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The last gasp of a brute
Short story

By Majid
September 6, 2001
The Iranian

The sound of the knock at the door tickled the silence within.  He could sense the tension drape over the doubtful faces waiting behind the door.   He greeted them with an unsuspecting look and coolly confined the harshness in his tune as he welcomed them in.

They embraced him with the usual untrustful look and hurriedly passed by him.

There was something hideous about him that repelled everyone; something about his presence that irritated every body. No one was immune to the sting of his dark-dark stare. He hung heavy like a gloomy cloud in the clear of their thoughts. He was impossible, irreversibly impossible.

He had this distasteful and uncanny ability to disrobe everybody of their pretenses. This exasperated whomever he met and left them feeling naked and unshielded before the advance of his impulsive moods.  He terrified them and at the same time they sensed an undeniable attraction to this monster -- this brute of a man. He was a terrific looking social beast; wild, dangerous and unpredictable.

The number of visitors who have passed through that door had dwindled over the years so had the duration of their visits that were far apart and few in between. Only few poor souls had the misfortune and the obligation to tolerate him and this was mainly due to their family ties.

In his own distorted way, he had become accustomed to their disgusted looks and gestures that they masked beneath their fake smiles. They served him their well-rehearsed casual conversations and did their utmost to keep away from him. Few ever dared to ask for his opinion and those who did felt the wrath of his sharp, and dry judgment.

In turn, he played his part flawlessly to the point that everything and everyone had become irrelevant; inconsequential.  He moved like lice among their thoughts looking for any weakness that he could latch onto and inflame; anything that allowed him to shatter their confidence, confuse them and humiliate them.

It was all an act to him; just a sick mean by which to pass the otherwise boring hours of the forced social visits. And he knew how to manipulate them; keep them in suspense. Once they were in his grasp he would nibble on them emotionally and then leave them all bruised and bloodied, permanently scaring them for life. It was all about control. In a sense he was no better than a rapist; an emotional rapist. He thrived on unmasking his preys; deprive and disrobe them of their individuality and privacy. Absolutely no one was immune to the sting of his dark-dark stare ... no one.

The metamorphosis into this vile social being had begun many years back and had finalized; it was irreversible, impossibly irreversible. He had grown duller and darker over the years. His words hung like bewildered strangers upon his lips not knowing what direction to take. His voice would bounce back against the echo of the visitors who hung about his space. He had become weary of his own games.

His eyes were no longer on the hunt but harnessed their nets before the parade of the weary faces.  He sat back and allowed all their gestures, their thoughts, and their voices collapse chaotically about and around him. He would hide in a corner and try desperately to camouflage his dark aura. This just made him look more distant, more irritating and more conspicuous. Yet nothing would appease his victims, nothing at all.

He was a desperate man uneasy with the knowledge of his own insignificance. This realization alone had irreversibly crippled him emotionally and mentally. He had chased away his dreams and had set course upon a slow and torturous path to a definite and quiet end. He was a coward; a hollow shape of a man and he knew it; he would confess to it. Hence, everything and everyone had become irrelevant... inconsequential.

And then there were always those heart-wrenching knocks at the door behind which stood the same old faces baring those annoying fake smiles. Their faces projected a luminous portrait of a distraught and restless man. Their company offered nothing but an exquisite reminder of his insignificance.

There was an absolute path to darkness curling through his heart. His eyes were the hellish gates through which he lured in the unsuspecting wanderers. No one was immune to the stings of his dark-dark stare. He hung heavy like a gloomy cloud in the clear of their thoughts. He was impossible, irreversibly impossible.

It had become undeniably clear to him and others that he had to leave. He had lured them into his private thoughts, disrobed them, and then left them to weather the rage within his heart. He had disrupted the tranquility in their lives. It had become impossible to tolerate his existence; simply and irrevocably impossible.

And finally came that final knock at the door. He went to greet those familiar faces that had shunned him over the years, but the door was wide open. They had come in and passed by him as if he had never existed; as if he was invisible. He could sense their presence around and about him but could not recognize one face among them. He tried to read the strange expression on their faces, but he could not decipher them. He could hear them speak, but he could not understand what was being said.  He stared at them intensely in hope to stir and ignite some feeling of disgust and annoyance; but they just went about their ways collapsing into an inexhaustible state of bliss. Their laughter and chatter pierced the silence in the room and carved right through his dark soul; exposing the monster within.

The path was absolute and clear. It was time to part. He walked dreamily to his room and reached for the gun that he had kept loaded for so many years. He calmly pulled the trigger. The bullet went through him as if he was invisible as if he had never existed. 

The sound of his last gasp shattered the masks bolted on the faces of the visitors within and then collapsed heavily against their shrieking voices.

There was something hideous about him that repelled everyone; something about his presence that irritated every body. No one was immune to the stings of his dark-dark stare. He hung heavy like a gloomy cloud in the clear of their thoughts. He was impossible, irreversibly impossible.

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