Free writing: You run

You are faraway, and when I stretch my hands towards you, you move out of reach. Your shadow flickers over my empty hands and I am left staring at the patch of earth where you once stood. You move too fast for me. I strain my ears to hear you but only faint whispers reach my ears. I am left with your memory growing cold. The sun steals away, and night slowly creeps across the sky. In darkness there are no shadows, no light and it is only the absence of stars that guides me along your path. I think you run along the edge, where the sky meets the earth, blotting out the stars.
I will lose sight of you one day. Already, pain shoots through my ankles, and a hand seems to grab hold of my heart. Sweat pours down my forehead, my breath grows short. I can not run forever, I can not keep up with you. You never look back. Do you know that I am following you?
I can not remember when I first fell in love with you. It must have happened in the space of a moment, because you never stay still. When I think about it, I wonder how I fell in love. I only got a blurred sense of a pair of dark eyes, a lithe form sprinting across the earth, dark hair tussled by the wind. I fell in love with a blurred impression.
If we stopped to talk, if you heeded my cries, what would we talk about? I have travelled across countries, through lands filled with people with long necks and curly hair, lands of short necks and braided hair, lands of wide hips, lands of narrow hips, lands where tyrants, kings and politicians vie for power. Through all those places I have followed you. I have seen deserts, snow-capped mountains, beaches and I have forded streams. I have climbed over rocks, the sun scorching my back, and tripped across snow-filled crevices. I have caused avalanches and stampedes.
Would we talk of those places? I don't believe that you stopped to see anything. You wouldn't know about the women with hollow bellies, or seen the corspes shrouded in flies.
I don't know why you run. Perhaps it is your nature to run, without seeing or hearing. Do you have eyes - or did I just imagine those lovely dark eyes? Do you have ears to hear?
If you don't hear and see, what chance do I have? With what will I make you see me, hear me. How will I tell you off my love? How can you find me?
What thing are you, that runs and doesn't see or hear? I catch a glimpse of your shadow, springing across rocks, skittering across the surface of puddles and you look to me to be human. But perhaps you are not human, perhaps you are com from some long-forgotten fey race that once peopled the earth - the last faerie or sprite. Perhaps you are an animal, perhaps a visitor from a distant world.
Now we have reached the navel of the world. It is a valley, nestled between hills, where the sky stoops to meet the earth. It is a place of magic, where many worlds fold into one space, where magic brightens the air . Here I catch a falling star, a fragment of the heavens, that tumbles from above into the palm of my hand. It melts at my touch, into a golden vapour.
You stop, for the first time. I see you before me. The rain begins to fall, it falls upon your bare head, drips down your brow, down your sightless eyes, across your unfeeling lips. Do you see the rain - do you feel it?
You reach with your hands to the sky. You hands are long, your fingers elegant and delicate. You reach to the sky, and grabbing hold of some invisible, dark strand of it, you hoist yourself into the heavens.
My heart breaks, my hands tremble, my eyes water as I see you leave, as I see you leap into the sky. You pause a moment, perhaps contemplating the path ahead of you, that leads through galaxies of stars, and circles above comets, crossing the ether of a thousand, fabulous worlds. A path that leads you to alien sunsets and through the fathomless hearts of black holes. I feel envious. This is a path no man has travelled before.
But will you see it? Will you see the unnameable colors of super-novas, the splendor of a star burst? Will you feel gas clouds caress your skin, will you feel the rain of an alien world fall upon your head?
I don't know. But even as I watch, you catch your breath and sprint into the star-studded sky. I see you dwindle to a small, black dot.
And then, you disappear. I wonder if you will ever return. Perhaps in a thousand years, your path will circle back to this point. But then I will be dead, my bones ground to dust, my eyes and ears stoppered by the weight of the earth. But my ghost will keep watch above the ground, waiting for the day you will return, coming towards me, facing me. Perhaps on your voyage through the skies, you will learn to see and hear. Perhaps you may understand what love is.
But it will be too late for me. I will no longer have I eyes or ears, I will no longer see or feel. I can only wait, the weight of this love a burden on my heart, that keeps me rooted to the earth.
When will you come?

THRILLER: CHAPTER ONE

I started to write a thriller and gave up at chapter four. But anyway, here's chapter one. Chapter 2-4 to follow in the next week.

Giant white waves pound golden sands. The sky is the colour of fire as the sun sinks beneath the burning sea. She emerges then, a slim, dark shadow from the white froth of the ocean. She comes closer, and the sun's burning, dying light falls across her face. Her white dress clings to her curves, she reaches with one wet hand to push her dark hair back from her face. I see her face for the first time. It is the stuff of dreams, the face that myths and legends describe, too beautiful to be human.
She pauses as she reaches dry sand. And smiles, for the first time. It is a brilliant smile, crushing the breath from my lungs. The ground seems to move beneath my feet. I begin to understand her allure, why thousands mob the cinemas when her films released, just for a glimpse of this beautiful, shattering smile.
Someone yells "Cut!" The director, a little man in a black cap, waves his hand frantically as he jogs to the sands beside her. He starts to talk to her - they are too far away for me to hear. A moment later an assistant director announces that they are done for the day. As darkness spreads across the blood-red sky, and the stars begin to gleam faintly, the film crew begins to pack their equipment. Within a few minutes, the beach is almost empty. She, the goddess from the sea, towels her wet hair. She notices me, standing alone at the other end of the beach. With a slow, langurous wave she beckons to join her.
"Have you ever watched any of my films, Mr Gopal?" Her voice is sweet, the sound of anklets tinkling. I shake my head. I don't watch films - I don't have the time for it.
She laughs then. "All the better," she tells me, "you'll be honest with me then. God knows, I have enough flatterers who surround me. And a matter like this needs truth."
I smile, uncertainly. I still don't know that the matter is - what is she wants me to do. Just then, her mobile phone goes off. She reaches into her bag to pick it up.
"Excuse me," she says. "This is an important call, I've go to take it." I nod, she moves a little away, closer to the sea.
It's dark now. The moon casts a faint glimmer onto the seas. It's then that I hear a faint shuffle in the sands. I look up - searching for the source of a sound. But it's too dark to see anything. In the distance, I see a figure illuminated by the light of a streetlamp. It's her bodyguard.
Nothing to worry about. But it's then that a gunshot rips through the dark. My reflexes take over - I leap through the air, towards her, to push her out of the way. But I'm too late. The bullet has found it's mark. She lies in my arms, blood pouring from her temple. her eyes staring at the dark sky above.
She is dead.
I look up, and for a second I see a face - a thin, long face, with a dark beard. Our eyes meet, and then he disappears, into the sands. I get up then, leaving her corpse on the wet sands, and spring to follow him. I hear feet pound the wet, packed sands, and I follow his trail.
I look over my shoulder. Her bodyguard, torch in hand, leans beside her. He's checking her pulse. I look forward again, and follow the bearded, thin man to the edge of the sea.
It's then I notice that a big, black shape rocks on the restless waves, blocking out a patch of star-studded sky. The man, only a shadow, leaps up, across the the sands, and wades through the waters. Motors hum, it's a small boat, waiting. I run, quicker now, but the man has reached the boat, and clambered aboard. The waves, caused by the motion of the boat, hit me and repel me from the sea. I can't follow. The waters are too deep. A wave rises, and crashes over my head. I'm spluttering, trying to clear water from my lungs.
I crawl back onto the beach, the waves tugging at my ankles, trying to pull me under. I struggle, and finally make it to dry sand. Sirens wail, I look behind. An ambulance pulls up, as a pair of police cars hit their brakes. I pull myself up, and head back towards her body.
There's a small crowd gathered there now. The bodyguard, her driver, three crew members who hadn't left as yet and two fisherman. The bodyguard is speaking to a police officer, in plainclothes. Another, uniformed officer leans by the body.
The police officer in plain-clothes turns towards me. He nods towards the bodyguard, and then makes his way to me.
"I'm detective Sharma," he tells me. "You are Mr. Gopal?"
I nod.
He continues. "And you were the last person to see her? You were with her when she died?"
"Yes, I was." I pause, he watches me expectantly. "She was talking on her phone. She has asked me to come concerning a certain matter. She got the call, before she could tell me what it was. Then there was a gunshot. She fell. I looked about - caught sight of the killer, running away. It was pitch-dark, I tried to follow him, but he got away and caught a boat, that was waiting for him. There - " I point to indicate the boat. But it can't be seen, it's too dark, and too far away.
Detective Sharma squints. "I can't see anything," he says, but he scribbles something down in his notebook. As he looks writes, he continues to speak. "Would you mind coming down to the station, to make an official statement?"
I nod. "Of course," I say.
An hour later, I'm sitting in a dingy, small office. They've given me a cup of luke-warm, watery coffee. The minutes tick by, slowly. I ask for a cigarette. The officer on duty shakes his head. "New government rules," he exclaims, and smiles, grimly, revealing a row of paan-stained teeth. "No smoking allowed."
So much has happened in a day. I run my hands through damp hair, trying to make sense of the puzzling last few hours. Finally, detecive sharma walks in.
I give my statement - the same thing that I've said earlier. Detective sharma asks a few questions - seems a bit mystified that I don't know why she called me.
"Look," I tell him. "I really don't know."
"But it's strange, isn't it?" He insists, determined to extract some further detail out of me. "What would you have to do with a famous actress? What could she want from you?"
I shrug. "I don't know - I've told you."
Detective Sharma leans back then, drums his fingers on the rusty metal desk. He excuses himself and leaves.
He returns ten minutes later, with the officer on duty.
"Can I go now?" I ask him, irritatedly. "I've told you everything. There's nothing left."
"We can't let you go as yet." Detective Sharma replies.
I look at him quizzically. "Mr Gopal, we are arresting you for the murder of Ms Rupa Chakaravarti."
"What?" I break in, shocked.
The officer on duty pulls out a pair of handcuffs, as Detective Sharma recites my rights.
Everything happens so fast. They pull me along, through a series of corridors to a cell. It's only as they shut the door on me, and I'm alone in a dark cell smelling of urine and vomit, that it hits me.
I've been arrested for a murder that I didn't commit.