The Whirl
By
Mahdia Abarchah
The antique clock was firmly standing in front of the candidates; its long pendulum was swinging back and forth spreading out the atmosphere of solemnity and regularity in the room. Its bell-like strikes were notifying the beginning of the Jigsaw Puzzle Contest.
The youngest participant, excited and curious, immediately got immersed into a competition which had once been nothing but a recurred dream. Scrutinizing the jigsaw pieces and sorting them by color and pattern, he noticed that most of them were shades of blue.
His meticulous arrangement of the first pile gave way to a patchy ocean furiously spreading on the puzzle board; Its longest tentacles were mercilessly tearing up the fragmentary texture of the air. Continuously suiting tabs to sockets, his crafty hands were appallingly fingering the growth of a gigantic and fathomless vortex, an amalgam of power, beauty, and horror. To his surprise still, a steady man sprouted out of the peak of a high rock, enigmatically challenging the wavy wrath. "Who is this man?" He wondered. "Is he a fisherman? A painter? A poet? A suicidor? Or just a philosopher decoding the signs of nature? He looks like Heidegger re-thinking temporality."
The competitor's smart fingers rejected redundant remarks and let a red-striped yacht be progressively built on the puzzle stage, where it was forcefully driven into the turmoil. A young figure aboard, whose head still missing, was hopelessly struggling to pilot the vessel out of the hollow circle. This was a hard moment for the candidate, who playfully led a human being into a dark spot.
The puzzle table, infected by the contestant's shuddering nerves, was notably quavering. He paused for a while to take a deep breath. Yet, the pendulum struck his attention; its strict and oscillating movement warned him that time is an arrow.
The rolling waves werepassionately seizing the headless victim. "Couldn't the man on the rock offer any help?" Thought the candidate. Only the puzzle design that could formulate an answer; the assembler had to adjust patterns rationally not emotionally.
The competitor finally reached the missing link: the victim's head. As soon as he got a glimpse of the fragment, almost fainted, his body seemed to be broken into blank vibrating strings; it was his own face! "Why was my figure inserted into the game?" He protested, looking at the judge. Yet, the clock, loudly and vigorously, interfered, signaling the deadline: last second to fill in last gap.
His sweating fingers were so intensely squeezing the fragment that the color of his face was played down. Reluctantly, the candidate's quivering hand dragged his coppery countenance into the infuriated black tunnel, where he looked like a whirling pendulum.
Awakened, his eyes were too blurred to locate where he was.
By
Mahdia Abarchah
The antique clock was firmly standing in front of the candidates; its long pendulum was swinging back and forth spreading out the atmosphere of solemnity and regularity in the room. Its bell-like strikes were notifying the beginning of the Jigsaw Puzzle Contest.
The youngest participant, excited and curious, immediately got immersed into a competition which had once been nothing but a recurred dream. Scrutinizing the jigsaw pieces and sorting them by color and pattern, he noticed that most of them were shades of blue.
His meticulous arrangement of the first pile gave way to a patchy ocean furiously spreading on the puzzle board; Its longest tentacles were mercilessly tearing up the fragmentary texture of the air. Continuously suiting tabs to sockets, his crafty hands were appallingly fingering the growth of a gigantic and fathomless vortex, an amalgam of power, beauty, and horror. To his surprise still, a steady man sprouted out of the peak of a high rock, enigmatically challenging the wavy wrath. "Who is this man?" He wondered. "Is he a fisherman? A painter? A poet? A suicidor? Or just a philosopher decoding the signs of nature? He looks like Heidegger re-thinking temporality."
The competitor's smart fingers rejected redundant remarks and let a red-striped yacht be progressively built on the puzzle stage, where it was forcefully driven into the turmoil. A young figure aboard, whose head still missing, was hopelessly struggling to pilot the vessel out of the hollow circle. This was a hard moment for the candidate, who playfully led a human being into a dark spot.
The puzzle table, infected by the contestant's shuddering nerves, was notably quavering. He paused for a while to take a deep breath. Yet, the pendulum struck his attention; its strict and oscillating movement warned him that time is an arrow.
The rolling waves werepassionately seizing the headless victim. "Couldn't the man on the rock offer any help?" Thought the candidate. Only the puzzle design that could formulate an answer; the assembler had to adjust patterns rationally not emotionally.
The competitor finally reached the missing link: the victim's head. As soon as he got a glimpse of the fragment, almost fainted, his body seemed to be broken into blank vibrating strings; it was his own face! "Why was my figure inserted into the game?" He protested, looking at the judge. Yet, the clock, loudly and vigorously, interfered, signaling the deadline: last second to fill in last gap.
His sweating fingers were so intensely squeezing the fragment that the color of his face was played down. Reluctantly, the candidate's quivering hand dragged his coppery countenance into the infuriated black tunnel, where he looked like a whirling pendulum.
Awakened, his eyes were too blurred to locate where he was.
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