The End

Next evening I went to pick her. She was dressed casually but was in light makeup and wearing her hair in a different style. Her hair looked longer; I guess she had tried blow-drying them straighter. She was charming; charming enough to be a celebrity, a star and all that she dreamt of. I knew she'd been practising what to show, tell and sing. All of her morning must have been spent in this 'visualising' and self-talk. She must have been imagining herself in 'La Gala' at least twice a week for dinners and teas with bigwigs. I sincerely hoped she'd realise her dream in future.

While walking out and closing her flat's door, she again handed me her well-worn diary. She said she had written something in the middle of the night when she couldn't sleep. I opened the page with a little bookmark in it and read it to myself:

Out of the mist you appear in front of me,

I shall hold you close and protect you from all evils,

Please don't walk away when I feel so lonely,

But instead you walk right ahead while I call you in yells,

I knew you were a happy soul, so carefree,

But in my mind, your last look into my eyes still dwells,

A clear wave from the ocean wipes you away,

And into the thin air and away, your body melts….

End

"I wrote it when I had the nightmare again."

"But why did you write 'end' after it?" She giggled slightly, "Because that's the end of my nightmare story!"

I closed the diary when I noticed she was looking very closely at me. I looked at her questioningly, and found out she thought my maroonish muffler didn't quite look right on me. I wasn't dressed to impress her assistant director, but I understood she wanted me to be presentable enough if the director would want to meet me, too. I took it off and pulled it around her shoulders.

"There, you can wear it instead." "I need a mirror to know if I look hideous or not!"

She didn't look hideous. But she started running suddenly when she saw a car stop across the street. I couldn't laugh enough on her excitement, so I yelled after her: "Don't go hug him!"

She turned around smiling and waved back when a humongous white vehicle hit right into her, making her fall on the road. Her bag was thrown on the other side and a million flanked the sideway to help her. I ran as fast as I could to see how badly she was hit but when I saw her bloodied face and clothes, the maroonish red muffler of mine, I think I knew what had happened.

She never opened her eyes again. It was the end of her story.

The New Beginning

It happened right in front of me. The lady was running towards my car when the bus hit her so hard, it broke her crown and gave her several other injuries. She was clutching onto a little book. Since, my car was near, I asked others to pick her and take her to the nearest hospital before it was too late.

I took hold of that book and put it in my briefcase till she could come around and I could return it to her. But that never happened. The man that was with her hardly said much. I only knew her name was Sasha till I read her little book about her. She was a little dreamer, I came to know. I was a nearly bankrupt director. I needed good stories more than good money to survive on. My contacts were no more working. And I had no idea what really to do but to enter into partnership with my old buddies at home.

That evening I was returning back to Chicago, this woman not only gave me an illustrative idea about a new movie but also a written copy of the script. I tried contacting the man who was with her at that time but he never answered my letters. So I did what I could.

I produced the movie called 'Sasha, The Cher'. All we needed to do was hunt for a model with innocent features and long brown hair who would look carefree enough to run across the road to meet me.

After the movie was complimented by the critics and I got enough standing in the business again, I sold the poems by Sasha to different artists who sang them and compiled an album, named Sasha, too.