Jasmine

by Mehak Mathur

The strong winds whizzing through her bedroom’s window were posing a challenge for the sharp metal blades. While the currents were moving the blades fast and swift, the winds were shaking the very core of it. The ceiling fan was trying to fight back but it was now trembling under the authority of the winds.

It was as if several puppeteers were pulling on to the strings of the same marionette, a melancholy caused by indecisiveness.

Jasmine lay under the fan pondering about the sheer might of mother nature. Soon, her mind became tired of imagining the incomprehensible and she drifted into a sweet slumber. That night she slept a deep and dreamless sleep.

In the morning, Jasmine was appalled to see that the fan had detached and landed on one side of her bed. She wondered who was pulling on to her strings when she turned in her sleep last night.

Jasmine’s mother strolled in with a cup of tea for her daughter. What she witnessed was art. A beautiful face smashed to look like the center of a flower. The magnificent white blades branching out of it like the glorious petals of a humongous Jasmine.

Jasmine saw the cup slip from her mother’s hands. She heard her gasping for breath. She watched her collapse on the floor and weep grotesquely. She wished she could hold her and comfort her. She wished her puppeteer were indecisive, she wished she hadn’t turned in bed.

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