The Wind


Soft wind was blowing from the North, the South, the East and the West, from all the parts of the world. Down on the sand lay a man, clutching a blood-steaked dagger in his hand. His teeth were tightly pressed  together, the man was breathing heavily.

“Stupid wind”, gnarled the man, “I don’t want this dumb wind to blow in my face or caress my hair. I hate this wind, I hate everybody!” The good wind was annoying him.  But the wind continued blowing, as if it hadn’t heard the man.

“Aaahhhhhrrrrrhh”, – yelped the man. He jumped to his feet, and a sharp hiss pierced the air. The man began swinging around, thrusting his dagger up and down, trying to stab the invisible foe. His eyes were shining fiercely from under the pair of heavy eye-brows. The wind paused for a second, pulsating, but went on blowing , tenderly and  patiently.

The man was breathing heavier and heavier until he started suffocating.  Finally, he fell to the ground and clutched on a handful of sand, feverishly. Suddenly, he broke into tears – the tears of helplessness. The man cried on and on, it seemed for ages, until his anger retracted its claws and let go of him.

The good wind approached the man, dried the tears off his face and hugged him by the shoulders. The man’s head turned slowly to the side. He gave the wind a faint smile. “Wind, you are wonderful”, said the man. He stood up and walked away.

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