For about 2-3 days, I have witnessed slow murder. She stamps on his foot, he takes out his slicing knife and threatens her. She kicks him in the stomach, he pulls her arm into a painful twist. She struggles for liberty, he grazes her throat with his weapon. She screams, he panics and retreats. She hurtles a brick at him which leaves a maroon impression on his forehead. He runs at her frothing at the mouth, she jumps out of the way. She trips and falls, while he bangs into a wall and collapses. They lie for a few moments to catch their breath. Then, their watery eyes meet. They soften. Love! Fingers touch. Then bodies. Warmth bursts all over again. Fireworks, music and champagne!
He steps on her foot. Something snaps inside her. She slaps him. Shock. Then a retaliatory slap. She pulls out his hair in tufts, while he grabs hers. The knife slowly emerges from the back pocket and the cycle resumes.
This is probably the age of relationships metamorphosing into martial arts class. Even before two people develop a decent understanding of each other, jump they do, into a dark, seemingly endless pit. As they fall, the journey's pleasant and mysterious. But when their bottoms touch the flames at the end of it, they desperately strive to defy gravity, digging a hole upwards to get back for air again.
Lately, I've been writing a lot about 'killing', 'knives', 'cutting', needles', 'dying'....hmmm....I wonder why.