Saturday, 24 January 2009

The untimely death of Tilou Pouline


They say she jumped.
But I knew she was pushed.

The splash was heard for miles, and people on the opposite end of the city saw its spray rise into the night sky sparkling in the light of the full moon before dissipating into the nothingness of the moment.
It was not her weight that caused such a splash. No. For Tilou Pouline was a small framed frail lass, with bones brittle as sticks and enough meat on them to barely feed a cat.
It was her heart that was heavy.

They say she jumped.
But I knew she was pushed.

She was pushed by someone who knew her well. It was not vindictive, or malicious. It was a push that was meant to take her over the edge, and alas; it did.
She plummeted to her death onto rocks that tried hard to sharpen their edges to save her the pain of lying there bleeding slowly, broken and alone.
They say the stars shone brighter to keep her company, the moon blinked, and that the waves that usually crashed against those very rocks caressed her softly as she drifted, claiming her tears and wetting her lips as she cracked one last smile.

They say she jumped.
But I knew she was pushed.

Dogs far and wide howled the very moment her heart stopped, their owners frantically attempting to calm them down to no avail. Their howls swirled in the evening breeze, collecting and flowing up towards the heavens, pushing the light rain clouds around till thunder boomed and lightening struck and rain poured. Those that were Street Dogs ran in packs along the pavements, all against traffic, jumping onto hoods of oncoming cars and any other obstacle till they formed a wave of their own, a wave of fur and teeth and howls. To this day those who witnessed this phenomenon shudder at the memory of the relentless onslaught of beasts that struck fear and awe and bewilderment into their hearts.

They say she jumped.
But I knew she was pushed.

She was pushed as an act of mercy. As she sat there on the rails of the bridge moments before her fall, she took a drag of her lucky stike cigarette and saw the city lights burn into the skyline. She heard the music from far off cars, catching songs at random; Ada, Karma Police, The Jeep Song, Born, Iris. Words from each hitting a chord in her heart, strumming her ribs, plucking at her lungs.

They say she jumped.
But I knew she was pushed.

She was pushed by someone who gave her one last laugh, one last cry, and a pat on the back for a job done as well as possible. As the cherry of her cigarette kissed the edge of its filter, Tilou flicked it from between her index finger and her thumb into the ocean below, watching the glow get smaller and smaller and exinguish in the surface of the rippling waters. She held the rail she had wrapped her legs around on each side of her, looking into the sky, looking for an answer that could be no where but there. Some say they heard someone whisper "Geranimo!"
And then she fell...

They say she jumped.
But I knew she was pushed.

She was pushed by Tilou Pouline.
And no one can convince me otherwise.

3 comments:

Tilou Pouline said...

:) thank you karma <3

Yours is on its way, it has been playing in my head for weeks, now it is time to be played on paper.

singingcrayon said...

This reminds me of Ms Smilla's Feeling For the Snow. Have you read it Karma? I think you'd like it.

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