Posted in Prose

Born of Ennui

– Baleful Basilisk

Sometimes, I wonder at myself. Maybe this basilisk has remained inside the walls for too long. Daylight burns, and the nightlights merely cause hallucinations. Maybe it’s time I accept that the Sun wasn’t something made for creatures of the shade. And I am one. How can I forget the way my mind shades everything? It’s too vivid! Yet, they are all grey objects, mere pebbles. Not the beautiful, shiny sea rocks with colours and stripes and life living in them, but simple grey cementy pieces lying in the dust. The first sight is always true and clear, objective. And then, it’s never the same again.

It was one bright day when I was once again, trying to peek out of the den I live in. There was this object, you see, that had inflamed my curiosity. This, my sweet reader was a unique, I wouldn’t say rock, let’s just call it a ‘rockish’ formation.

I had not been interested in it at first. It had a smooth and polished exterior. Standing beside a lake, it often had an almost oily shine on one side, though the other completely mixed in with the mien of the soil. I had given it a passing glance, and while I felt nothing objectionable, neither was I induced to explore any further. It was just another one of those weighted rocks, which remain in one stance for eternity, and seem to assimilate and grow into perfection in that specific state. While their existence does have a purpose, it does not collide with that of ancient beings . They are repetitions, and when you have lived a million years in your mind, you will realise that no matter how perfect, a replica still lacks the charm of originality.

So, my gaze had moved on, exploring and learning where it could. And then suddenly near night-time when I was at the opening of a higher cavern behind the waterfall above the lake, I gasped in wonder as I chanced to see it again. What had looked so ordinary at first, suddenly held an element of interest. I saw a dark patch on top that seemed to spiral on top of the formation. It looked like a groove, and I realised that the stone which had seemed so run-off-the-mill at first, had an aspect I had not imagined it could have.

I spent that night wondering quietly as I went about my hunting duties. What life grew beneath those grooves? Were they full of green moss and ferns? How had the gashes formed? I dreamed of finding life and growth, a rich forest filling the cuts which must have once been an unwelcome injury. Or maybe, they were empty still, dry and dusty caverns waiting to be explored by some tiny creature. As of now hollow, but only needing a few seeping droplets and wind-scattered seeds to become one of the most beautiful wonders of existence.

These thoughts carried me through the night well. They made the moonshine a little brighter and the lacklustre hunting just a little less dreary. And I lulled myself into a sweet rest, for once not feeling dry despair at the dullness everything reduced to. I woke up in the mid-afternoon.

And suddenly, a hiss of scorn escaped my snout, not unmixed with a measure of exasperation. The ‘formation’ was just the ordinary stone i had thought it at first. And my dark patch? Why, a lazy old python lay slithered on top of it..with its body spiralled in a leisurely attitude!