Concealing Images [Short Fiction]

He sat in isolation looking at people around him. The sounds seemed to resonate in the air. He felt a tingling sensation on his back when music flooded through the speakers. His thoughts seemed interrupted as he touched the bridge of his nose in a futile attempt soften the pinch of unfamiliar glasses.  Sipping the drink with caution he regained his focus. Every person who entered the bar was caught in his gaze. He looked at them with stark observation and shifted his eyes back to the next person who walked through the door. An unconscious disappointment emerged between slightly pressed lips every time he looked back at the entrance. As if, he tallied each person against a mental description of someone he seemed too eager to meet.

While he observed these people he seemed to know more about them than he wanted to know. Good people trying to be bad. People caught in the company of the bad. Peer pressure, social obligations all became visible to his eyes. He saw women, trading off their dignity to appear little fashionable and broadminded while their inner souls cringed with disgust. Men gulping down more drinks than they can handle to reinforce their gender as if someone questioned them about it. Little scum bags killing time till they found someone who wouldn’t be able to figure out a few missing notes from their heavy wallets. Bartenders entertaining guests they didn’t care about. Everyone masked by concealing identities.

The tiny chips of mirrors on few of the walls transported him back to his school days when he was made to hold two mirrors in front of each other. He remembered the reflections, his astonishment when he looked in to the mirrors -Infinite images. His life seemed to be trapped in the illusion of these infinite images. A sadness wrapped around his heart when he recollected his ten year old self. He couldn’t identify with himself anymore and yet he could connect to everybody around him. He had been through everything these people were facing and, a lot more. He felt his hands against his face as if to register how his visage looked like. He caught his image of in one of the reflections- a harmless young man dressed like it was his first visit to the place. The image disturbed him. He shut his eyes and rubbed the back of his neck in an attempt to let go of the emotions that seem to suffocate him.  The metallic object tucked at his waist touched his skin and his lips pressed again- disappointment. But this time his eyes didn’t have a shade of regret as if this disappointment was embedded to him and had become a part of his life.

Continue reading..

Written for Captured Writings