He looked at the picture again, as he had done so for the past ... so many years. The picture had an unusual effect on him even at seventeen, and it still beckoned him even now. It was not beautiful in the way he was used to; it was a symbol of the mind he had failed to understand and never probably would.
It was a drawing of a red rose, but not the ones that poets would write on, or the ones that lovers would gift. The water colour painting showed a red rose lying on the page. Nearly all its petals were separated from it and lay surrounding it: however, one petal still clung to the flower, as though defying the rest. If someone looked closely at the painting, they would see the other petals each pierced by a glass shard, and the drops of blood that oozed out of it. The petal that clung to the stalk however, glistened with a dewdrop.
Some people might have thought the painting was morbid. Many would think it was cruel. But Abhay wondered about the person who had drawn it. Had she merely expressed a desire for sadism and brutality? Had it been an expression of her repressed anger? Had she drawn a reflection of her torn soul that clung to it's last hopes? With time, the amount of time he dwelt on it decreased, but whenever he looked at it, he would hear sobs echoing from a distance. Most days however, he just pushed it to the back of the drawer. It was professional curiosity, he thought. Nothing more.
Chapter 1:
Chapter 2:
Chapter 3- page 25
Chapter 4-
Other works:
Mini FF : Curiouser and Curiouser
FF:Who am I?(joint with -juhi-lily)
Cricket
Financial markets and global economy
Ishaani
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