A night. A dark gloomy night. A dark gloomy, petrifying night. This car no longer serves its purpose, its heart; organs and persona have lost its chasm. Everything has a time and purpose and when that time and purpose are met it begins to disintegrate and prepare for salvation or new life. Karma. Though in the case of Annette; Bob, a shriveled old man covered in the stench of cigarette smoke, will take care of her, he only charges a penny.

***

            He comes out of his Chevy covered in a cloud of black smoke. The smoke is emphasized as a result of the negative temperatures. He begins to pound his fists on the hood of his car, feeling no pain. A typical human being who exerts the amount of force he is pounding on his car would be able to bend his or her fingers and make them touch the wrist with painful ease. Out of habit he pulls out his cellular phone to check the time. It reads twelve prime meridiem, the witching hour. Out of hesitation and fear he lets out a sigh, not the one of relief but the one of anguish mixed in with fear. His imposing physique and radiance cast a dark silhouette of himself under the only flickering fog light. This flickering fog light reminds him of a light house. Why a light house? No idea.

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            A sudden howl from the trees beyond, the fear of unknown and he wondering where it came from takes a few paces back in his mental. A vast sea with a ship sailing and the moon up high into the horizon. Purpose. None, so it seems then suddenly a lighthouse with its radiant light focusing itself on the waters making a path. Path to what? Nothing, nowhere and for why? He keeps walking now turning on his phone’s flashlight.  Then the sound of jingles no jingle bells, no, shingling. Anklets. The sound of anklets he thinks. But why now? There is no probable possibility of a woman to be around. The origin of the sound is not pinpointed and confused he says, “Is anyone here?” No reply. He continues to walk his feet taking steps one after another, close to marching like a soldier but not quite.

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            The sound of anklets begins to draw nearer. He feels it is coming from behind him and he turns around. Nothing. Suddenly, the trees begin to sway back and forth in a crazy manner as though they are escapees from a mental rehabilitation centre set free into their own world, the clouds give a foreboding expression and the moon like a masked vigilante hides his face. Then the clouds begin to cry. Their tears falling ever so heavily drench him completely in a matter of minutes. He moves his shaggy hair out of his eyes wipes them and through the many falling droplets of water sees a woman standing before him.

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            A woman dressed in black and red saree. Her eyes like that of a peacock, her lips like the fresh tender stock of strawberries, yet unable to make out her full face; he comes to his senses and says “Hi are you lost?” The woman does not reply. “Are you okay?” No reply.  A few moments pass and for a moment the clouds stop crying, the moon takes off his mask and the trees come to a rest from all the swaying.  His flashlight begins to flicker and he looks at it and his watch. Twelve thirty prime meridiem and the time begins to wind itself and stops at twelve. The surrounding atmosphere turns into an unknown domain or even a dimension.

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            The ground begins to rise into the celestial abstract and here he stands opposite to the woman in the saree both standing on a stage-like platform. This platform is covered with black and white boxes. This place is a zero with no life, no composition only a bunch of labyrinthine roads going into the distance. The woman speaks: “Welcome to the quantum domain”.

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            He draws nearer to the woman in the Saree. He inquires, “what is your name? Who are you?” Then following a brief pause and out of nowhere the beauteous lady whose eyes and lips can be concealed speaks: “You do not know me? It is me.” Confounded, he says “me who?” like a knock-knock joke and suddenly hears a loud ring ring ring ring. He tries to focus, to keep that picture in his mind to recall who she was, her past, and her purpose, why she was there. Nothing. Out of randomness, that shingling sound, she is drawing nearer and nearer yet still no recognition no recall of those eyes and those lips. “I am”, just as she is about to open her mouth to reveal her identity the ring ring sound mixed in with the sound of the shingling of anklets. A disturbance from a time telling device in the quantum domain, a slam, no more disturbance. Snooze. He tries to keep himself on the platform now wanting to know more about her. “You just said you are…? Please tell me who you are.” The platform begins to shake and he too, then the voice of a woman.

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“You know Quentin does not like people being late on set and this is not the first time I am saying this.” He finds himself sleeping on a comfortable platform now with black and white squares like that on a chessboard. The socket of his eyes opens a little and hears the sound of those anklets again and before him a woman pacing back and forth. She says to him “now is the time to depart, your car is broken remember and it is raining heavily outside?” He opens his eyes completely to see the same woman no longer veiled wearing the same red and black Saree and the anklets and says” Good morning, baby” and pulls her into the bed with him.

...

“Interesting, I wonder what the lighthouse means”, said Freud.

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Id neutralized is embedded with Freudian notions of dream and desire. The woman with the anklets is the personification of the protagonists desire. The story was inspired by an girl I met the nine day festival of Navratri. Actually it was  loud jingling sound of anklets I kept hearing while waiting for Navratri music to begin so I made it my mission to pinpoint where the sound was coming from which lead me to her.  Navratri is a festival dedicated to the feminine creative force of nature,'Shakti'. From the day I met her she had become somewhat admirable and the sound of her thick anklets would resonate within the confines of my conscious mind for days.