.
What is then? I asked back.
It is, How do we deal with situations given our predicament? he asked.
But I wanted to ask the question, I replied. Upset.
If you don't know the question, you cannot ask, he answered.

1 comment:

art harun said...

Sometimes to him I turn seeking guidance. Some other times, from him and his ways I turn and move away rapidly. Most of the times, we are together, like black and white; day and night; good and evil...
There is never a time when he is not around. In my sleeps, he is in my dreams and nightmares. At this very moment, he stands, looking over my shoulder, partly smiling and partly sneering, approving and disapproving, of my every word.
Sometimes I wonder, is he or am I, the Beast?