“Hey, let’s get away from here.”

He turns his head sideways, only to see no one there. The bridge feels desolated in the midst of passing cars on it and trains below it. The orange of the dusk of day starts to fade away, giving way to night to settle in. The birds fly back to their nests, only to fly the other way round at dawn tomorrow. Ah, so’s the mirage of life, he thought to himself. Surely, those birds feel like they have a purpose in life, flying to and fro from day to day. But that is only human sentimentalism. It doesn’t mean a thing to those birds, for they flock only by instinct to survive on a daily basis. They do not think about tomorrow, about the day after it, or the months and years to come. They only think about the moment, if thinking is what you’d call instinctive motor action.

And what about her? What about running away from this place? What about reminiscing paddy fields and boulders of rocks bulging vulgarly out of the Earth, about the suffocating sky that felt so near to the ground, about the trash they see scattered at the seashore? What about that? What is there to her words and dreams if she’s no longer here, he thought to himself. Isn’t it selfish for her to spark an idea of hope, of redemption in him, and then leave him to his own devices? He cursed her from day to day, hoping that she feels the heat of his anger in her grave. Let her body not meet peace, for she had cursed him to the same fate.

“But you can’t blame me. I’m dead, but you’re not. You still have the chance to make a difference. Don’t think about it. Don’t ponder upon it. Act!”

He clenches his fists tightly, so tight that a minute force more than that would break the bones of his hands. His teeth grit together as he shouts out curses from deep within his heart. Easy for you to say. You’re dead. There’s nothing left for you to do other than waiting judgement day. Hey, I’d like to ask you something. Do you mind?

“No. Carry on.”

Why is it you’re the one who died but I’m the one whose dead inside?


Answer me, damn it!

“Maybe because you are empty. You have been empty since, you’re still empty now.”

So now you’re pushing the blame unto me? Is that it?


So, what are you trying to say, for God’s sake!?

“What I’m trying to tell you is that you need to dream, then you need to act that dream. Follow the footsteps if the dream towards reality. Then you’ll find substance.”

Substance? What use is substance to me?

She smiles at his question. Oh you, she thought to herself.

“Use it to fill yourself. Then you’ll not be empty anymore.”

Silence befell him for a moment. The indigo of night starts creeping in. Venus peeks from afar while a waning crescent takes the throne of the night sky. Amidst this beauty is him, left in a sea of erratic emotions swirling up inside him. He loves her, he hates her, he despises the very image of a cheerful her, and laments the fact that God has taken her away from him. Lament is all he does to God, for he knows he is all too weak in front of The Creator and His prowess. So he shifts the blame to her. For the dead know nothing. Not pain or grief or happiness or a future. The dead lie in silence for eternity, albeit the justice or the lack of it done unto them. The dead remain dead, no matter how much you curse them. That is why he keeps on blaming her, when all that she said is true.

He is the one to be blamed for his misfortune. Not fate. Not God. Not even her.

He is the one who’s empty.

7.30 pm

18th February 2016


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