The Still Unnamed Novel I am writing...

This is the start of a story that i hope will some day turn into a novel... so that's why i have put it up here... to remind myself that i have things to write, a novel to finish... i will be only putting up the odd chapters of the novel, because they form a homogeneous story. You ask what about the even chapters, well, that's a mystery...

I woke up. Winter had not set in yet, yet I felt cold. I looked around trying to figure out why I felt so cold. I checked my forehead and throat with the back of my hand. I did not have a fever, not yet. The window was open, it was night already. A soft, gentle breeze was blowing, a breeze which carried it with a peculiar smell, a smell which carried it with memories, memories of long nights spent with her, memories of cold winter nights, memories of distant times and places, memories which reminded me of my stark loneliness. I got up. I put on a sweater, not just any sweater, but the red one, the one which she got me for our anniversary. Why did I put it on? I never liked it. I remember her face when she gave me that sweater; she was nervous, expectant, and anxious. I smiled at her, but something was missing, and she knew that. She realised that I was not very happy, she did not say a thing, neither did I. But something changed that day. We knew that the honeymoon was over; we knew that it will not be easy anymore.

I closed the window. I looked outside at the empty park benches, gleaming in the moonlight. It must be the metallic paint that they use, I thought. I tried moving away from the window, but I could not. I was under the spell cast by those silvery park benches. I saw myself sitting with her on one of the benches; it was another full moon night. Her face looked so radiant in the moonlight, so angelic, so pure, that I was afraid. I was listening to her, but I was lost, lost in her beauty, so unreal that I ran my hands over her face just to make sure that she was there. And she was, she was there, right beside me, smiling, talking, and laughing. I felt a burning sensation inside me, I did not know if I was sad or happy or if I was supposed to be one or the other. I was happy as well as sad. I felt pain through pleasure and pleasure through pain. There no longer was any boundary, or any partition between the different emotions. I felt all the various emotions at the same time, and at times none at all. Sometimes I would be burning with passion and at other times I would be numb.

I felt a strange sensation in my stomach, a sensation so familiar that I ought to know what it was but the fact that I did not, made it strange. I thought about it a while and then it dawned on me that it was hunger, one of the primal instincts. I felt a faint sense of joy on realising this, the kind of joy you feel when you solve a very difficult problem and are amazed and exhilarated by the beauty of the solution and your ingenuity. I must be losing my mind, I thought. I tried remembering the last time I had a meal. Was it this morning, yesterday night, yesterday morning, I did not know. I went to the kitchen. It was a in a mess, but then so was my life, so I felt at home. It was comforting to find a place where I could fit, easily and discreetly. I made myself a sandwich, not the chicken one that I liked but the tuna that she was devoted to. As I ate the sandwich, I could hear her munching her tuna sandwich, a faint smile on her lips, contentment writ large on her face, the strand of hair falling carelessly over her eyes.

I was back in our bedroom, my bedroom. Dark clouds were starting to take over the sky, dark clouds with silver lining. Silver was her favourite colour, not red, blue, pink, green, black or even orange. No, no rainbow could entice her; hers was silver, silver with its brilliant white metallic lustre, silver with its untarnished and pure radiance, silver with all the pomp and splendour of royalty, silver to fight thunderstorms, silver to relive memories, silver that symbolised the moon now hidden behind the dark clouds. I once tried to figure out the reasons behind her fascination for silver, I asked her questions, questions about her childhood, her parents, the house she lived in, the school she went to, her first love, her favourite TV series, her favourite plaything, her first car, her first job, even the colour of the condom to which she lost her virginity, trying to understand the choice of silver, and with it understand her. It was during this time in our relationship that I knew that something was not right, we were still the same but something was missing and I wanted to know her better, know her every move, her every whim and fancy, to find that missing something in her.I never realised that maybe the missing something was missing in me.