Prescript: This was a true paranormal incident told to me by my friend which I wanted to convey to you all. I have tried to relive it and have tried to keep its base intact.
There is something lingering. A streak of an unknown evil, an evil uncalled for. Through his veins flows venom, a poison, a deadly stream of thoughts. His existence is at unrest. His palms feel sweaty and vision blurred. He sees his dear ones walking around, he sees them through his tears, and they do not seem to recognize him and do not feel his existence. Something that is trapped inside him, it wriggles inside his body and soul. He is losing his sense of logic and thinking. He is unable to explain the situation what he sees through those eyes, even to himself. His legs are slowly losing their strength to stand on their own; suddenly they cannot take the weight of his own body and existence. He does not has the strength to describe the pain and burden he is feeling, he does not want to explain it anymore as the process of explaining itself is very painful and will take the last left strength in him.
He cannot explain the euphoria which takes over his mind, heart and soul. Suddenly in midst of such grueling pain and no hopes left to live, a sudden joy marks his last moments. He does not know if it is real or not because he has been trying to find that thing for so long that it totally seems unreal. He does not know if it is happening or not but, if it is not and still he is seeing it, at least it is real for him. But real or unreal, suddenly this thing takes him out of his whole misery. That dream like state and the sheer longing for it whole of his life, makes his death just another moment of his life. Its mere presence is so soothing and beautiful that it tears his soul out of this misery and takes it into a world within our world, at point from where he can see the whole world. It is a shadow that is in front of his eyes. It is a disturbing shadow, which disturbs and stirs his soul in this filthy existence. But the same shadow is like a fuel to his soul, fuel for its refreshing and rediscovering. Just a mere conversation with this shadow lifts his whole burden and a bright light rushes into his eyes, his nerves, his brain and his body starts to emit this light.
It is this shadow; it flirts with his purpose of life, of his existence and of his death in this world. It tells him how sad it is, and he tells it how sad he is. It smiles and listens to his burdens and he smiles to listen to its encumbrance. This mere sharing of his blood which is in the form of his thoughts takes the black filthy blood out of him and new fresh blood gushes through his veins again. But with time this new blood will become old and then be contaminated again. Will there be this shadow which now graced his existence? Who will suck this contaminated blood out of him next time? Will he cut himself open and bleed to his own death because even with this filthy blood inside him he is destined to die and it will be better to bleed out all the filthy, contaminated blood and live a moment with only purest of blood. This shadow which he sees now looks into his eyes and says "Give what is not yours and take not what is anyone else's and be yourself." These words bring tears in his eyes, he cries and embraces the shadow, and the feeling is so beautiful. He wishes to live once again. His tears do not fall to the ground, but are collected in the palms of this shadow and he asks “What will you do with my tears?” It says that if these are what you shed when you are at unrest then these will not return to you ever again.
But it was a shadow! Or was it a shadow? He does not understand suddenly what was talking to him, what embraced him, what absorbed his sorrow and his fears and his pains and what drank his contaminated blood. But yes this shadow real or unreal gave him a new sense of living and has killed his old sense of death.
