MY LADY MACBETH MOMENT?

By Neel Anil Panicker

Look at it__a tweenie weenie porcelain doll, a mere statue that sits all day long astride my glass top table near the window that opens to the sea.

All it does is grin, and rather cheekily at that.

But, is that all? Or, is it that appearances are deceptive?

Does Al and this doll have a connection?

No?

Then why is that ever since Al’s leaving all I see in that miniature Queen Victoria look alike with a delectable chocolate cake of a hat that all but covers her golden brown crowning glory is a priest strumming a violin?

Why is that such thoughts turn even more macabre as the night turns inwards?

And why the hell do I also see blood?

Yes, you heard that__real human blood streaming out of those big black buttons that pass off for her eyes?

Why? why? And hell! even more whys?

Is it because I know that Al’s not coming back ever is all due to me?

That I have his blood on my hands?

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