Just another day

Its just another day for him. He hasnt planned anything specific for the day. But he is sure that it is going to be as good as yesterday, maybe even better. Now that he is on his break, all he wishes to do is enjoy the days free from the monotony of his daily routine. A routine which has a fixed pattern, from which he hardly deviates. This is going to be different, he promises himself. With this thought he feels a sudden adrenaline rush of excitement. With an unknown vigour, he slips out of his bed and heads for a bath. Suddenly this seems to be the brightest day filled with a lot of promises. He makes a mental note to make the most of this day.

His first halt will be to the coffee shop to pick up his favourite Latte and some cookies, he decides. The thought of cookies, suddenly makes him hungry. He dresses up hastily and glances at his reflection in the mirror. Not bad for the day, he mumbles to himself and picking up his sun glasses and bike keys, he is about to rush out of the house, when a few envelopes on the mirror stand catch his eye. He is suddenly reminded of the pending tasks from the previous day (in fact previous days). He needs to write back to his parents. He hasnt done that in so many days. His mother, tired of waiting for his letters, which had become infrequent with the passing time, had begged him to write back. The tone of the letter, brings a little melancholy to his otherwise cheerful frame of mind. The other envelope is a card from his friend. She has written to tell him that she would be in the city for a few days. She wants to know if he can spare some time to get together. After he shifted to a new city, with time, they seemed to have drifted apart, inspite of her many efforts to bridge the distance. He is aware of the rigid conversations he has had with her over the past few months and his heart is filled with guilt. But now is not the time, he tells himself and walks out of the house with harried steps.

He glances at his watch and realizes that he has been sitting at the coffee shop for over an hour. He traces a pattern with his finger over the crumbs of cookies on the table and lets his eyes wander aimlessly. With nothing to rest his mind on for more than a moment, he heads for the counter, pays the bill and leaves. The sun is blazing hot and the signal is still red. He can feel the sweat dripping off his back. His shirt is literally soaked. The occassional whisper of the breeze brings a momentary relief, but that too doesnt last. He is unaware of his next plan for the day. Should he take a right and stopover at the library to pick up some movies or should he go straight to his usual hangout where he knows his gang would already be there. In this moment of confusion as the signal light changes, he fumbles, takes a wrong turn and collides into an oncoming truck. He can feel himself being thrown over a couple of metres. For a fleeting moment, he can feel himself floating in the air and then the thud with which he has landed on the side of the pavement. As he lies in the pool of his own blood, he can still smell his sweat now mixed with blood. Every passing moment now feels like an eternity and he is aware of the tiniest of signals his body seems to be sending. He knows what he wants to write in the letter to his mom. He knows what he needs to say to his friend. Nothing has been more clear to him ever in his life as this moment. He knows exactly what he needs to do next. Its not like his unplanned days anymore. But this moment of clarity is then blurred with the possibility of the oncoming death which he smells at the distance. He can already picture his mother over his corpse weeping hysterically. He wants to hold out his hand, to console her. He can see all his friends gathered around with solemn faces. But his eyes search for her. Why is she not here? Does she not know of my death? And then he sees her, hiding her face in her palms, crying her heart out. He wants to reach out to her, to hold her close. But the moment is gone. The times when he could do all this has passed. Now what awaits his fate is the door that will culminate his journey and take him to a different world. He wants to hold on a little longer. He wants to make amends. He wants another chance. He can feel the piercing pain in his heart, caused not by the wounds but by his reckelessness which took things for granted. A sudden shrill sound pierces the air and he is sure that this is it. The end has come. With a heavy heart, he prepares to resign himself to his fate when his phone rings and the shrill sound repeats itself to say "It is 6:15 in the morning. Time to wake up".

"I got a second chance", with this realisation, he fumbles for his phone, puts the alarm on snooze , shifts over to the other side and drifts back to sleep with a cheerful smile.....