By Rima Jbara
I opened the door of the house and took a quick look at the garden. The wind made the trees dance gently. I thought of sitting for a while on the moist soil. My fingers tickled the grass that felt soft. The gate of the garden was unlocked, and kept on moving back and forth as the wind blew at it. Irritated by the squeaky sound, I went to lock the gate. The greyish clouds hinted rain, so I decided to go back inside.
Instead of going to my room, I headed towards the library to read a book. My eyes fell on ‘Pride & Prejudice’ by Jane Austin which brought a smile of satisfaction to my lips. My finger moved forward to another book, “Wuthering Heights” by Emily Bronte. I have never read a book that contained that much passion. I stepped an inch away as I touched another book, ‘Gone With The Wind’ by Margret Mitchell. The title re-winded back my memory to the moments when my heart pounded hastily with anxiety as I was reaching the end of the book.
My eyes looked up at the higher shelf and noticed a black book covered with dust. I rubbed away the dust on it and read, “Anna Karenina” by Leo Tolstoy. Since classics were always a favourite, my curiosity enticed me to read this book. In the relaxing ambience of my room, I sat on the sofa, and began reading “Anna Karenina”.
After some time, I looked at my watch to find hours had passed. The book’s intriguing story prevented me from delaying my reading. The incidents were becoming more intense and complicated. The novel’s content merged with my soul. I was suffering Anna’s pain and crying her tears. I was there with her in every move she made. I lost track of the real world. I became Anna. I went to the railway station, stood on its sideways waiting for the train to arrive. I could hear its sound approaching. ‘Forgive me God’, I said. My memories were flashing in front of me; he was there, he and I, I alone and he alone. The train is seconds away…its here, I threw myself. Then I found myself still on the sofa and Anna was dead.