The Right Answer - 1. Story

The Right Answer

By Ieshwar

Aslan opened his eyes after a fitful sleep. He sighed at the sight that greeted him. He closed his eyes for a couple of minutes but it didn’t help. He knew they were out there, waiting for him with their expectant gaze constantly on him. Rising from the bed, he looked at them. Each morning, more of them appeared, bringing with them a gloomy atmosphere and that feeling of suffocation.

A myriad of questions were in front of him- all in black ink but in varied fonts, some smaller, some larger... Some were plastered against the white ceiling as if printed, some hung from the chandeliers and some small ones sat on the edge of the tables. But all had their ominous eyes on him.

Aslan went to the bathroom. Most of the questions followed him. While he brushed his teeth, they rested on the shelves, the curtain railings and the toilet seat. But he ignored them. All he saw were the black circles under his eyes, his gaunt and lifeless face and his pitiful physical state. After washing his face with the icy cold water, he grabbed his hoodie and got out of the room. He didn’t care that he was still in his pajamas and slippers or that the sun hadn’t properly risen yet. He just wanted to get away from those black words and their unnerving gaze.

He unlocked his bicycle and set out. He cycled hard; he wanted to put as much distance as he could between him and those pests. Every single thought brought pangs of pain into his head. Ignoring the ache, he concentrated on the cool air slapping against his face. It woke him up and somehow jolted him with reality, a reality he was starting to hate.

Before he realized it, he was standing in front of the small forest that was found at the edge of his village. He wasn’t even aware of where he was heading. Throwing the bicycle to the ground, he walked in. The cycling had worn him out. The grass was still wet from rain during the night. He slumped against a tree and sat down. He rested his head on his knees. He banished all thoughts and just concentrated on his ragged breath.

He didn’t know how long he sat in that position. When he raised his head, he saw little black words covering the green grass in front of him. All were standing on tiny feet which they had sprouted, looking at him. They would never leave him. He would never get rid of them, no matter what he did. All the frustration and anger he had been bottling inside himself suddenly burst out in a torrent.

“Go away,” he bellowed, “Leave me alone. Just leave me for God’s sake!”

He grabbed some pebbles and threw them at them. The questions retreated a few steps.

“Don’t you dare follow me!” he shouted. He threw a few more pebbles and then stormed off into the forest.

Crunching sounds disturbed the eerie silence as dry leaves cracked under his feet. He brushed aside the bare branches, sometimes breaking them. Autumn had taken over the trees and stripped them of all they had. He wandered through the tree skeletons that stood as effigies of desperation and loss.

After fifteen minutes of trekking, he came to the other end of the forest which gave way onto a cliff. He walked to the edge. A short wall stood to block unwary visitors but he jumped over it. A few steps ahead laid a steep precipice. It was a formidable sight; the awe held him still. Rocks and boulders lay at the foot of a similarly cold stone cliff. A strange, almost gothic, beauty resided in this harshness. A giddy feeling went through him as he thought of a fall from the cliff- the final step, the rush of air, the brutal end…

Suddenly, the truth of his thoughts struck him and he shook his head. It wasn’t the answer he was looking for. With his eyes still on the edge, he stepped backward and sat on the short wall. His headache came back with full force along with a grumble in his stomach. He hadn’t eaten since last night. What could he have for breakfast? At the same moment, a question popped next to him in its familiar black color and with the same unnerving gaze.

What will you have for breakfast?

“Go away!” he growled. Tiny feet appeared under the words and they run away.

He wasn’t expecting life to be such; no second chances, no going back, no retakes. He wasn’t prepared to make decisions. He wasn’t ready to suffer the consequences of his actions. Life was supposed to be fun and not the mess his was. He held his knees close to his chest. He stared at the cliff again. The idea made him shake. It would end all his problems but the other things too, like the laughs, the dreams and the friends. He turned his head and saw all the black pests sitting on the dry branches.

Or he could face life and live with what he had.

Yet it wasn’t so simple. He didn’t have answers to all those questions. He didn’t know where to step or what to say. He was already reaping the results of his bad decisions. Yet he couldn’t end everything with the final blow of death; it wasn’t a solution. He had to face life. He couldn’t keep running away anymore.

“The best I can do is to just go with my instinct,” Aslan muttered to himself, “and have fun.”

Have fun.

He had long forgotten the meaning of those words. He got so involved in everything else that he had forgotten about it.

“I should have fun,” he said with a smile and then turning to the questions, Aslan shouted, “I’m ready. But come in groups of three.”

Three questions jumped to attention and came to stand in front of him.

What will you have for breakfast?

“How about a feisty breakfast at Marlo’s? With that coffee I heard so much about?” he mused. He then laughed at the ridicule of his own answer. His wallet was far too light for this heavy breakfast. “I guess it will be the bacon and toast. Or pancakes! I like pancakes.”

The second question hopped in front as the first one vanished. It was a single word:

Money?

“Money,” Aslan said as he mockingly rubbed his chin, “One never has enough money. Nor will I. I’ll try to get more without letting it rule my life. If I can’t, then I’ll manage with what I have. Pancakes as breakfast are not that bad.”

He grinned broadly at his new upbeat mood but the grin faltered at the next question.

What if the answers are wrong?

“I’ll… hmm…” he tried to find something, “I can’t do anything. It will be water under bridge. But hey, I can write about it. I could write a novel about my misfortunes. That sounds nice. I always wanted to be a novelist. Aslan, the great famous tragedy writer…”

With a curious lightness, he jumped on the right side of the wall. Toward life.

Huge thanks to Cia and Sharon for their help.

©2010 Ieshwar