THE FINAL FLIGHT
By Neel Anil Panicker
The coal black sky changed hue. As if awoken from deep slumber, the layered black and blue carpet above the earth metamorphosed into a striking flaming red, sending ripples of bright orangeish streaks all around.
Watching the psychedelic play of colours from her eleventh floor hotel room, Hema wondered whether she too had a magical wand such as Nature.
If so, she pondered, she too would have swung one over her five foot two lithe frame and transformed into a happy, bubbly soul.
A mist formed in her eyes threatening to break into a larger pool.
She puffed into her Wills.
As the nicotine made love to her blood, a wave of heat swept through her veins.
She cupped her hands and tried to embrace the resultant warmth.
It was an effort in futility.
Tonight, no amount of visual pyrotechnics—both Nature and man-made could be of any help.
Nothing, it seemed to Hens, could uplift the melange of depressive thoughts that had made deep inroads into her psyche.
She knew her end was near and simply looked up to the celestial fireworks above before plunging into the stratosphere, the night winds aiding her in her final flight to doom.
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