Praised be the Light

Chapter 2

Author's Note: This chapter is dedicated to AnyaSharma97 for being a constant support through this project.

The shadows made his walk down the street seem from another reality; they were too long and defined with an unnatural depth. That didn't concern him for he knew he only had to bear the City for a little more time now.

The stream of people was going up the street. Many looked at him with irritated eyes. How was he going down while they were supposed to be go to up? He groaned ignoring the glances and kept pushing past to make his way to the City Borders.

He floated down the city single mindedly, not looking behind at the flashy pillar once; his mind blank on answers. Eventually, doubts crept into his mind, shouldn't he be curious? Was he even alive? He stopped for a moment too look at his hand. A faint trail of black could still be seen running down his palm. He groaned as someone's shoulder rubbed past him almost knocking him on the ground.

An inexplicable chill ran down his spine. He stopped in his tracks suddenly. He slowly turned his head to face the light... Was he afraid of it? The light loomed over menacingly. Bright and over powering even the sun at how brightly it shone. The way it disappeared in the clouds seemed eerie to him for the first time. The crowd gathering at its feet was constantly growing as a stream of seemingly hypnotised people was going towards it. There was so much about it that was incomprehensible to him that he felt his legs were turn to jelly. A shout startled his scared nerves.

"He said, 'Let there be light!' "He turned to see an old bearded man in rags, the look of a fanatic in his eyes, a maniacal smile on his face. The fanatic inched closer and looked straight into his eyes as he spoke, "And then there was light!" The old man looked up at the beam and slowly pulled down his hat as he started a slow chuckle that soon turned to maniacal laughter as he kept walking towards the light.

He dragged on through the sea of people going in opposite direction. He thought about the places he would go. He didn't have much money so he would have to hitchhike his way, the plains sounded like a nice idea...somewhere in the idyllic countryside where all other distractions and smokes of the city were at bay. He let these thoughts keep him company as he ignored the assortment of looks he was still managing to gather. Finally, he decided to take a road less travelled, he took left and entered an alley. Years in the city had taught him some shortcuts. Ironically he only used them to escape the city in the end.

The back alley was completely empty save a homeless man sitting with his eyes closed, a worn out, torn Prussian blue robe around him, a can of alms sitting nearly empty. Of course it was empty; rarely anyone ever came to the alley. He thought it was a stupid decision to set up shop in such a place. When he went nearer, he saw there were a few coins at the bottom of the can. A closer look repulsed him. Back stooped, eyes closed, a broken guitar at his side. His bald bearded head, looking as lifeless as a breathing man could possibly look. He barely had any mass left on his bones anymore. In fact, his laboured breathing was the only thing that came close to proving that he still had life. He looked at the broken guitar; an ochre yellow, stood out against the wall painted blue. His heart skipped a beat as realisation hit. The reason why the guitarist sat in the abandoned alley, and consequently the reason of his repulsion. A lump formed in his throat as he looked up at the sky. Perhaps, the Guitarist too had never wished to be a part of the city.

He shuffled in his pockets for loose change and flung some in the can. Hearing the clang the guitarist looked up. "Can I play you a tune, sir?" He cleared his throat as he replied, "No that's alright. I was just leaving." The guitarist chuckled, "Come now, a tune of departure then!" He grunted something almost inaudible and that the guitarist assumed was a 'yes'. He picked up the guitar and started playing a tune, the one he called 'tune of departure'. His head bowed and his bony fingers started plucking at the strings. Some notes were off thanks to the wear the guitar had received, the tune grew more melancholic and stronger with every verse. There was no denying the guitarist possessed some skill, the goosebumps he got were definitive proof of that. He looked at the slightly bent headstock, paint chipped away then turned his gaze at the sky above and wondered if the mellow tune had an effect on it; a darker shade had taken hold of it, he could see clouds dark moving towards the city. As the tune ended he gave a soft clap, "That was indeed.. good!" The Guitarist gave a smile as he placed the guitar back on its place near the wall. He was just about to leave but something stopped him. He turned to the Guitarist and asked him, "Why don't you leave the city?" To that the Guitarist shook his head in denial, "In a sense I have already left it, son!" He could only partially grasp what that meant, but went on, "That beam of light!" The Guitarist didn't seem to follow where he was pointing. It was then that another realisation hit him. The Guitarist was blind. "Make me point at it son!" He leaned down and caught his hand and pointed it in the direction of the light, "There!" A faint smile passed his dry parched lips and he spoke, "Yes! I can feel it. I can feel it!" He gave a soft chuckle as he thanked the man. The Guitarist now had a faint smile on his rugged face. "I'll be gone now. Thank you for the tune!" Saying so he left the Guitarist draped in blue.

His walk continued till he could finally see the gates of the city. Elation found him as the sky grew a shade of grey. Dark clouds were nearing the centre of the city; he failed to notice all that as he neared the city gate. An army SUV was parked behind the gate and a few soldiers with semi automatic guns slinging on their shoulders, were setting up a fence around the gate. The tune of the Guitarist still hadn't left him as he found himself humming it as the soldiers started staring at him. That made sense as he was the only one going in that direction.

"Stop right there!" One of them shouted. He couldn't register it initially. Why would they stop him anyways? He didn't stop.

All the soldiers stopped working as he kept walking forward. "Stop right there!" They shouted with even more rigor, pointing their guns at him. The scene seemed unreal to him. The city never had a uniformed soldier inside its border. There was nothing to protect. The presence of soldiers made no sense to him. He stopped and said, "I just want to leave..." At that point a number of things happened simultaneously. Someone shouted, "No one fucking leaves!" At that point he noticed the soldier was pointing his rifle at some people to the right. 'So there are others as well', he thought to himself. That seemed even more unreal; a moment ago he thought he was the only one. One of the soldiers fired in the sky. A deafening bang echoed. Another ran right at him and hit the back of his head with the butt of his rifle making him fall face first on the ground. He turned to lay on his back as his vision started blurring. He saw the soldier who had hit him, point his gun violently at the few others who seemed to want to leave the city. He was shouting between fits of coughing, black fluid flowing from the side of his mouth, "Get back! Get the fuck back!" As the first drops of rain started touching his forehead his consciousness faded and the world turned black.