Pulp Fiction - I (Alone, All Alone)

All I could see before me is an apparition mouthing some words which my ears picked up, but my brain refused to comprehend. Yes, an apparition indeed. For, at that moment, nothing seemed real anymore. There are a very few things in my life which I desperately wanted to turn out right, and this was one of them. And as with all the things that we desperately want to turn out right, this turned out all wrong.

I was rooted there for a while, mouth agape trying not to get lost in the whirlwind of emotions that gripped me. I felt a bout of nausea, but I warded it off. I always like to be in control. Panic attacks are for losers. Nonetheless, it took me another full minute to regain control. And once that happened, I made a dash out of that foredoomed place. I needed fresh air as desperately as a marooned man needed sex. Once I got out, I found no taxis. The fact that it was 3 a.m in the night didn't help.

The relentless pattering of rain didn't help either. The sky was being ripped apart by jagged bolts of lightning. Cliched line it is, but sometimes life itself sounds so cliched. Anyway as I was saying, all that rain and the patterns of lightning in the sky would have been a pretty sight, had I been sitting on the front porch with a cup of hot chocolate in my hand and a blanket on my lap. But no, not that day. Not at that moment. At that moment I just wished the rain would take me down with it. Take me down all the way down the street, to the gutters, to the no man's land, far away from the civilization. Civilization is a term I would have spit on, had anyone mentioned it to me that time.

No one did.

No one was there by me. It made remember the words the mariner had said...

Alone, alone, all, all alone,
Alone on a wide wide sea!
And never a saint took pity on
My soul in agony.

Author's Note:
This I write in some dumb attempt at fiction, as a part of something else which I started writing and discontinued eons back. I know it sounds kinda arbit here. That is what the title is about... Pulp Fiction as in, fiction beaten to pulp, after which it hardly makes sense. Kindly bear with it.