Death does not come easy to him. It plays with his senses and cajoles him into believing that his time is near, yet holds him back. Sitting miserably, he pondered whether this was really the right time now. What if death did not really affect him, what if death was just as miserable as he was, having to worry about another sad soul wishing to make his final journey home.
He felt sleepy; thinking about death all the time usually makes him slightly tired. And sleep was anyways preferable as it was the closest feeling he ever had that mimicked death. It made him unaware of the world around him, lulled him into a comfortable disbelief that he is suspended nowhere and most importantly, and made him dream. Crazy, confused, lustful, coloured - dreams of all sorts and varieties.
RS as his few friends called him was a floating soul. Never having being straitjacketed into a type or a personality, he was infact many things to many people. He was friends to several, people who thought him to be their own, yet they would not realise that he would just float out of their lives, the moment he closed the door behind him. They felt he was their brother, a member of the fraternity, yet were surprised to see him chatting away the girls from the neighbouring society without a care. His friends would be confused at his behaviour but put it off by claiming that all of it was temporary and he would be back to his old group again.
RS had this bad habit back then as well. He would launch into his extempore of death almost suddenly and then shock all of his friends into imagining their dead selves, twisted, gnarled, and stone-like. Happy souls sitting on the university wall would instantaneously turn into statues listening to RS's hysterical metaphors on death.
RS was dreaming of the old days and of the fact that most of his friends were now dead, divorced or distant and he was infact the only link to several of his old friends - their only connect as they could not bring themselves to talk to each other - he was their convenient sounding board. Sleeping, he could afford a smile.... sleeping, he almost looked god-like with a smile on his dimpled, youthful face. Sleeping, death usually decided to give him a miss.....