Everyone was a human once ,together. Then God played a trick. He presented himself. Was it the trick ? No, His play was a bit bizarre, and nobody got his trick. He presented himself in different forms to different people. Clever humans (or previously human), as they like to think of themselves, divided themselves. Some stayed on this side of the river, and some crossed across. Some lost their lives while crossing the river. As they intensified their expedient to find their own god, and as they didn't want to disbelieve their eyes and hearts, humans made themselves cleverer, wiser. The clever, wiser humans started calling themselves by different names, some took the identity of Hindu, some Muslim and many more. In order to distinguish, the wiser humans tried to scatter the earth and plow nameplates for their lands. But sometimes, all these went to vain. As soon as they finished building those barriers, big high heavy clouds moved up. Men from both sides looked up at the clouds.
Massive avalanches of rain came, grotesque faced drizzle hurried on and filled the over flooded it. The dead pets of one side floated to the other side. Humans on the both sides, who saved their lives by going to upper areas, wondered. Rain destroyed the boundaries they created with so much toil like it's rivulets. But as the rain disappeared, and the sharp sun struck on the muddy lands, the muddy lands reformed. And people rebuilt the barriers, and the memory of disastrous rain started faded and after some years, it became a story. A story that nobody wanted to believe as rain also didn't try anymore. But the most clever ones discovered that humans could be divided furthermore, and they discovered that the words liek Malaun (a word to describe Hidnus derogatively) or Musalman ka baccha (son of a muslin) do the job.
She is running, as fast as she can. She has to cross this piece of land at any cost. To save her life, she must cross this land; along with her is a man who she was taught to call father. But the relationship 'father-daughter' is not relevant here. They are running, individually, to save their own lives. They are running, not from predatory animals but from some humans-humans with different identities. As she continues her running, she thinks that "Humans are above everything" is not always right. Whoever said this ukase was either a fraud or that person never existed.
The metal-made palisades lying ahead , in some places wired with high-volt electricity, is the exhibitions of great minds, looking like an art piece. Testament of human advancement- the great artists' endeavor to make the world a better, safer place. Connoisseurs are the politicians on both sides. This is all about art.
Her father is also running, more aghast. Her strong father is running like a hunted squirrel. He has almost reached. Sorry, an animal in pursuit of his life. She tries to visualize her mother in his father's place, what she would do if she were here now ? Could she preserve the daughter-mother relation ? Her mom would be left behind ? Or same as now ? The sky looks like a depressed cheap putrefying flower bouquet bought long ago, sweating profusely, making everyone around uncomfortable, devoid of human appreciation for a very long time. Waiting serenely, yet seems like biting back tears, the sky is ready is ready to suicide and crumble itself in thousands of pieces and scatter them across the world. She understands that the tranquility of the sky solely springs from its desire to die. The idea of dying gave the sky its trademark serenity at times. Sky, for a very long time, has gathered a overwhelming sense of loss and desperation and all of it makes death seem a perfect choice.
Human appreciation- all of it have been allocated for the borders. All these obtrusiveness by the sky is to be noticed
Her father has just crossed the border. And earns legitimacy and his identity as the father of his daughter and is now shouting ,"Ma, ma faster faster." She is still existing, softly suspending in the air. Droplets of dead air watches her.
"Push your head first", his father is shouting.
Everything is a lie, as the Imam (Muslim Priest) from her village used to tell when nullifying every other religions.
The debris of the scattered, dead sky douches her. Makes everything look like a set of drama, photogenic, instagramable. A bit far from her is now standing a three colored uniform wearing man exuding the gaseous senses of "Saving the country", "Salvaging Human Race, and "Custodians". A oft-played beautiful drama gets played again. Everyone plays their roles, ancestors from hundred of years ago who divided, great artists in the backstage and the she, her Nome du plume in this stage is Felani. She takes the bullet in her heart, another wonder of modern science, although she didn't learn about bullet in the English class though. But as her teacher said, "Everything you will encounter in life is not cited in book". And before she felt the flaming prick of wonder of modern science, she had been able to push her head. Art has no time to be played. And the climax happened. The uniform wearing man is wearing a smile. Smile of stride.
A dead body dangling will give birth to thousands of stories, some heartbreaking interviews and photographs. She will add nutrients to the soil by putrefying like flowers, like dead fossils of pets who also dared to cross the land.
Felani hasn't died, as the officials describe; her death is not an important issue. So they take it upon themselves to teach the journalists to ask the right and important question- Was Felani in fault ? The question which has a yes-no answer is a valid question only.
"Yes, She was in." And she has got the due justice. They have committed no crime, and there were hundred reasons they could provide, but they are the milk of kindness, saviors, custodians, so they offer a lump sum to Felani's parents. Felani's parents, overwhelmed by the kindness, take it.
Felani's father keeps running, forgetting that he is not Felani's father right now. So someone shouts at him to remind him. He comes to sense and stops. He stops, to carry out the last rituals of Felani. For the rituals to be performed, someone has to survive.
For art to exist- there must be sacrifices. Felani sacrifices.
For art to exist-there must be artists. Artists try to strengthen the barriers.
For art to exist- there must be connoisseurs.
And the connoisseurs issues a mourning declaration, prints it as a letter and send to everyone. The letter is made of lace, framing embossed letters of gold. And the are also flowers, cut in perfect shape and smelling beautifully. Strong enough to hinge the macabre tales about death.