Nameless flies gathered like an excited crowd under the lamppost. They huddled there like a bunch of people near the entrance of a local bus at 8 in the morning. Drenched in the light, Selim stood with his face covered in the shadows of his messy hair. His eyes bloodshot, and his shirt sticking on to his back because of all the sweat. Selim likes it when it happens due to rain, otherwise it’s just irritating.
A cigarette stood erected between his lips, burning and withering away bit by bit while Selim waited for a rickshaw. The secluded road only stretched on with identical image of lampposts and its depressing lights. The emptiness is echoed in the horizon as well, like mirror within a mirror in a local salon.
After a long day, Selim hates waiting for a rickshaw, but after getting off the bus, he has no other choice. The hard toil of the day makes his legs tired. They don’t want to bear Selim’s weight anymore.
Finally, a rickshaw was coming at a slow pace. A bearded man with a dirty hat and torn tank top arrived near Selim panting.
Selim stopped the rickshaw, signaling with his stretched-out hand. When it stopped, Selim hopped on and said, “Let’s go.” He threw his half-burnt cigarette -- the smoke rising from the tip like the soul leaving his body.
At this point of the day, Selim thinks of leaving the job. It’s too much for him. And even the pay is not that good. Only if he had any other option, he wouldn’t have considered continuing here.
The job has turned him into a machine. The stinky oil that fuels his flexible gears are now rotten. He can’t catch a break. Every time he thinks his day has ended, that he can take rest, the same thing comes up again and he again finds himself standing for the rickshaw under the lamp post.
He wants so escape this so badly, but he can’t. Nor can he tolerate all the pressures inflicted on him.
He is like a blind bird trapped in a cage with its door wide open.
He feels like the Life-in-Death had come when he was asleep at the age of 26 and gave him a kiss. And now he is stuck in this familiar labyrinth that doesn’t end and doesn’t lead anywhere. It only exists devoid of any essence…It only exists like he does. Like the insatiate hunger of lungs for air.
Selim now has reached his destination. He hands the fare to the rickshaw puller. The man takes the dirty notes while wiping the sweat on his face.
Now the door stands in front of Selim, the portal of vain hopes.
When Selim opens the door pushing its wrinkly worn-out knob, he finds himself standing on the edge of a desolate road. Selim stands there.
He feels thirsty for a smoke. He puts the cigarette between his lips and rummages around in his pocket, searching for the lighter. After not finding anything, Selim notices a half-burnt cigarette with smoke coming out. It was lying near Selim’s feet. Selim picks it up, puts its tip against the tip of his own cigarette and sucks the fire to him. And his cigarette lights up, all ready to comfort and kill his tired heart.
Selim now throws the other cigarette away and stares toward the deserted road. He is waiting in the yellow street light for a rickshaw. Nameless flies gathers like an excited crowd under the lamppost.
Abdullah Rayhan is a student of literature at Jahangirnagar University.
