The Haunting of the Opium Den


Even smoke reflects the color of debauchery here, in this den. It is neither white nor grey. Nor black like the hearts of its patrons. It is red, as are the walls. The beaded curtains around the booths hide none of the ugliness, but the smoke tries its best, ensuing fromΒ each addicted mouth, rolling around limbs braided with other limbs.

There are fragrances in combat with this smoke – oudh, frankincense, rose musk. Heady perfumes adding to the haze – in the den and in our minds – but losing the battle with that which owns this place – opium. In a corner of newbies, even cannabis raises its head like aΒ snake without venom. A child that no one pays attention to. A child frightened, but holding its own, adding its scent to the vulgar mix of luxury bought cheap.

And in a corner, next to a window painted black, on a mattress that was once white, but now dirty with all it’s seen, lay I, in another man’s embrace, his calloused toes tracing my ankle, his hand with its deeply grooved lines pawing at my breast, his stained, burnt mouth nuzzling the skin just below my ear.

My eyes have been dry for so many years, as has been the rest of me. This he doesn’t know yet, for my head is turned away. Not in the unfocused way of the rest, nor in the frigid stance of one unbothered. Nor is it a seductive tilt of my jawline. My head is turned away because beyond the beads, three booths away, I see ghosts. Ghosts so real, of you and I, from a time that’s perished.

Our gazes are so chaste, our smiles like water through glass. I am unable to look away from what I see of myself – my lips unpainted, my innocence untainted. I wish to shatter every pipe in this godforsaken place to preserve the ghosts I see. I believe, so strongly, like religion, that three booths away, you and I still breathe.

I push the man away, as I leap up to part the beaded curtain, each bead carrying within it an inverted flame, a speck of smoke. But with the parting, the illusion breaks, a ripple in still water, and I see nothing three booths away. I see nothingΒ and my eyes remain dry.

I turn back to the man, pull him close, even as his eyes roll around dazedly, and place my mouth on his. The poison of the den hits me yet again. There is only one taste in my mouth. Ashes, ashes, ashes.

Image sources: Shutterstock, GettyImages


31 thoughts on “The Haunting of the Opium Den

  1. Mayuri Nidigallu May 11, 2017 / 6:09 PM

    I get high on your words, you know!
    The brilliant imagery they weave and the seduction with which they draw me in.
    This is simply wow!

    Liked by 1 person

  2. vishalbheeroo May 11, 2017 / 6:23 PM

    It’s such an amazing piece of writing, the expressions, imagery, and nuances make it a compelling read.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. kalaravi16 May 11, 2017 / 7:55 PM

    Vivid imagery and intense story-telling at its best! The dark, sinister and seductive all come together in this compelling piece.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Modern Gypsy May 11, 2017 / 9:51 PM

    You have a way with words, girl! This is some brilliant writing. I could almost smell the opium den and see this entire scene played out before my eyes.

    Liked by 1 person

  5. Natasha May 11, 2017 / 10:04 PM

    Gosh! Sreesha how the heck do you do this! This dark, quivering piece of writing comes alive frame by frame in ones mind’s eye!

    Liked by 1 person

  6. Shailaja V May 12, 2017 / 7:25 AM

    Deep melancholy and despair. You’ve captured the pulse of addiction and wistfulness in such powerful imagery. Lovely!

    Liked by 1 person

    • Sreesha Divakaran June 2, 2017 / 8:33 AM

      Sad what addiction does to people, and they’re still not able to break those addictions…

      Thanks, Shai πŸ™‚


  7. Vinitha May 12, 2017 / 8:25 AM

    I was transported to that opium den through your words, Sreesha. I loved how effortlessly you were able to word the story through her eyes. Mind blowing!

    Liked by 1 person

  8. Mithila Menezes May 12, 2017 / 12:45 PM

    The moment I read the title, the first thought that came to my mind was Sherlock Holmes (Hehe, did I mention that I’m watching Sherlock currently 😍)

    The point is: as I read through the post, I felt that the imagery was as vivid as that of Arthur Conan Doyle’s writing in ‘The Man With The Twisted Lip’. You seriously are the best, Sreesha! β€βœ…

    Liked by 1 person

    • Sreesha Divakaran June 2, 2017 / 8:46 AM

      Oh I love for you for watching Sherlock! My favorite show! (Well, the position is tied, but still…)

      Thank you so much, Mithila! πŸ™‚ πŸ™‚


    • Sreesha Divakaran June 2, 2017 / 8:47 AM

      Yes, I’ve mentioned that in the image credits. Besides, this is a fiction post, not a photo post.


  9. shanayatales May 26, 2017 / 6:29 AM

    Wow! That was amazing. I could imagine the scene pretty vividly, and even empathize with the narrator. You are brilliant with dark fiction.

    Liked by 1 person

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s