eFiction India eFiction India Vol.02 Issue.09 | Page 28

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STORIES

through the dingy lanes, the applause following her faithfully from the theatre.
An established actress, she had revelled
in importance as directors kissed her feet,
artists paid her handsomely for a smile and
cheap tabloids thrived on her fast paced life.
She lived alone, by choice, in a small apartment, not far from the theatre, the idea
behind her existence.
Each day, as she woke up, she stepped into a
different skin of different hues, of different
ideas. She lived through the night, sleepless,
trying to remember her past. Drunk on the
idea of capability, she forgot as she comfortably stepped out of one skin into another,
she forgot with every character portrayed to
perfection, every dialogue uttered in delusion, with every song sung to distraction,
she forgot. She lived by the lines, settling
into lives that were so far from her, each
leaving a distinct scar in her mind, each
telling a story of love and betrayal, each
discouraging her to write her own. Until
she met him…
How she had loved and why she had sympathised, no one knew. No one knew why
she refrained from communicating with
her friends, why she retreated into a shell,
impenetrable, cold and suffocating – no one
knew who he was, and they cared. Tabloids
pried for stories, directors demanded
answers, artists begged for a smile. But
Juana didn’t speak. Unknown to them all,
she was writing a story she had longed to
write forever – a story that was gradually
taking over her senses, driving her into
delirium as she craved to know H[