The Girl Who Danced Above the Mauve Bench

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After she woke up in the split of a second, she was still pondering over when was last time she might have slept. “It was some 11 millions ago, may be.” She thought to herself. It rarely happens, when she is not required for her job. Slowly, she turned and smiled at him, her best friend, her accomplice .He is the neighbor and probably that’s why -the best friend.
They were hovering over a mauve bench. Ninety tiny little grains of sand lay on it, so poised they were that one would have actually thought they were placed there intentionally and not by a random surge of the wind blowing. She could not see them, the grains, I mean. She was blind after all! In true sense however, she was not, because you have to have eyes to be blind, at least. Funny it is! No ears, no eyes, no limbs, no organs, no body for that matter, and yet she is the liveliest thing ever. They would just meander in the space, forever. But there is this one remarkable thing that they had, actually. Feelings .They could feel. In every possible way things could be felt and every possible thing that could be felt. And that is, of course, how she knows of her looks. She knows, vicariously though, that she has this large ugly head and then a massive grotesque curve at the end of it. And her best friend, all he is, is a small filthy close loop, yet he is not ashamed of it, for some reason abstruse to her. Ugly, they are. That is the truth, no matter how abrasive it may sound to them and to the rest of their eight peers. They were born like this, all the ten- well may be, for they don’t really remember when they born or were they, at all.
She feels the cool breeze of air and knows deep inside that if she had eyes, she would have seen another her standing right there ,near the bus no. 9 .She is there too, dancing over the coven of nine men talking about how a police man was shoot nine times in his chest last night. There are so many apparitions of her projected onto the screen of our holographic life everyday; perhaps they number more than the years she has been doing this job. Anyway, she feels happy and lifted again as soon as three of those grains slip by due to a mild gush of the wind, leaving just eighty seven of them. She is done here.
“Bye!” exclaims Zero.
“You are not coming?” she blurted out.
“I hate to rest, you know that” he said pompously.
“Why do you act so unnatural all the time?” she asked, a little irked.
“Because I ought to be, I Am.!” he said.
She smiles and begins to fade away still thinking of how amazing and esoteric her life is. Being at so many places at the same time, it’s called time travel, right? Yes, of course. She might not be as pretty as those earthlings are, but she sure is the luckiest thing ever, traveling through time and living forever, since forever, free. She owns what most of us wish for. Besides what is the definition of being pretty anyway! Zero admires her for her beauty; she may not know it however. She moves about trying to envision of when will be the next time she’ll get to sleep again. When just for one second may be, nothing in this world will count to nine for some time and she takes a rest. That sure is a rare event, very rare, actually. She cannot really predict it, for she is not a psychic, if they are for real, that is .She is just Nine, an ugly, pretty number!

About the Author: 
I am a medical student from India and a wannabe writer.