Friday, 4 November 2011

An excerpt - by Amina Raza

A dark figure stood by the window,pensive. After a deep,audible sigh, the figure leaned towards the window sill.
What was it,she thought, that made us human? Is it the sensation of pain she thought,as her hands tightened herself not to scream as she let herself feel the excrutiating pain that possessed her. Was it our emotions? Was it anger she wondered, as it flickered in her dark eyes. Hurt? As her eyes began to water. Hatred? Her eyes flashed and she exhaled. Perhaps, her eyes windened. It lay in our capacity to our paths, to create our destiny, to experience the fear. As her face paled, and not falter? No,she laughed. As that meant that the cowardly were never mortals when some claim that it was that terror that made us human. Was it, she thought, that dread that wrenched our hearts that made us human?
She contemplated for hours over the secret to mortality. And when she hunched over and her fingers loosened their grip over the grill that it seemed that the answer had come to her. Oh she had been so close to the truth but had dwelled in its trivialities. It wasn't hatred,love,pain,hurt or fear that made us human. It wasn't what we felt. It was that we could feel.
Our sensitivity,sentimentality, intelligence, intuition,spirit,soul,judgement,perceptivity,consciousness,reaction. The ability to touch, as she ran her fingers over the window. To see? As she stared at her own reflection. Everything. It encompassed everything, she thought as she slowly slid down to a sitting position,slumped against the wall.
Feeling. That's what makes us human.

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