WHEN the ship landed Vime had no idea what he was going to do. The last 48 hours had been a blur. An assassination attempt, followed by a miraculous yet exhausting escape from Ulna. Life had taken a decisive, incisive turn for him — but more than that it was a rude awakening. Ulna was home, it was safe, it was his fiefdom. And now, here he was. Tired, bruised and feeling empty. For the first few hours he seethed in anger. How could he be such naive; it was all in front of him — done by the people he trusted the most.Vola; especially Vola. Uncle Jer. Woxhl, his trusted commander. After a while he had lost the count of people who had betrayed him. Now, as he exited the massive ship, Vime had an absolutely empty mind and eons of time to think where he went wrong and the multitude of ways he was done in. He could hear faint expressions of wonder and joy from his fellow passengers, marvelling at the massive graceful ship, and that how lucky they were to get to experience it. His mind had shut itself from pleasant thoughts. He wanted to feel bitter and keep feeling it for a moment.
As was the custom all passengers alighting from the were made to wait in the decompression zone for several hours before they could land on the soil of Dera. It was a sprawling lounge, replit with food, wine and entertainment consoles. The only outsiders to be seen were the lounge staff, clad in protective suits, hurrying through their tasks, traveling in ultra light golf-carts. The zone was only meant for inter-galactic travelers whose bodies were able to take in the atmosphere there, thanks to the time and space zones they had traversed. Non-travelers were only allowed to enter the zone in protective suits and strictly on a need basis. Vime had experienced such travel in his childhood, when their parents took them for a vacation to Dera. A small, loving family of four. Now reduced to two. After the death of both of his parents a few years ago, his sister Kuna had left Ulna for good. She spoke with him sometimes but her sense of detachment kept those interactions brief. At least she is happy there - she must be, Vime thought as he tried to make himself comfortable in the massive recliner that sent thousands of minute rejuvenating electrons through his body.
It’s a beautiful day, and Vola looks stunning in her flowery summer dress. It’s all white, almost theological but maybe the sunlight was exposure set to meet the mental wellness count. Vola whirls all around him. He could see and feel her at first but now she appeared to disintegrate past him. Vime thinks his brain had become ounces lighter. Some pure weird zig-zaggy yet un-pathological trance draws him in but it seems Vola kept drawing him out of it. Why wouldn’t she stop though. But now she is with him, in front of him, near him. She leans in to him with a glass of dark red wine in her beautiful slender hands. How he loves her hands — your hands are pretty, my sweet. He says. But she does not answer. Instead she flungs the wine in his face and says something which he does not discern. But Vola, he tries hard- I love your hands dear. I love your hands. This is what you get for loving my hands — she laughs weird and says, you know what this is ? What is this Vola ? Do you not love me. He keeps talking, now almost yelling his heart out but the wine stains his face and he can not move. But Vola can move in subtle graces, for a moment he feels her dancing, in elegance whirls of white and blue and red. But he keeps trying to tell her how he loves her. It is important. Must be said. And then the beautiful summer day turns dark blue and it rains so everyone around them runs in, but Vime can not. Vola still talks in long, agitated tones but all he can feel is her warm breath on his skin. Vola! Vola ! He thinks he yelled her name but the words freeze.
A loud buzzer rang and woke him up. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and let out a big sigh. He could swear for a couple of moments he remembered every intricate detail of the dream he had before it all evaporated. Something about Vola and her pretty hands. You fool ! He scolded himself as he exited the lounge to the open lands and meadows of Dera.
Perhaps, he said. This is where I was meant to be.
(Continued.)
Note : I am trying to do a Nanowrimo - this is
