Maverick woke up with a start, a sudden scream escaping out of his parched mouth. Hundreds of small beads of perspiration had formed on his forehead, which slowly trickled down to his brows and shone under the minuscule light coming through the gap in the wooden window. His face was pale and the eyes had a terrified look. The same old blood-curdling vision was back to haunt him again.
At that moment everything seemed all fuzzy and dizzy. His heart was beating hard and loud and the senses had seemed to have intensified. However, nothing seemed to bother him at that point, not even the irritating sound of the water leaking out of that old rusty tap, or the bed that creaked dangerously with the shift in the weight of his limbs. He was staring straight at the wall in front of him. It had sheltered his family from the sun and wind and rain for decades, but the unrelenting resilient fellow was wearing out. It had developed fissures and the lime mortar had peeled off giving way to the rough grey cement in patches.
What if the world we see is an illusion—and that our dreams an impression of reality.
Suddenly, a car screeched past the window. The loud piercing sound sent shivers to the already scared Maverick. Curious, he hunched his body to the right and opened the latch to the window. There was an abruptly parked car out on the street, and strangely enough, in that pitch dark and ghastly quiet night, the man had let the headlights on. Unable to spot anyone, Maverick moved a far little too much and stumbled down the bed onto the floor with a loud thud. He fell to his sides and thankfully, there wasn’t any injury to regret. And just when he was about to shake himself up, his eyes went up the wall—again.
But this time, he spotted something different. The change in the angle and the illumination from the car outside depicted those blemishes in an altogether different light. He moved closer; he looked deeper. And sighted into those edges that familiar grin—the devilish creature with a sly smile on his face. It was all very prominent. Very noticeable. Three days and three nights he had kept himself awake. To avoid this nightmare. To avoid leering frighteningly at that monster holding a stained knife in one hand and a decapitated head in another. The head that had the same eyes and nose and face and hair. The head that looked like his own. The head that was his own.
What if being asleep also means awakening to life—or death!
A striking reminder of his dream, the head kept on dripping blood—one drop at a time. The monster with the fiery red eyes kept grinning all the time as the drops took wing like a house on fire and came down in a rapid succession. It was like Maverick had been nailed down to the point of nothingness as he watched the drops become a stream of blood under which people were drowning. To his wildest horror, they were his family, his mother and father and brothers. He could hear their cries, feel their agony, watch helplessly at their futile attempts to save themselves. He peered as they choked on his thick blood, burst into tears as their head went down and then came up for the final time. “Don’t,” he sobbed. “Don’t go, please!” he cried.
Why does it feel so real? Have you ever given a serious thought to reversing the concept of imagination? What if the world we see is an illusion—and that our dreams an impression of reality. Is it possible that there are split personalities existing in ourselves, each being dominant in their own sphere? What if being asleep also means awakening to life—or death!
Why do I have this terrible feeling that I myself am a calamity to the people I love the most? Am I that deplorable a person? What if you had got me wrong all this while? The things that I’ve fed to you all this while weren’t what you thought it to be—will you forgive me?
In That Loop 