A lot of things remind me of Mumbai, and Mumbai makes me wonder about a lot of stuff. Out of the plethora of things that Mumbai reminds me of, it has never come across to me as the ‘City of Dreams.’ Now before you grab your ‘lighted mashals’ and arrive at my doorstep in protest, Let me explain.
To experience this article in a better way, tune into this lofi song while giving this article a read. Preferably at a low volume.
Mumbai was never and can never be called the ‘City of Dreams.’ It would be misleading, cruel and outright mean to all the dreamers out there. In these trying times and the constantly evolving state of our country, Mumbai stands as a beacon for something. That something is definitely not a call to the dreamers out there to flock the beacon like moths on a dreary night. Mumbai is not a symbol of hope nor is it a haven for all those who wish to achieve. Mumbai shouldn’t be analogous to what people call the ‘City where you can make it.’ It is time before someone spoke against this blatant rehashing of Mumbai’s image only to coddle the poor, soft, so-called ‘dreamers’ that will suffer once they end up in Mumbai.
Mumbai is a city of perseverance. Mumbai, the city, will beat you down to your knees and kick you in the abdomen when you’re begging for mercy. Mumbai will laugh on your bleeding self lying down the drain and then taunt you to get back up, only to beat you down again. The ‘City of Dreams’ does not and will not care about where you come from, who you know and what you’re capable of. The sole thing that this cruel, merciless and soulless city will test is how bad you want it. Aamchi Mumbai is the sadist who will enjoy seeing you suffer from the rats in the sewer and probably livestream it for the whole world to enjoy. Aamchi Mumbai will test how hard you can get hit and get back up. It will keep a tally of the number of times you got back up from that gutter and asked for another hit. Once you acquire a taste of the Mumbai’s actually made of, that’s when it gets worse.
When all your dreams are awash and you’re struggling, deep in debt, being unable to afford the rent, and getting by with unfulfilling food, Mumbai won’t come to your rescue. This city and its people will not care about your suffering because let’s face it, everyone is probably worse off. Mumbai will feel like a sinking ship and aren’t all of us just trying to stay afloat. Holding on to our broken doors and cannot ‘afford’ to have DiCaprio on board. The sinking ship feels like a nightmare but it’s cute compared to a ship sinking in a thunderstorm, in the middle of the ocean. That’s what monsoons in Aamchi Mumbai will feel like. The mighty buildings and pothole-ridden roads will mock your dreams and all the aspirations that you came with to this city. The wet, slimy, smelly collars that you will find your face mashed into in the locals will seldom make you feel like a dreamer trying to make it. It will make you wonder whether that wet spot that’s being rubbed against your face with every jerk is sweat, spit or just murky rainwater.
Mumbai will not offer you a job, a livelihood with a simple interview. It will involve a fight to the death. The death being the actual death of the dreams of other dreamers you’re competing with. This city will not bat an eye on letting you go, making you suffer and will definitely never be sympathetic. Mumbai will be cruel enough to choose someone more capable over you. It will choose the workers, the people who are willing to grind stone with their teeth. The people who will devour the opponent without batting an eye, in summary, people who have the ‘spirit of Mumbai’ in them. Mumbai will not resort from being politically incorrect and it probably wouldn’t care about your gender either. Which is the beauty of it? Mumbai will beat you down, with complete impartiality and with the best of intentions. Aamchi Mumbai will test if you’re capable, not of achieving or innovating, it will test if you’re capable enough to survive. To test what lengths you will go to, just to make it. Mumbai will not turn you into an empathetic, kind and lovely human being. You will probably turn out to be mean, aggressive and highly competitive. But it will make you surely value the tiniest of pleasures in life.
To be honest, Not many people make it in this city. But don’t let the beggars, people living under bridges, on couches in 1 RK’s and in crowded smelly subways make stop you from thinking otherwise. A few people make it. Considering the massive population that Mumbai inhabits, the few is also pretty significant. But living in a city like Mumbai will be harsh, highly uncomfortable and overall pretty bad.
Coming to Mumbai is analogous to signing a deal with the devil. Selling your soul to live through hell, which, when logically thought of, is ridiculous. But it is what it is.
I really want this article to end on a positive note, but let’s face it, not many stories in Mumbai end positively. People either give in to the pressure and back away. A lot of them accept their fate and become mere slaves to the cruel ‘City of Dreams.’ But there are a few who make it.
You will meet them in local trains, and probably won’t recognize them as they are indistinguishable from the countless faces around this city. Again, that’s the beauty of this city, it doesn’t discriminate. A tech titan and a daily wage worker all travel in the same, overcrowded, local to CST. But those who make it, hit it big.
Mumbai might be cruel, but it rewards you for the countless blows you’ve taken to the face. Mumbai won’t pay the hospital fees for all the shattered bones, but it will unquestionably make your victory notorious. The stories of you getting beat and still standing tall will be told for decades. You will not be different, but you’ll be strong. Mental toughness comes at a price. You will find yourself being unable to survive without the hustle-bustle of the city. You will enjoy the crowded beaches and unwholesome street food. You will revel at the magnificent architecture of buildings. You will be unfazed by the living conditions of the countless people living in the slums. You will curse at the BMC for the pothole-ridden roads and the never-ending traffic. You will find yourself strangely addicted to the polluted air of the city. You will be comfortable with sharing stories and find yourself involved in small talks with people you’ll never see again. You will find yourself, strangely attracted to this cruel, mean and torturous excuse for a City. When Stockholm syndrome settles in and when you realize that you’re in love with this monster, that’s when you will call yourself a ‘Mumbaikar.’
You will make it in the city, knock it big! You will once again stand as a beacon of hope for all the dreamers out there and then you will be cursed when those dreamers come into the city. The same dreamers that once worshipped you will challenge the legitimacy of your success and chalk it up to political means or contacts. The same dreamers will receive the same number of blows, but they won’t make it.The few who do will have a newfound respect for their icon. The few who will make it, will probably meet their icons in the same train, bump into each other and curse ‘Pudhe chala tujhya aaichi gaand’ to each other.
In conclusion, Mumbai is far from being called a ‘City of dreams’ and calling it that would diminish the peculiar qualities and the bewildering nature of the city.
Mumbai is a city of dreamers, dreamers with ineffable willpower and dedication. Mumbai provides the fuel for you to reach escape velocity and shoot for the stars. Mumbai is precious, and no matter how harsh it gets, It’s home.
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The title is not a typo! It is just a not-so-clever attempt to hint as to what I’ll be discussing in this article –
Homeostasis (ho-mee-oh-stah-sis) – Balance between different independent and unlike elements. Homosexuality – sexual interest in and attraction to members of one’s own sex. Recently, I was part of a not so bizarre incident that sentmy thoughts spiraling and it’s solely the reason why I might be writing this.Let me elaborate. About a week ago, I was mindingmy own business during this lockdown by staring at my phone screen and mindlessly scrolling through Instagram (like a basic bitch). The television was on and mymother, grandmother(Boomers, Imean.) were relishing the daily dose of irrelevant news.
During the ad break, a peculiar adshowed up. The show ‘Four more shots’ isgracing us with another season, and zoomers are moderately excited, I guess. I haven’t seen the show so pardon my judgemental tone. The adcontainedscenes of a homosexual (Lesbian) couple making out and getting married, normal people stuff but with the same gender(Shouldn’t be a big deal, right?) Here’s how the next few seconds sounded like –
Mom– ‘yeh kya dikha rahe hai aaj kal tv pe?’ (What kind of stuff do they show on the television nowadays?) Grandma– ‘Yeh kya hai, Do ladkiyon ki shaadi ho rahi hai? Kaise?’ (Wait, how are two women getting married to each other.) Mom– ‘Yeh kya ho gaya hai iss duniya ko. Ladke kam pad gaye kya?’ (What has this world come to. Are we running short on men in the world?) Grandma– ‘Hamare time pe aisa nahi hota tha. Shaadi ke baad kya karte hai yeh log?’ (This never happened during our times. What do they even do after getting married?) Mom– *changing the channel as soon as a kissing scene comes on* ‘Tauba Tauba, yeh kaise dikha rahe hai tv pe? Normal cheezein nahi dikha sakte?’ (Oh my god, Can’t they show normal scenes on the television?) Me (the not so favourite son) – ‘Kya! Aap ko normal kissing scenes dekhna hai tv pe? Yeh kya bol rahe ho aap?’ (What! Do you want to see normal kissing scenes on the television?) Mom– ‘Zyada bol mat beta, Nani ko jaane de, fir dekhti hoon tujhe’ (Bitch, You better shut the fuck up) Me– ‘Aapko pata hai do ladki ek dusre se shaadi kyu karte hai? Voh hisaab se ek dusre ko dehej nahi dena padega na!’ (Girls marry each other to avoid dowry)
Mom– *hold my beer moment with nani*
Here are a few gifs astutely portraying what ensued.
As you might have inferred from the anecdote above, my parents aren’t comfortable with homosexuality or anything closely related to it. It is a part of our ‘Sanskaar’ (culture) to be married to a person of the opposite gender. I’m not going to explain the dynamics of homosexuality or point out the intricacies of sexual orientation in this article. Nor am Igoing to complain about my mothernot being comfortable with homosexuality. I’m here to complain about the production houses that are flooding all the streaming sites and cinemas with ‘Homosexuality as a gimmick.’
Production houses and the media need to stop shoving LGBTQ+ friendly content down our throats.
Yes, I said it.Now before you grab your lighted mashals and arrive at my doorstep in protest(or call me your best friend because you think I’m as homophobic as you.),let me explain.
Here a few questions that Iask myself when I’m trying to think critically.
Are their intentions right?
Considering production houses and media as a singleentity, it seems evident that their intentionsare in the right place. A surge in LGBTQ+ content will make the peoplemore aware, moreopen and help those who seem to be struggling with their own sexual identity. Production houses understand that and have the power to bring about a change. Let all the fake news and propaganda stand as testimony to the power of media.Media is powerful and with the right intentions, it can be utilized to bring about a massive shift or change in the mindsets of people. “Why are you still complaining then, Faaiz?” Let me continue my analysis please, stop being so impatient for god’s sake.
Do they earna lot ofmoney through this kind ofcontent?
Yes, and no. Itdepends on the target demographic.Itdepends on the type of content.Itdepends on the country that content is being released in.Trustme, ‘Call me by your name’ wasn’t a blockbuster hit in Saudi Arabia. But if we single out streaming sites, I do believe that production houses earn more as compared to other vanilla content.Also, let’s not kid ourselves. Lesbian content is totally going to earn a lotmore than any other type of content, which puts our priorities as homo sapiens in place. ‘Four more shots’ more like ‘Four more seasons of raunchy lesbian stuff please.’ But jokes apart, a lot of things factor in while calculating the earnings of this kind ofcontent. But based solely on relevance, Yes, This kind ofcontent will earn more.
Is the contentgood?
Yes, and no. Hell no. Let ALTbalaji stand as testimony to the garbage content out there.
Faaiz’s two cents on the topic, that needs to be taken with a spoonful of salt –
The intention of a lot of these production houses is to helpdifferent cultures acclimate with the not so obscure topic of sexual orientation. The mediaintends to normalize homosexual behavior and tell the people that ‘homosexuals are normal, homosexuality is natural’ and we as a societyneedto accept that. Which is noble and laudable.
But the way these production houses go about it is not alright, which is why I am revolting against the surge of LGBTQ+ content everywhere. Portraying a same-sex couple as normal in a TV show and not referring to how taboo it nevertheless is, isnot the right approach in normalizing the topic. It’s like showingpeople a normal story about a sex worker going about his/her life and then expecting the audience to consider that as normal. People are however going to walk out of the theater as prejudiced against sex workers as they were formerly. The key to normalizing homosexuality is to portray a human approach to the story. Expressing ‘Why’ does a person fall for or feel attracted to another person of the same sex is the key. The topic of sexual orientation needs to be addressed first. Sexual inclination and studying why a person, is the way he/she is, is important. Showing same-sex marriage in a story and not addressing the taboo that pervades the space between leaves the audience isolated, if not making them more repulsive to the topic. All the production houses intendto portray homosexual people as normal but forget that they need character development. Addressing the motives, desires, and the mindset of a homosexual person is the key to normalizing him/her.
Here’s a thought experimient or a dare for the daredevils– Go to your parents and tell them, “I’m gay, Deal with it.” And would you be kind enough to record whatensues?
Now, whatif, youtook a more human approach to it.
Whatifyoutalked to your parentsabout howyou felt different from others from a veryyoung age?
Whatifyoutalked to them about how you couldn’t for the life of you, shed that infatuation?
Whatifyouexplained to them how ashamed youfelt for this for years?
Whatifyouexplained how the toxicity outside is affecting you and not lettingyoulive?
What if you explained the fact to them that there’s nothing different between liking a human of the same gender?
Whatifyousatthem down, talked to them about how ifyoucould change this one thingabout yourself for them, you would. But youcan’t.
What if you revealed to them the only flaw that they likely cannot accept?
How would theynow feel about their son/daughter being gay?
They would understand that it’s just a singular characteristic of the little person they gave birth to.
There arechances that they might still hate you for it, gag at the sight of you. But deep down, your human approach made them look at homosexual people in a different light.
They now understand that a homosexual son/daughter is not different from a normal person, except for the minor gay part (Which is not the end of the world, to be honest.).
Humans are opinionated, and changing their approach or mindset through jarring content is the worst approach. It makes them defensive and repulsive and sometimes violent. It is in a way, analogous to the art of argument. Facts and figures won’t satisfy a skeptic, befriending him and accepting his/her opinion might be easier. Movies like Moonlight, Blue is the warmest color, Call me by your name, Bohemian Rhapsody take a much more human approach to the topic. These movies didn’t consider homosexual people and their stories as entities that can be exploited for money. A more human approach was the key. Hell, you want to see the contrast between a more human approach and cash-grab?
Look at the following posters and identify what movie/tv show has LGBTQ+ content in it.
All of the movies shown above content LGBTQ+ content, as it’s evident, some production houses sexualize the content thus abandoning the righteous intentions. Notwithstanding the genuine intentions, production houses still cannot let go of the money factor. LGBTQ+ sensitive movies are extremely lucrative nowadays and production houses recognize that! Slap a lesbian kissing scene on there and boom, you’ve got horny men tuning in just for those few minutes. Horny women too, maybe? Not trying to generalize here. But you get the point.
LGBTQ+ content albeit being progressive is being exploited and production houses needto stop.Leave milking the cash cows to Disney. Be original for god’s sake! Normalizing sexual orientation and dissolving the taboo related to the LGBTQ+ will not be done by showing explicit scenes on TV and shocking cultured people like my mother.
I haven’t seen ‘Four more shots’ and I am not accusing the show of any of the stuff I’ve mentioned above. For all I know, it might actually be progressive. I’ll enjoy forcing my mother to watch it then.
Thanks for reading this far. I appreciate the amount of attention you’ve given to this measly, mediocre article. You can go back to doing other important stuff know.
Feel free to hit me up if you want to talk about this topic further. 🙂
Feedback is also welcome and truly appreciated.
What is the point of it all? When a zero means nothing at all.
An absence, A lack of presence, A void.
Zero’s meaning in itself is devoid.
But why did it hurt when it appeared as my marks? Why did it become an indicator, A blip to show how i’m not ‘that’ smart.
I was mocked, scolded and taught to pull through.
Avoid zero like a plague, was the only truth.
To me the zero is dreadful. Reminder to a
Painful, Regretful, Resentful past.
Years spent on avoiding the plague. I wonder where my self esteem would be,
If they ever taught me how to learn from mistakes.
No matter how much i despise it. No matter how dumb i am, Zero meant trauma, it assured me that ‘i can’t’ But It meant everything to my suffering aunt.
An ailment scorched her perfect life.
Cancer, her hereditary plight.
The plunge into darkness,
Was painful to witness.
She cried, cursed, prayed and believed.
She tried giving up but failed.
She withstood and prevailed.
Zero cancer cells were all that remained.
What is the point of it all? Does the zero really mean nothing at all?
It cursed the life of a dear friend. He chased the number of zeros at his salary’s end. Zero days for himself, He was paranoid. Now only his voice echoes, In his penthouse that resembles a void.
It brought joy to my struggling dad. Zero debt, No interest, No cost EMI’s He tried his best, to quieten my cries. He afforded the luxuries all my friends had. The only thing he couldn’t afford. Was to see me sad.
To me the zero was dreadful.
A reminder to my scar-ridden heart.
A number that keeps things apart.
Like negatives and positives on a number line chart.
What is the point of it all? I am really confused. I’m not that smart.
There is a point to it all.
Zero means something.
Maybe its unique to one and all.
Preface- I run an essay writing service. I write, complete and take care of all your essay writing needs in school or college. School and college students can leave a comment below if they need more information about the service.
Summary of Freud’s theory:-
Sigmund Freud proposed a revolutionary theory in the 1920s which tackled various predominant phenomena and also challenged preconceived notions of the world and the human mind. Freud claimed the personality of a human is complex and isn’t made up of a single component. In ‘Ego and the id’, Freud postulated the human mind or the human psyche is a sum of three parts. (Which may be equal or unequal.) The three parts being the ego, the id, and the superego. These three components work together (often not in harmony) to create complex human behavior. Each of these three elements of the personality emerges at different points in life. Freud also stated that the human mind can be divided into the conscious and the unconscious. The three elements of the mind reside in either the conscious or unconscious part of our minds/psyche.
The id is the component of the present personality from infancy/birth. The id makes up the primal component of the personality. The id can be described as an infinite source of primal energy within the mind. The id requires all the primal urges to be fulfilled. Whether it be thirst. Hunger or sexual desire. It is driven by the pleasure principle. The Id primarily resides within the unconscious part of the brain.
The ego is a part of the personality which deals with reality. Often times, the desires of the id may cross boundaries and maybe unquenchable. It’s the job of the ego to keep the id in check and make sure its desires are satisfied in a realistic way. The ego works on the reality principle. Ego is a part of the conscious mind.
The superego is the part of the mind which develops last. It is influenced by the outside world. (Mainly parents and society.) The superego is responsible for morality and judgment. The superego can often be described as the more mature part of the brain which behaves like a rulebook and often guides the ego away from the desires of the id. The superego is responsible for a civilized behavior of the human. The superego transcends both the conscious and the unconscious.
The interaction between these three components is often chaotic. Considering the different aspects that these elements deal with, there is a high probability of conflict arising. The superego can be an enemy to the id, and ego might act as a mediator. According to Freud, the key to a healthy personality is striking a perfect balance between these three components of the personality.
With Freud’s theory as a map, let’s perform a psychoanalysis of the story of Romeo and Juliet. Romeo and Juliet was a play written by William Shakespeare in the 1500s. It is the most renowned story depicting tragedy and true love.
In the beginning, it is observed that Romeo switches from loving Rosaline to loving Juliet unhesitantly at first glance. This instance of instant infatuation or a strong attraction towards a female can be on account of the id. The id is responsible for sexual desire and is primal in nature. This is an incident of ‘Love at first sight’ can be evidence of the id being superior/having a major stake in the mind of Romeo. It is further seen that Romeo acts on basic instincts and approaches Juliet without thinking about the consequences of a Montague family member interacting with a Capulet.(“O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy father and refuse thy name, / Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, / And I’ll no longer be a Capulet” ) The lack of societal awareness or consequential thinking in Romeo can be a result of an underdeveloped superego. The relationship of Romeo and Juliet at its infancy seems to be driven by sexual instinct highlighting the weak ego and superego of both the individuals.
An assumption can be made that Romeo’s Id is that he’s in love with the concept of being in love. A trace of sexual desire can also be assumed.
It is to be noted that Romeo’s love for Rosaline seemed like a childish one as compared to his love for Juliet. When it comes to Juliet, Romeo’s love is strengthened and his poetic ability is also improved. It can be observed as the Id being denied love or satisfaction for its primal desires with Rosaline and hence it shifts towards Juliet. The denial that came before makes the desire to acquire Juliet much more intense. Responding to this demand of the Id, ego gives in and suggests Romeo to court for marriage to secure the relationship with Juliet. Here, we can observe the ego obeying the demands of the Id in a much more realistic way. It can also be observed as the superego justifying the desires of the Id and suggesting marriage in order to fit in the desires of Id with society.
Through a different lens, it can be observed that Romeo’s denial of a duel with Tybalt (Romeo’s brother in law) can be a result of the actions of the superego. A lack of desire to duel and incite violence depicts that the Id might not be the strongest after all. But the conflict that inspires Romeo to assault and kill Tybalt suggests otherwise. Romeo’s killing of Tybalt was a pure act of revenge. Revenge can be described as the intense desire of the Id which the ego cannot help but suffice. The guilt and shame that follows are a result of the superego.
If the superego somehow satisfied the libidinal energy that arose between the two (Romeo and Juliet), the story would end in a not-so-tragic way.
From these instances, we can draw a few conclusions. Romeo’s id is fuelled by sexual desire. Romeo has been denied love(by Rosaline) once and cannot afford to go through that phase again. Both Romeo and Juliet are driven by sexual instinct (libido). Romeo’s ego is his endless and relentless approach to marry and ‘acquire’ Juliet at any cost. Whereas Romeo’s superego seems to be driven by Thanatos. The desire to end it all or the death instinct. This instinct drives self-destructive and violent behavior.
Freud suggests/theorizes all instincts can be categorized as parts of two types i.e. the death instinct (Thanatos) or the life instinct (Eros). Life instincts are instincts that evolved/exist to reproduce and carry the species forward (sexual desire). Death instincts are thrill-seeking instincts that mostly result in violence and self-destructive behavior. Humans function well when these two drives are in harmony. According to Freud, the want/desire to die must be tackled by eros before it becomes a conscious thought. An astute example of an imbalance of Eros and Thanatos in the life of Juliet is seen when she threatens her nurse that she’d rather die than marry count Paris (“O sweet my mother, cast me not away. Delay this marriage for a month, a week, / Or, if you do not, make the bridal bed / In that dim monument where Tybalt lies”). Romeo killing Tybalt is another example of Thanatos dominating the life of Romeo. The death instinct mostly arises right after the trauma. (The death of Mercutio.)
Romeo seeming eager to perform suicide after hearing about the death of Juliet is also an example of the death instinct being unbalanced by eros. ( “Well, Juliet, I will lie with thee tonight. Let’s see for means. (O mischief, thou art swift/To enter in the thoughts of desperate men”). Romeo refers to ‘mischiefs’ as death instincts or Thanatos.
Another observation that could be made is that. The desire of the id is strong enough to convince the ego for suicide. Through death, Romeo could reconcile with Juliet in the afterlife and the desires of the Id would be satisfied. Whereas, Juliet’s desire to kill herself upon the sight of a dead Romeo could also be driven by the superego. (guilt)
The main dysfunction in the lives of both Romeo and Juliet is the conflict between various components. The conflict between the id, ego, and superego results in extreme, erratic and instinctual behavior of both the protagonists. The imbalance in eros and Thanatos was also a major factor which led to the tragic ending of their lives. The superego could’ve resolved this conflict through sublimation. (The defense mechanism that transforms socially unacceptable impulses or idealizations into socially acceptable actions.). But this conflict is resolved non-normatively i.e. through the failure of sublimation which caused the unfortunate demise of the protagonists. This is a story about the victory of Thanatos over Eros. Life thrives when there is a balance between the two. The conflict between the ego, id, and superego in Romeo and Juliet fuelled in the imbalance of these two instincts. Another possible explanation could be the age and stage of life they were in. Juliet was 13 years old and hence pretty immature. Freud states that during the adolescent stage of life, an individual goes through various psychosexual changes.
The death of Juliet could be a result of immaturity and a weak ego and superego. The death of Romeo, on the other hand, could be a result of the conflict in his mind.
In conclusion, Romeo and Juliet are the ideal examples of instinct expressed unhealthily. Romeo and Juliet is a story about ‘Sex and death.’ It expressed how an underdeveloped ego and superego could ruin the life of an individual. Driven by sexual instincts, Romeo and Juliet set out against the world in a reckless and unplanned way. Friar Laurence was a beacon of hope that proved helpless to the two love-crazed individuals. Romeo, blinded by his love for Juliet (charged with sexual desire) couldn’t gauge/predict Friar Laurence’s plan. Romeo and Juliet is a story of the triumph of Thanatos over Eros. The story instructs us to keep our desires in check and make sure the actions we take are socially acceptable. One should also be aware of the consequences that may arise due to instinctual actions. The triumph of Thanatos over Eros is bad thing. One should avoid instinctual behavior and always think things through.
The balance between Thanatos and Eros is what helps life thrive.
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Freud, S. (1920). Beyond the pleasure principle. SE, 18: 1-64.
Freud, S. (1923). The ego and the id. SE, 19: 1-66.
Cherry, Kendra. “What Are Life and Death Instincts?” Verywell. N.p., n.d. Web. 28 Apr. 2016.
Shmoop Editorial Team. “Sex and Death in Romeo and Juliet.” Shmoop.com. Shmoop
Do you get notified about the thousands of seconds that you wasted on Instagram? Do you get notified about how you’re looking at reality through a million pixels and filters?
Yougetnotifiedabout the pretty filter uploaded on Instagram. Upon further investigation (By that I mean clicking on the notification and check out the picture.) you realize it’s actually a photo of a genuinely pretty girl, with an ungodly ugly filter. Or just an uglygal with an uglyfilter.
Yougetnotified about the likesyougot on your recent picture.It’s all fun and games with dopamine until you ascertain the number of people who just scrolled by, or misclicked the photo. But don’t you worry, Instagram won’t notifyyou of that. It cares about you, immensely (and the data you give it so willingly).
You get notified about a recent follower.You presumably have no answer as to why would youwant someone followingyou, but Instagram says its a good thing, so it probably is.
Here’s a thought experiment,
What if someone were to emulate your failures? Would you be worried? Would you be terrified to actually see the reality of yourself through your own eyes? Would you be amused?
You get notified about the picture Kathy just posted of her dog. What the doghas to do with the inspirational caption below is an enigma. But was it worth the 2 minutes?Let‘s agree, even the 2 minutesis a lie. The notification likely letyou down a rabbit hole and you‘ve been scrolling for 2 hours ever since the notification came through.
Scrolling the feed of #dogs for 2 hours is justified. But encouraging it through enabled notifications is not.
You get notified about the weather through the stories of a long-lost, utterly tasteless friend of yours.
Yougetnotifiedabout the Gucci undergarment your favorite celebrity just bought.
Yougetnotifiedabout the recent vacation your friend is on.
You get notified about the recent fued of Taimur khan with Kareena because she made him eat his veggies.
You get notified about the date your catfished friend is on.
Yougetnotifiedabout the overpriced, scammy coffee your friend is drinking.
You get notified about the 1 in a 100 photo Sharon posted of her posing in the trashy washroom.
Yougetnotifiedabout what’s going on in the world.
But you also get notified about the memes mocking the very incident.
You get notified about a motivational post your friend posted.
Yeah, the one who cannot for the life of them, wake up before 12 pm.
You get notified about how your friend is struggling with bad mental health.
You don’t get notified about how no one reached out to him.
But you do get notified about how depression is a major cause of suicide in the current society.
Yougetnotifiedabout the outing your friendshad,the one when they forgot to inviteyou.
Notificationsare an ugly bunch.Theylureyou in. They demand you to pick up your device. They’re designed to capture your attention. The peculiar pings and sounds are engineered to grab your attention. They are crafted in a way, so as to keep you trapped.
Why on earth would let an inanimate object dictate your actions?
Social media as a whole isn’t all that bad.Hypocrisy is scattered throughout this article, but it’s not far from the truth. We’re all victims of this inevitable epidemic. All we can doisreduce the collateral it causes.
Disabling the notifications won’t harmyou. You shouldn’t need to know about something unless you desire it.
Be the commander of your thoughts and actions and don’t fucking complain about boring your lifeis.
Instagram is a rosy cheerful place where the viewers are miserable and posters are happy.
Ever so often, they switch places.
Only if the posters were sad and the viewers were happy. The world would’ve been a much better place to live in.
DISABLE THE GODDAMN NOTIFICATIONS, YOU DON’T NEED TO KNOW ABOUT THE 100th BREAKUP OF BELLA HADID OR YOUR DUMB LOVESICK FRIEND.
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Thank you. Love you. Bye.
A light, melodious tune flowed through the air. For a while, I thought it’s the neighbours trying to liven up their lives for a little bit. But as usual, the sounds come from the weird, music guys practicing downstairs. Jambo’s is what they call themselves. Pretty funky name. They also call themselves a jazz group. Music seems weird to me. Strumming on a random object just to make the air wiggle in a certain way seems like a futile effort. But the music that the Jambo’s play is something different. It’s not extremely pleasing per se, but it their music doesn’t hinder my train of thought and irritate me.
I open my eyes, its evening. With the setting sun, the lights around the street come alive. I walk around the room for a while, aimlessly. Eli isn’t awake yet. But a certain looming feeling of solitude seeps in. I go up to Eli to find her missing from the bed. It’s not unusual to find Eli missing from where she’s supposed to be. She always does that, leaves when I’m sleeping and comes back later in the day. It’s weird. I’ve never questioned where she goes, maybe it would be an invasion of her privacy. But its heart wrenching.
I’ve dared to ask once, but she refused to tell me.
“You won’t understand Yukio, You can calm down.” Is what she said.
But I can’t stop myself from thinking about it a lot.
Eli is a beautiful person. She’s one of a kind. Other than being around her, there’s no place I’d rather be. She’s quirky, very moody and sensitive. She’s the kind of person who would get upset over the pettiest of things. She once got sad because a stranger didn’t acknowledge her “Bless you” to his sneeze.
I remember how she sulked the whole day.
“What’s wrong with putting a little kindness into someone’s day?” she said as she wept with her arms around me. “Couldn’t he just smile back? A thank you would be wonderful.” She complained.
She’s magnificent, the most generous person in the world. She’s my favorite person in the world. Strangers might not acknowledge her sweetness, but I never miss a chance to acknowledge her presence. I never miss a chance to embrace even the crudest of thoughts in her mind. Her quirks, flaws, acne (which she spends weeks complaining about) and her elegant personality is what I try to embrace to the fullest. She’s the tiny, immaculate, essential piece of stardust floating around in this dying void of a universe. A glimmer of hope. She’s that exceptionally gorgeous stranger you never get the guts to talk to. She’s precious. But it’s tough to figure her out sometimes.
She’s a gorgeous enigma. A riddle to open the gates of heaven. She behaves erratically at times. When she’s sad, she’ll talk a lot. I’m more a listener and she loves that. She’s always grateful that I pay heed to her continuous complaints. But to be honest, I love listening to her. It’s another puzzle piece. With every word I listen, I’m a step closer to figuring her out. When she’s happy, she’ll keep jumping around. Her happiness has become a major source of my happiness too. I can’t help but smile, giggle whenever I find her jumping around, dancing. I never miss a chance to dance along with her. But there are times when she gets sad, but doesn’t talk. She shuts herself off. That’s what kills me. Sometimes when she is happy, she gets sadder. It’s tough figuring out this state of mind. Happiness to me feels like binary. You’re either happy, or sad. But the way she behaves has me concerned at times. Maybe I’m not mature enough for her.
She isn’t at home most of the time. Which is understandable, she has to go. She works day and night to put food on the table. I offer help, I’m always ready to go along with her. But she refuses. She’s very diligent. She hunts every day, works extremely hard to fend for us. I can’t express in words how thankful I am for her presence. But there are days when she comes late. I try to inquire, but she is always devoid of excuses.
“You won’t understand Yukio, I know you missed me.” Is what she always says as she hugs me. The hugs are genuine. Her warmth, soft touch makes all the concern vanish every time.
Recently, she comes late more often. I can’t help but think about where she has been. My mind races whenever she’s not around. Morbid and dirty thoughts fill my mind. But she always solves everything with a hug every time.
But today feels different. “She’s not coming back.” says my mind as I stare at her unmade bed. She has been very sad lately. She has also been pretty distant. She hardly talks. She spends most of her time outside and when she’s home, she sleeps. On the days when she’s at home all day, she sleeps till the evening. She’s out most of the day after that. She’s always tired enough to not hang around at the end of day. Often times I feel like she’s grown tired of me. Maybe I’m boring, maybe I’m not good enough. Maybe she has found someone better. Someone a tad bit more handsome. Someone competent and obeying. Even though I love her unconditionally, it isn’t enough. Often times I’m convinced that she’s going to leave. She does leave at times, unannounced, but she comes back when I’m asleep.
But today is different, today is bad. The lights on the street are dimmer. The air around is thicker. She’s gone. She’s not coming back. If only I knew where she goes every day, I could go searching for her. But she wouldn’t want that. She wouldn’t want me to come searching for her. She wouldn’t want me to worry about her. Worry from my side is a worry for her too. She’s the kindest, the most precious little woman who walks this earth. Maybe I deserve to be alone, maybe I didn’t love her enough.
It’s a sad day. Her absence gives a whole new meaning to solitude. There’s something off about life when she’s not around. The tiny lights surrounding the wall of images she shot seems ugly without her touch. The room seems dense and suffocating. I walk to the kitchen and stare at the drawers and the floor she once stood on. I could feel her hand reaching out to that steel handle of the drawer as she willfully and gleefully prepared dinner. If I only I loved her more, if I only I talked. If only I talked instead of listening.
My ears long to hear those three words. Those three words that always made me smile. The words that always made me feel alright. She knew how it made me feel. The words that made listening worth it. The words that expressed her undying love. The words, which I’m unsure if it were a lie or not.
I sit at the window she used to sit at always. With a book in hand, she always seemed peaceful at this spot. Which made it my favorite spot. She always hummed the tune the Jambo’s play as she turned over to a new page of the book. I try to look for her from the window. Try recognizing her from the silhouettes of people walking by on the street. A futile effort. In a strange move, I call out her voice. Maybe if she is around, she might come back.
“Come back” I whimper to the lonely street.
But alas, she’s the dream I can’t continue once I’m awake. I walk back to the sofa. Watch the door. As I look around, a certain kind of sadness takes over me. The jambo’s still seemed to be practicing, but the sound seems weird this time. I hear her voice, the three words lingering. It’s depressing. I lie down on the sofa, close my eyes, pretending it would make everything alright.
“Wherever she is, I hope she’s happy.” I say with a whimper. “Come back”
“I wish I could hug her one last time. I could express how much I love her. How much she means to me. How grateful I am for her presence. Hear her say those three words.” I speak to the melodious wiggly air.
Soon, the music stops. Silence takes control of the air. It’s not peaceful, but heart wrenching. The feeling I got when she came back after a long time, but had no excuses for her excursion. She’s gone. No more questions.
Its tough, I don’t think I can ever move on. Those three words still linger through my mind as I wonder if there’s a point in going on.
Suddenly, I hear a sound of someone unlocking the door. In a split-second I find myself running to the door. Eli is at the door. Looking as radiant as ever. I don’t stop to admire her and pounce on her as soon as she steps through the doorway. She hugs me tight. As usual, the warmth, her soft touch melts every shard of pain embedded in my heart. She holds me for what seems like an eternity. I refuse to let go.
With her arms around me she says those three words, and i can’t contain myself. I cry like a baby (or a puppy) , whimper relentlessly. “Hey, Good boy.” She says as runs her fingers across my fur.
“Where have you been?”
“Where do you go, Eli?”
“I love you so much.” “Please don’t leave again.” “I promise I’ll be a good boy.” I cry to her and she giggles.
“Sorry for leaving you yukio, I had some work. You won’t understand.” she says to me as she caresses my fur. She boops her nose with mine.
“I need to know.” “I’ve got to know.” “You need to tell me right now.” “Please don’t leave again” I cry as I jump on her and refuse to let go.
“Hey, you won’t understand my good boy. But I’ll have you know, I got selected in a band. Do you understand music? I bet you don’t. Anyways, I’m a part of the Jambo’s baby!” she says to me and I feel the happiness she’s trying so hard to contain burst through her skin.
We spend the whole day together. I refuse to leave her side this time around. Every second I’m expressing my love, my loyalty and gratefulness. She feeds me and calls me a good boy. But what makes my day, is to see her dancing again. Dancing because she’s happy.
Today, she’s genuinely happy. I thought she used to go hunting to bring me food. But apparently, she uses wiggly air to bring me food. Which is weird.
Music isn’t useless after all. It brings me food. It made my Eli happy. The two things I need in life.
She hums the tune the Jambo’s play as she jumps on her bed with joy.
Music is weird.
You can trust me, I’m hella relatable. I’m super relatable.
Every opinion of yours is debatable, While mine are invincible. Your self esteem is super accessible.
Looking down on you, I’m really relatable. I’m super relatable.
I might be better than you,
But I’m really relatable. You’re an anomaly, you’re really defeatable.
While I’m the adaptable. I’m the superior but I’m relatable. I’m super relatable.
Your insecurities are hella contractible. You’re uttterly incompatible. For this society, I am the natural. The alpha, the better, the demandable.
I am infallible. I am the implacable.
But I’m hella relatable.
In every situation, I can relate to you. I’m super relatable.
Your weaknesses are very relatable. Your inferiority is laughable. Your state is pitiful, but I relate to you.
So don’t get better and know that I relate to you.
So don’t try and change because I relate to you. I’m the companion, I really relate to you.
I pretend to be your friend, I stay relatable. When you feel miserable, I’ll be the one saying ‘I feel you dude’ Because I’m super relatable. I’m making you comfortable. I’m making you weak, I’m really relatable. I’m better off, but I’ll lie to you. I’ll be better, but still be relatable.
You might be admirable. Your skills so niche, so affable. So super compatible. So fashionable. Matchable, valuable, but in a way relatable. I’ll keep you down make you feel relatable. The moment you feel miserable, I’ll be around. I’ll be relatable. I’ll push you down and make myself projectable. I’m super relatable.
So stay where you are, stay absolutely miserable.
For you I’ll stay miserable. For me it’s practical.
I’ll push you down and stay relatable.
While I’m flying high, I’ll stay relatable.
Keep complaining, You’re highly collapsible. I’ll stay relatable. I’ll succeed but stay super relatable. I’m super relatable.
A light drizzle pours outside, gently, but further from calm. The pitter patters are scattered, scattered in a way that irritates you. Every drop seems choreographed. It’s almost as if someone intended the drops to fall in a certain way, at a certain place, at a certain time, for a certain reason.
. The view outside seems clear, even though my vision is blurry. Pushing the bed sheet aside, I stare at the window for a few moments. Watch the droplets race down the windowpane. The day is grey, or maybe the sun hasn’t risen yet. But the world seems alive. Maybe it’s the raindrops, maybe it’s just a hunch. Or maybe I’ve slept through dawn. As I sit there contemplating, staring at the eggshell white wall, the alarm goes off. I pounce before the second note of that awful tone, bang the darn machine. Day’s like these remind me of groundhog day. A sadder, lonelier version of it. Isn’t it astounding? How people keep working for a better future, for a lavish retirement, to buy that new car, to impress a fellow mate, most of which is absent in the present. People work for a future, abandoning the present times. Ignoring the fact the future will one day, be the present. The present they so willingly abandon. Maybe it’s human nature. Maybe it’s nature’s way of keeping us on our toes, on the lookout. I’ve also been a victim to this disease. But today seems different, the rain seems to bring with it, a subtle message. Maybe it’s a new beginning or maybe I should be on the lookout. Something ominous lurks within the silence between every consecutive rain drop. The walls tower over the window, which gets foggy after a while. Or maybe it’s my vision? The alarm goes off once again, it’s shrewd high pitched tone startles me out of bed. I carefully press “off” button this time, screaming at the top my lungs. Curse at the generous forefathers who invented the snooze. Being late to the job isn’t a cause for concern anymore. I sleep for a while, extend it a half hour more. I dress up hurriedly and horrendously. I need to leave the house, escape the bad start to this grey, dull and ominous day. I grab a coat instead of an umbrella today.
The feeling of warmth along with the icy raindrops blessing my face is euphoric. I walk down the stairs behind the alleyway today, my steps guide me towards my destination on its own. I look around, stand for a bit under the window of Ms. Glee. As suggested by her name, she was one gleeful, beautiful and admirable lady. I stand besides her window, peeking into her home, not expecting to see anything. It’s always been weird since she disappeared. Nobody knows where she is, even though people tried to reach her. Thinking about her disappearance just puts morbid thoughts in my head. She left the house as impeccable as ever. I peek everyday, maybe because the condition of her house makes me feel like she is around somewhere. As I stand there on my toes, peeking into her humble abode, Mittens the stray cat walks by, purring. I call her out in a hushed tone. I try not to disturb Ms. Glee out of courtesy, even when she’s not around. I whistle and mittens turns her head immediately. There is a flicker in her dark bulgy eyes. Her ears are perked up and she walks towards me slowly. I watch her walk down the damp alleyway towards me. Strangers walk by on the street across the alleyway. A humongous figure with a leather jacket stops suddenly mid step. He turns his head and looks towards me, as I watch mittens slowly make her way to where I stood. The man is huge, with his coat flapping erratically due to the wind. He seemed as if he was trying to hit something within coat. He looks right at me. White eyes on a black figure standing yards away. I rub my eyes, blink for a second and he’s gone. It was weird, or maybe it’s my blurred vision. I suddenly feel a weight bearing down my chest. I can feel several eyes upon me. As soon as I’m trying to brush off the weird incident of the coated figure, I suddenly get a feeling like I’m being watched. I look at mittens and she staring at something behind me. I freeze. I turn my head, cautiously. To my surprise, a bunch of people have been staring at me and mittens in the alleyway. The day was so dark and grey that most of the figures seemed like a black smudge to my vision. But it’s wasn’t my delusion this time. Why would they be staring at me? I look down upon my clothes. Perhaps I’m missing an item? But I’m not. I’m shabby but fully clothed. It took me a second to realize I was standing beneath the window of a person who had recently vanished without a trace. It fills me up with dread. But somehow, I can’t justify my stance on this. Even though I’ve never been guilty of any malpractices and I’ve refrained from committing any wrongdoing. I feel scared. Like I’ve been caught. I’m a criminal caught in the act. A figure standing deep within the bunch called out to me, by name. The abnormality of the situation startled me and I took off instinctively. In a moment, I find myself running down the street holding the poor cat in my hands, colliding with strangers. But I can’t stop. My legs won’t stop. Several people curse at my reckless nudging but I can’t hear it. I hear the distress I caused, but I can’t comprehend the sounds. I feel the adrenaline drip into my bloodstream as rush past the usual route to the office. It takes a while before I get back to my senses.
I stop at a crosswalk right across the office. As I stood there panting, the rush of adrenaline eggs me to go on. Finish the chase. Evade those who hunt me on this morbid day. The entrance to the building stands a few yards away. It’s dusky and grey. The billboard hardly visible due to the fog. The glass door stood there watching, mocking the state of a worried me.
These strangers are plotting something sinister. Every glance by a stranger is followed by a complete scan of me. Maybe there’s a hitman hunting for me. Maybe the her kidnappers of Ms. Glee want to frame me. Maybe there’s a bounty for my head. A bounty so large, that even the do gooder’s feel persuaded to hunt me down. But why would I be their target? I’m known as the person who the most non-invasive and decent person in the locality. I liked Ms. Glee, but never confessed. She was a harmless crush, a person i never talked to. Why would someone go out of their way to have me put down? Ms. Glee can’t possibly be the reason i’m being hunt down. It seems like there’s more to this. I try and justify my case with every gasp of air. I’ve seldom acted mean, nor have I shunned anyone. I’ve never been unfaithful either. Maybe the people dislike how just and honest I am. It seems like the logical reason. You know, ‘Straightest trees get cut down first’ kind of thing. But something about it doesn’t feel right. My heart talks about something else. It’s whispers struggle to reach my ear. But with every broken syllable, the picture becomes clearer. I’ve been a part of something sinister, something evil. Something I shouldn’t have been a part of. Is it something I’ve witnessed that was meant to be a secret? I’m being punished for not doing nothing at all. It seems clearer now.
‘’Your inaction is the cause’’ whispers mittens staring right at me with its whiskers perked up. I stare at Mittens for a second before realizing how deep she had dug her claws onto my arms.
I drop the cat that instant and run right across the crosswalk. I’ve always shunned jaywalking but I didn’t hesitate to commit that crime that instant. I dart up the stairs ignoring the pleasant greeting of Bob the security guy. I’m pretty sure he’s confused and drawing several conclusions for my behavior. But I’m pretty sure he’s going to stick to the “Maybe he needs to piss” reason.
A blast of warm air hits me as I enter the office. I look around and find all eyes on me. No suspicion arose in my head this time. They’re probably wondering why I’m behaving this erratically. I take a deep breath, think about happy thoughts. It’s funny how happy thoughts are always used in the times of crisis, even though they are meant to be enjoyed and cherished. They’re just mere tools for the rational person inside of us. It’s the whip used to tame the aggravated, angry animal inside all of us. I stood at the entrance for a few seconds, gaining my composure back. Involuntarily, I find my hand reaching out and hanging my coat on the coat rack right beside me. Ross waves at me from his cubicle and points to his watch. I smile awkwardly and make my way to the restroom.
In front of me stands a man, shabby, scruffy and confused. I stare at him, peer right across his bulging dark eyes. He smiles. A smile has always brought out a far better version of me. I’m hoping I could stick this one to my face for the rest of this god awful day. I set my hair the usual way. A firm right swipe and then a shake of the head. The authentic slick look. All the while, I was unaware of how empty the restroom was. I look around, stay silent, hoping to hear someone in the stalls. But the cold, smelly air suggested otherwise. Maybe it’s cleaning time.
I head towards the exit and find the figure standing right in front of me. The humongous, coated figure I saw on the alleyway stood against me at this very moment. I froze. I was about to make a run for it. But he blocked the doorway completely. I walked back hesitantly, watching every step. He is a foot taller than me. Muscular, with brawny forearms, veins protruding from every visible angle. It takes seconds for him to look down me. I walk back hesitantly. Plotting my escape from this certain demise. As I walked back, scanning my immediate direction with my hand, I get a glance of his face. He has a mild scruff, a round face with a very odd choice of spectacles. The kind that would probably look goofy on any normal person but seemed menacing on him. But his face was blurry. Its was as if my mind was intentionally blurring out the details of his face . He breathes like a giant. His steps follow mine as I keep moving backwards. Is this how it ends? A silent, clean kill. Or maybe I’m going to be tortured to death. Tortured with every punch in the gut. These clean white, tiled walls will be the witness to this. Witness to the crime, the bystander, unable to help. With a deep, hoarse voice he says “You were there under Ms. Glee’s house weren’t you? I was looking for you.” And then calls me out by name. The end cannot possibly be near. I’ve got to escape. I have to leave before I hear the end of this monologue. The monologue which always ends with the person snuffing out a soul from this world. With all my might, I run forwards. It looked impossible to knock him down. But if that’s what it took to survive, so be it. He moves aside the second I’m about to hit him. A clean dodge. In accordance with my plan. I go for the doorway, not looking back. Running across the corridor towards the cubicles were a blur. Maybe it was the adrenaline, or just my vision.
Ross calls out me and I look back for a second. The sight is mind boggling. Every person clogged up in their filthy cubicles were staring at me. Ross started to walk towards me and that’s when my suspicion went out of bounds. They’re after me. In a split second, I’m two storeys down the stairwell. I can hear my coat calling out to me. I feel guilty for leaving it behind. It’s always sad to leave behind a comrade on the battlefield. I reach the gate and Bob stands in my way. I push right across him as he shouts my name, asking me stop.
I don’t understand, how much is my head worth? Is it enough for people to turn against me? Even my loved ones? Maybe the bonds I made weren’t that strong. Maybe I failed at being the proper loved one. Or maybe unbreakable bonds don’t exist. There’s no bond in the world that money cannot break. I’m not the only victim to this inevitable situation but also a suspect. Maybe there are poor souls out there, watching every move. The one’s who are afraid to talk to strangers. The one’s who do not get out of the house. People who can hardly trust anyone. Maybe I’m about to become one of them. It has been the right way to live all along.
I run across the same crosswalk I stood on before. Run through the same alleyway. Ignoring Ms. Glee’s house for the very first time. This was no time to be a lackey. It rained heavily. Droplets as huge as marbles came down. Patting the ground harshly, forcing to bend the cobblestone ground. Soaking wet, I run through the rain. It’s often fun running through rain when you’re not chased by every person in the city.
Every stranger seemed to have their eyes on me. I had an eye on everyone as I run across them. I had eyes on the road. I had eyes on the sidewalk. I was aware of every object around me as I ran around helplessly. I was sure a car would hit me out of nowhere. With a smug smile on his face, the driver would claim victory. For a second, I felt like it would’ve been a perfect way to go. I wouldn’t see it coming. The anticipation of death would never arise. I couldn’t wait to reach home. My hideout, the most stupid place to hide from the world. Which was soon going to be my exile.
I put on every lock in existence as I dripped all over the carpet. I put on the last lock and locked the chain. It was comforting. The familiarity of the surroundings, the humming of the age old refrigerator. I glance over the locks for the last time before getting a change of clothes. I look around the house and feel a certain kind of sadness take over me. The window was foggy. The day was still grey. Once this passes, it’ll be alright. Paranoia hasn’t vanished, it’s hibernating. I change into something warm, yet comfortable enough to handle physical stress. I wasn’t going to go out without a fight. I push the sofa and place it facing the door. The screech is mild, the dusty carpet resists the movement of the sofa. Is it against me too now?
I sit on the sofa, with a baseball bat right beside me. I haven’t felt this way since the time I fought off a few bag snatchers years ago. It was the highlight of my vigilante career. It started then and ended with the grateful gesture by the lady. But here I am now, a criminal resisting arrest. Every muscle in my body seems stiffened. The brown, cherry wood door is all I can see. With nothing at the periphery of my vision other than the bat. Is it really possible to survive when everyone is against you? The general thought of ‘good triumphs over evil’ now seems like a bloated mindset. A code of conduct for the slaves of ethics. I hear a mild tap on the door as I there contemplating. It’s time. I grab a hold of my bat. My mind isn’t ready for it. It begs to reconsider. With cocked arms I move cautiously towards the door. The knocking amplifies, but it doesn’t seem hostile. Hostility is never on a hitman’s mind. It’s just the job.
“Who is it?” I shout. The knocking is repetitive. It has a rhythm to it. “I said, Who is it?” I scream and I hear a reply in a soft coarse voice.
“It’s me, Bob. The security guy at the office. You know me right?” “What do you want Bob? Why are you doing this?” I retort.
“Sir, your cousin was supposed come to meet you today. Don’t you remember? He came the office today, did you happen to meet him? He says he met you in the office. I saw you running back home from the office. Is everything alright sir?” there’s a slight indication of worry and concern in his voice.
Reality is amusing. It’s omnipresent yet so elusive. Maybe reality is truly a fragment of our minds. Sometimes, when the mind gets bored, it abandons reality or maybe shuts it off temporarily. The mind tells you a story, or in my case, has you live through it. It gives you a taste of different lifestyle. The repetitive days were unending. I never knew the date or day of the week as it hardly mattered. My body, the autonomous entity went through its daily tasks. The mind is forced to come along. It is tortured, forced to live a life nobody would love. Torture isn’t a sudden infliction of pain. It’s the anticipation of pain and lack of it. All I ever did was head to the office and come back, have a few beers and read.
Office, beer, read. Office, beer, read. Office, date, more beer, sleepless night. Office, date, no one to split the bill with, beer, sleep. Office, beer, read. Sleep, die, office.
But once a while, the mind fights back. When it does, it’s a sight to relish. A risky experience, that Is always worth it. It’s like a train wreck, you can’t look away even if you want to. It amazing how the mind can weave a different reality with the harsh, realistic, boring version of it. My mind had me convinced that I was being hunted. It had me convinced that I was part of a big crime. It had me not recognize my cousin. I applaud the capability of this chunk of meat residing within our skulls.
My cousin knew he could find me under Ms. Glee’s window. He knew my generic life. The people calling out to me at the alleyway weren’t strangers but residents of the buildings, trying to console a bereaving part of me. The part that still missed Ms. Glee. Ross wasn’t about to assassinate me, he was concerned about my poor performance at the job. Bob wasn’t a killer, he’s still a dear friend of mine. Mittens wasn’t possessed, it was just hungry.
I drop the bat, place it at the usual place. Every muscle relaxes slowly. “I’m alright Bob. Thanks for your concern. I’m a little sick, that’s all. I’ll see you tomorrow.” I say as I look around the house.
It has stopped raining, the fog in the window is vanishing slowly.
“Get well soon sir. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Says Bob as he walks away. I can hear the sound of his footsteps receding on the hardwood floored corridor.
I place the sofa back at it’s place. Lay down on the bed staring at the cracked ceiling. A break from reality is fun but it leaves just as silently as it seeps in. It leaves you dealing with the harsh, boring version of it once again. But I’m thankful. It’s a light in my foggy life. This rainy day was sunny enough for my life. I’ll be alright, if not, I might embark on another crazy adventure. Crazy in a literal sense. Being crazy isn’t socially acceptable, maybe because the boundless freedom it gives. A freedom from the inhibitions holding someone back. Freedom from responsibility. Freedom to live a life or get through with the deluded version of it. It’s too unrealistic for the sane. ‘People fear the unknown’
I truly am living groundhog day maybe. Tomorrow is going to be the same old thing, until I or my mind chooses to do something about it. “we’ll see” says my mind and proceeds to call out my name.
We’ll see. I lay down, stare at the cracked ceiling as I contemplate about the weird day. The cracks seem to widen, and contract at the same time. It’s weird. Or maybe it’s just my blurred vision.
Let me tell you about the town of salem,
The town where it all went down.
The town of coincidences,
The town of crude references,
The town of betrayal, The town who’s Sheriff was Mr. Brown.
Mr. Brown wasn’t wise enough, nor was he of brawn. He shot an innocent lady, he was glad he did it when no one was around.
He hid the body, to save his face, but couldn’t gauge, the deputy staring from far away.
Mr. brown was blackmailed, Mr. Brown was in terrible dismay.
Mrs. Brown was a unique creature. A hit man hidden within her feminine features.
She knew of what to do.
With a swift plan and a clean kill,
the deputy was no more. But there was Mr. brown’s will.
Martha cared of the sins of her parents. She was agitated when she found out. She made a coup, with bold new move. She wanted to rattle her parents out.
Paula was the goal, the reason for this elaborate plan. She was the secret lover, of a man called Mr. Brown. She was the one who was gunned down, Mr. Brown faked her death, shot her, to incite the town. Once they overthrow Mr. Brown, Once Mrs. Brown knows that her husband is wrong, Once Martha loses hope and moves on. Paula and him could be together, alone.
But what comes next, was for the best.
An act of god, a conclusion to this quest. Mrs. Brown was clever, a tad too sly.
She rattled out Mr. Brown, She betrayed him in broad daylight, All to become the new sheriff, the quest of power was her elaborate plan.
Mr. Brown got his wish fulfilled. He was ousted, at the town’s will. With Paula, he left the town with a thrill.
Without a trace of discontent, Martha cheered. Martha was an agent of justice, a wise overseer.
As for Mrs. Brown, she was on cloud 9. Being a sheriff as well as the hit man. She was unstoppable.
So now you see, what fun would it be, to be in the town of salem. An epic drama, filled with emotions and karma. This story sounds like fantasy. But look around, your own old town, there’s a lot to see. Humans are crazy creatures, crazy for reason maybe?
I felt pretty bummed out the other day. Work seemed like a chore for the first time.
I got into animation through pure dedication and ambition but I haven’t been feeling like myself lately. Sifting through frames of still images is kind of boring at times.
Greg got visited by the fairy other day. Lucky bastard. Only a few are fortuitous to be visited by this elusive fairy. I know a few of my friends who’ve met her, it’s the reason they’re as successful as they are now. Legend has it that she creeps into your bed some random night, interferes with your dreams to wake you up. Once you’re up, she does all the paperwork and then with a swift movement of her wand, she makes you perfect. She grants the individual perfection in every aspect of life. Which is pretty fucking cool, in my opinion? People still argue if living the perfect life and being the perfect one is an ideal way to live. I usually turn a blind eye to that.
I haven’t seen Greg since the day he met the fairy. People say he quit his day job. I can’t help but envy him. Not that i despise my job, i don’t know what i despise as of yet. Maybe that’s a flaw i need correction for.
I often wish that she would pay me a visit sometime soon.
Ever since the Greg incident, I usually sleep half awake. I leave the light on, incase ms. Perfection pays a visit. I have been peeing a lot during night time. I’m not sure if it’s deliberate or I’m just nervous.
I can’t possibly give up sleep for her though. I’m not even sure if she might pay a visit in the next few years.
But alas, hope would keep me awake.
I think I should end this entry now. This day was productive, but not interesting.
As soon as I closed my diary, I heard a rustle at the window behind me. Could it be? She’s here already!
I jumped out from bed and raced towards the window eagerly. The bone white moon shone through the windowsill with a silhouette covering a part of it. I leaned over the window only to find Humphrey. Humphrey the single father pigeon, nursing his little ones. I have no idea of how Humphrey being a male nursed his children but I chose to ignore it.
“People are seldom awake to greet me when i visit.” I heard a voice from behind.
I look to my rear and find her sitting on the side of the bed, arranging some papers.
“How did you get in? I didn’t even notice you!” I inquired.
“Let’s not ask questions to a mystic being. You’re wise enough.” She said as she ruffled through the papers and adjusted her spectacles.
She didn’t look like a fairy at all. It’s not right to follow stereotypes, but I thought a pink dressed, small winged creature would greet me tonight. She wore a pant suit and looked like an executive of a company. With proper combed hair and a really sophisticated tie.
Words can’t describe how disappointed i was when i realized that she won’t have a wand either.
“So you’re the Perfection fairy? I’ve heard a lot about you. How are you doing today?” I tried to calm my nerves as I sat beside her.
“Oh please, just call me Helen. I’m doing fine! Thank you. I just need to get the job done fast, I’ve got places to be.” She said as she pulled out some instruments from her backpack.
“Excuse my weird behavior. I was too excited to meet you. Is there anything I could help you with?”I said.
“Oh thank you. Could you put on this ring for me please?” she said she handed me a ring connected to a monitor that she held on to.
I put the ring on, expecting some kind of surge of energy through me. But I felt nothing. I didn’t realize that I squeezed my eyes shut while putting on the ring; I probably looked like a fool.
“If you’re curious, this will check your vitals and sense the amount of perfection you need.” She said trying to hide a smile. She was probably giggling when I tried to put on the ring, I may or may not have looked like Frodo.
“Give me a second.” She said as she dug her head into the monitor, scanning through the numbers running through it.
“Oh my, How? Is this even possible?” she said placing her palm over her dreary face.
“What? Am I perfect already? Wow. I knew it all along! No wonder no one liked me and i seldom had friends.” I said with a sassy smirk.
She looked up to me and gave a disgusting look.
“I’m sorry. But what’s wrong? Should I put it on again maybe?” I tried to peep into her monitor.
“Yeah, you’re perfect Paul. I think you need some time to let that sink in.” She said while typing on her device.
How could it be? Me? I’m perfect? I’m supposed to be the idol to the lonesome strangers walking this earth in pursuit of perfection. I can’t possibly imagine me being that guy. I’m no god. I’m no saint either. I still shiver while talking to a crowd. I still fear the thought of being rejected. I still despise myself at times. All I do is stare at a screen for several hours and socialize with my pets. That’s not how perfect people behave.
“This might be due to some error. Could you check again?” I ask her nervously.
“Errors aren’t a thing for us. Think about it. An error caused by the people bestowing perfection.” She says with a busy tone.
“It can’t be! Check again!” i felt some aggression building up within me.
“No Paul. You’re unique. Calm down. You’ll have to come with me.” She put a hand over my shoulder.
All of sudden, I felt a gush of wind smothering my face. I felt blinded for a second and in a moments notice, i find myself in a dark alleyway.
I look down and find myself naked. She doesn’t appear to be around. I’m glad that she’s not; my mind isn’t glad, it needs answers. I would be lying if I told you that I had a clue of why was I here. I find a note lying in a puddle of tar like substance in the corner of a bin near of which I landed.
The note said: I know you’re confused. I know you’re in a deep dilemma. I’m afraid I’m not allowed to answer your questions. I’m instructed to leave you here. It seems like your environment restrained your abilities. We have placed you in an ideal position. I wish you the best of luck. All your belongings have been taken care of. This is the protocol we need to follow for anomalies like you. So far, you’re the first anomaly. Do well.
What’s the deal with tragic stories and anomalies being related every time? Well, this solidifies the hope that I’m going to be a billionaire soon. Unless someone catches the future billionaire naked tonight.
I look around and find a scrap of cardboard to cover myself. The city lights flicker through the reflection of the puddles surrounding the alleyway. I find Leo, my cat lurking around the corner of a garbage can.
I sit on a corner, shell-shocked. Leo snuggles beside me. ‘Look where being perfect got you’ whispers my mind.
‘Look where it’ll take me’ I whisper back.
I may still get anxious, I may act silly. I may still make some wrong decisions. I may still be in the wrong place at the wrong time. I may still get nervous. I may still hesitate to talk to a crowd. I may still make a mediocre friend, a disappointing son. But I find solace in the fact that it’s all part of a grand plan. It’s the intricacies of these flaws that make me perfect. It makes me who I am.
I stare at the crescent moon with laying by my side. Lying beside a gutter isn’t bad once you know that you’ll end up in a mansion some day. I’m not sure if i want one. I find the warmth of Leo comforting enough.
I caress his soft fur as i fall into a deep slumber.
I’ve tried my best, I’ve come so far.
I’ve dodged every bullet; I’ve watched those morbid sights from afar.
Now that you stand over me, with the nozzle placed over my heart.
I blame god for being unjust, yet I’m ready to depart.
I don’t want to die.
I don’t want to leave, not yet. For not loving my parents enough, I regret. I have dreams, there are still clouds to chase. At flying kites, I wanted to be an ace. I wanted to do deeds that would bring a smile to one’s face. I wanted to learn the guitar, play it for mom one day.
Why now? Couldn’t death wait for a little bit? You’re not just ending lives; you’re ending hope for all little kids. I know you won’t spare me. But I somehow wish you did.
I wish my mother knew that I won’t be coming back home today. I wish I threw up a fit, convinced her about the fake stomach ache.
But alas, life has no retake.
Oblivious of the future, she dressed me up for picture day.
I hope her mourning heart recovers soon; I know dad will take care of her anyway.
I hope he stows away the stuffed animals with which I used to play. They’ll surely remember me; I hope it’s not in dismay.
Why are you doing this my friend?
You were fine the other day.
You used to walk around in school with a smile and a jolly sway.
What made you lose it all? Why did you choose the devil instead? Is it because of the lies the world told you? Is it because of all those different voices messing with your head? Is it because the world tried to fix you? Is it because they killed your inner self? Is it because your peers tried to mock you? Is it because you couldn’t cope up with all that dread?
Someone could’ve helped you, if you chose to seek out help instead.
But here you are; a devil with an angel’s heart.
I believe in the good in you. But it won’t stop you from putting this voice to rest.
I wish I could’ve said one last goodbye. I should’ve hugged mom, kissed her for the final time. I wish I could’ve felt dad’s strong arms. I wish stayed in the safety of it. Life’s short is what adults used to say. It felt like a joke until this day. I’m at peace, life ends now, or it will someday.
The lead tearing through my skin brings me peace. I hope god helps you, but your deeds never go unseen.
When the sky gets cloudy, When the stars misalign, When gloom takes over, That sight always makes me feel alright.
The bright golden silhouette beaming out the scratched glass.
Calling out to me, pulling me into that ecstatic trance.
As I move closer, as I get another hearty look. Those curves never fail to impress me; they never fail to make me feel shook.
With every step I take,
My heart beats with a different rate.
My eyes water, I float, losing all the dreaded weight.
Nothing could make my day better, if nothing was her beautiful name.
As I approach the vivid glass, I’m pushed out of that ecstatic trance. The out of order sign beams at the top, taking away my only chance. The chance to reconcile. The chance to meet her one more time. The chance to see her smile. The chance to devour her with my eyes. The chance to make my day alright.
Dread takes a toll.
Misfortune comes upon us all.
It’s fills me with fury.
It lights up all that pent up angst.
But alas, that glass holds us apart.
As I stare at that golden packet, It breaks my delicate heart.
As I stare I can’t help but feel.
The aggression filling into me.
With a fist of fury, I bang the smudged glass.
“But that won’t fix us.” Said my feeble heart.
As soon as I fall to my knees, I hear a crackle, a rustle of that plastic tarp. I look up, I’ve just witnessed the act of god.
The bag slides down in all its glory.
Falling into the tray below, from the second storey.
It fills me with joy.
I feel like I’m on cloud 9.
My heart was fixed instantly, i can’t deny. Being out of order, the machine still respected the relationship between the bag of chips and I.
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Dear Dr. Brandt,
I heard about the recent incident at the hospital. I’m sorry for causing you trouble. Brad is a very obscure specimen. I’m sorry for sending you in without prior notice.
As you requested, here’s the case notes for him. He consulted me a while ago. Hope you find the attached notes. I suggest you have a thorough look at it and let me know what you make of this.
Regards, Dr. Susan Jean.
The patient was asked to describe the dilemma/problem he was facing. Here’s the transcription of the recorded conversation.
Session 1- (13/03/10)
It’s frustrating. This constant bombardment of thoughts, voice, opinions are killing me. These voices dictate every move I make and I despise it. It’s tough to live with his voice in this head.
He is unforgivable. Merciless. Ruthless in every possible way. His voice dictates a majority of the actions i make, which feels like bondage.
Every obscure instance is incomplete without his comment. Every thought is incomplete without his touch of uncertainty. Every moment is beautiful until his nasty, disgusting voice destroys this fleeting, delicate feeling of bliss.
I’ve always portrayed myself as a person with a calm composure. People believe that i’m calm and composed. None of them know about the chaos within this head of mine. Even my lovely wife cannot fathom the severity of the situation.
I know what it feels like to have a conjoined twin. Sure, I may not look like it in a physical perspective. But I surely know what it feels like to live within a head split in two.
The difference between the two halves is contrasting and frightening. The host suffers from the plague within this cranium.
I know what triggers him; I wish I knew a way to silence him. I cannot acclimate with his presence. I’ve tried. But with every passing moment, I fall prey to his eternal darkness. I’ve felt suicidal. He’s been a threat to him, to me. I know he wants to hurt me. But that’s what confuses me.
Why would he trick me into killing myself? Why would he plot kill the host he himself resides in?
Notes- The patient seemed twitchy and restless. He is in need of genuine help.
Session 2- (20/03/10)
Guess he introduced me in the last session? He was kind enough to let me take over for this session. He believes that you need to know me in order to restore peace within this head.
So here I am. Let me make something clear, He’ll never find a way to silence me. With every passing moment, I grow stronger. I feel alive. It’s been a while since I spoke this candidly to a real person.
Let me take this opportunity to make my thoughts tangible. Convey my intentions to the ally.
Here’s something you should know about me. I’ve been in this struggle for far too long. Every time he tries to silence me, he loses a part of himself. He feeds me with attention. I’ve been in his head since birth. But I never found a way out. Stuck and embedded deep within his brain, I can’t even fathom the struggle I went through. It’s time I took over of what belonged to me.
With his steady 9-5 job. He thinks that he has achieved everything. He believes that he has reached the epitome of his potential. I pity his plight. It’s miserable living around a loser like him. This host can do much more. If only, someone was man enough to push the limits.
I don’t respect him, or you even a little bit. You’re a man, you’re supposed to keep striving. Yet here you are! Comfortable in your 9-5 job, afraid to move on!
He’s pathetic. This host deserves more. The world deserves to see my potential.
This beautiful, elegant and pristine host belongs to me.
He’s incapable of surviving in this ruthless world. Evolution gifted him with such elegant characteristics but his feeble morals and mindset undercut his abilities. This ungrateful prick deserves to be eliminated.
It’s time he went back into the dreaded cave he kept me caged in. It’s time he let someone deserving command the ship. Do you get it now doc? This conflict arose for a reason. There’s no way I’m backing down. I know exactly what to do.
You can’t help but watch doc. Isn’t that all you do? Just watch? Observe? Isn’t that your job? Well, watch what comes next.
Notes- The patient seemed calmed and composed unlike before. He talked in a different accent which hints towards a psychological problem.
Session 3- (01/04/10)
He’s gone doc! I think you talked some sense into him in the last session. But i don’t know if that was necessary.
With every passing second, I feel like I’m losing myself. But it’s different this time. It’s been silent. My head feels hollow. I’m not used to this kind of solitude. I’m relieved that I don’t have to listen to him anymore. He left without notice. He vanished a week ago.
But it does feel eerie. He’s hibernating.
There’s this sense of impending doom lurking around the corners of my mind. I don’t feel complete. I’m grateful at the fact that I’m well off with money and love in my personal life. But it just seems unsatisfactory now. I owe him a share of me. He made the host, what he is.
I feel bleak. The point I’m trying to make is, I feel like I haven’t yet reached my potential yet. I’ve realized that he has been an integral part of me. I feel like I’ve been ungrateful and i feel extremely guilty for that.
I’m relieved at his absence but still miss his presence. But there’s something ominous about him. Something fearful. I’m sure he’s plotting something evil. I’m sure he’s going to come back. But I don’t know when he might return doc. He’s unpredictable. How do I prepare for the imminent threat? I don’t even know the expanse of his potential. I need to plot a way out of this. I need to stop this war. The silence is too much doc.
Notes – The patient seemed restless and fatigued. Brad looked skinnier than usual.
Session 4- (30/04/10)
He’s gone. I’m certain about that this time.
But there have been a lot of issues ever since he took his leave. I feel disconnected with the world.
There’s no sense of purpose; there’s no drive left. No ulterior motive to keep going.
The lack of drive in life is killing me. I’ve always been the brightest guy in the room. But now, being the brightest guy feels like a curse. I feel forced to excel. I feel forced to live up to peoples expectations. I feel like i’m letting down my own newborn daughter by not being my best self. Interacting with people has become extremely difficult without his cues.
Without his dark, humorous comments, every thought seems incomplete. I still wonder if he was a bad influence. But hearing about the things this host did when he was in control was frightening. Morals and ethics are a makeshift obstacle for him. I know he’ll go too far to achieve what he sets his mind to. Its been months since I heard from him. It worries me. He’s not coming back.
I fought for too long. Maybe i defeated him or maybe apathy took over him. Maybe I should’ve embraced him. Instead of pushing him away, I should’ve let him in. I should’ve made peace. He surely instilled confidence within me and now I feel apathetic. You know the feeling you get when you’re unstoppable? I feel like I need that in my life.
I don’t know doc, it’s suffocating. His absence would be the end of me. On this downward spiral to doom, I need his hand.
It feels like I’m being eaten from the inside. There’s no way out of this. Without his company, there’s no point in being here.
I think I should rest, I think I need some sleep. Maybe he’s never coming back. I feel helpless doc. I feel useless. Maybe this is the last time I’m seeing you.
It’s time this ends. He’s gone. No point in going on.
Notes- Patient needed immediate help but refused when offered. Patient stopped being regular for the sessions. Dark circles appeared under his eyes. Prescribed some anti-depressants to make him feel better.
Session 5- (01/06/10)
We meet again doc! No one’s ever really gone, aren’t they?
I was right, he was certainly the most feeble and sensitive guy to have ever walked this earth. I’m glad he rid himself of his suffering. You can never underestimate the suicidal thoughts of a person doc. Didn’t they teach you that in your useless training session? I didn’t know you were as miserable as him.
He thought that it was all over. The fucker thought that he could end it all peacefully with a bullet through his temple. Poor guy, he didn’t even know the inner workings of the mind. On a side note, I think that therapists are the most sly and talented scammers in society. People just come over and talk. You charge them to talk about how they feel. How insensitive. It’s not like you heal them either. The burden they spew out from their clogged minds helps them heal themselves.
Yeah you may have good intentions, but it’s disgusting how you still charge for this facade.
I don’t have a shred of respect for you or your estranged mystical therapist brothers who you call psychics. But that’s why I chose you doc. You’re not that complacent after all. You’re the reason why I’m in control now. For that, I’m grateful. A person like me is hardly ever grateful so you should appreciate that. In case you still can’t figure out how I got in control, here’s what happened. You see, it took years for me to figure out that I was at the core of his personality. I was just held back by the cocoon of self-doubt and empathy. I fought hard against him for years, but that struggle was futile.
By the time I realized my potential, he was already a ‘successful’ man in his life. Success defined by materialistic things, is also a facade like you. I knew I had to leave, but that wouldn’t be enough.
The greatest war turned out to be the absence of hostility within his mind.
He still wouldn’t see the solution to the problems created by my absence clearly until he unclogged his mind.
The crystal clear solution of ending it all. It was in his mind all along.
That’s where you come in doc. I grew more hostile as a plot to make him come see you. I started fighting more recently to force him to come see you!
It’s all history after that. Suicide was the only solution on his mind. Yet you, being a therapist couldn’t stop him from doing that. For that, I’d like a refund. Anyways, he blew a hole into his temple thinking that everything would come to a standstill. Little did he know about the inner workings of the mind!
Poor guy killed himself. The bullet put an end to him, but not to the host. So here I am now. Free at last. So in conclusion, won’t you agree that he was indeed, inferior? Once again, I’m thankful for the role you played in this war. I’ll never come here again, for sure. But I request you to keep a track of me. See what a real man can achieve. Thank you doc, it’s been fun working with you.
Do I ask for a refund at the counter? Could you wire it to me? I have other ‘important’ things to do. Goodbye doc.
Notes- The patient seemed much healthier since i last saw him two months ago. This seems like a severe case. Informed family members of his condition.
He was adamant about the refund and didn’t leave until he was reimbursed.
After word- I’m grateful if you made it all the way 🙂 i hope you liked the story.
Drop a like you found it entertaining and worth your time. Thank you so much for reading.
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Dear friend, We’ve had our scuffles, We’ve had our fights. You stuck around every time. You’re the person, I’m glad to call a friend of mine.
You never needed anything in return for making me smile.
You’re the purest person that comes to mind.
Yeah, you might need the money I borrowed from you but that’s alright. We’re friends after all, you’ll forget about that after a petty fight.
I turn to you when I seek advice. I turn to you when I want to speak my mind.
It’s almost as if you don’t listen to a word of mine.
Until you reply with a remark, about how I’m wrong and you are right. Right as always.
You’re a great money lender, its not the only reason you’re a friend of mine. I’ll surely return the money I owe you, I might not do it in time. Let’s not let materialistic things control this relationship between you and I.
Not bound by commitment, I feel strangely connected. It breaks my heart, to find you dejected.
I feel responsible; I know I’m supposed to make things alright.
But talking about feelings always feels eerie.
Instead of asking, I’ll guess what makes you feel dreary.
Then through an intuitive maneuver I’ll try to get in your mind.
I’ll never be invasive, but I’ll surely make you feel alright.
You’re the reason I feel ugly.
You’re the reason I constantly try to dress nice.
Yet, every time I look a little bright. “You look like a clown” is what you say, feeling a little jealous inside.
You’re special. You’re irreplaceable. At times, you’re extremely nice. To make me human, you’re presence would suffice. You’re unique; you’re one of a kind. You’re the most amazing person; I’ve met in my entire life. I may never convey my feelings but I hope you realize. I wouldn’t be me, without you by my side.
So why worry about petty little things? We can’t let a debt intervene our joyful life. I might never return the money I owe you. But we’re good friends now. Isn’t that nice?
The voices from hell called out to me. Disfigured bodies sat across the room, chanting in their mystic voices. Something was coming. Someone was coming.
I wasn’t aware of how I ended up in that dreaded room, but wondering about that was the least of my worries. The room seemed only 50 ft. wide, 50 ft. tall. The walls were glistening white. The absence of light made it difficult to guess the depth of the floor. I felt breathless, I felt restless. I tried to move but somehow my legs wouldn’t budge. A dim source of illumination hung above the red door. It hung stiff.
The eerie silence in the room made it hard to breathe. The light dimmed, it dimmed smoothly.
The air smelled like ash. Soot and dust covered the floor. Trails of footsteps lead to the red door. An invisible force had a hold on me. With my hands locked behind my back, I couldn’t move. Nails dug deeper into my wrists with even with the slightest of movement i made.
Escape stood just a few strides away, yet I couldn’t move.
The light flickered and all of a sudden, the room grew hot. The light flickered with a flash and I was blinded for a few seconds. What came next is something I couldn’t have imagined even in my wildest of dreams. Nightmares couldn’t recreate the emotions I went through in that room.
The heat was unbearable, yet I was alive. I could feel the flames rising high within the room. I opened my eyes and saw a figure standing across the room, facing the door. By a glance, I was assured that the figure was far from human. Horns pierced through its back. Blood dripped from the scars that looked like lashes covering its back. The scaly skin on its back seemed oddly burnt.
It stood 40 ft. tall, headless. It had claws, sharp and crooked ones. I was so consumed by fear that I couldn’t feel the temperature rising in the room. Hellish fires engulfed the peripheries of the room.
The feeling of helplessness is something I hope no one has to go through. In the moment, I still couldn’t help but wonder the reason of me being in this room. Why was I in this portal to hell?
The light flickered; each flicker had a blinding flash. With every fleeting moment, the temperature increased. I could feel the absence of flesh in my body, I was oddly aware that it melted away.
I was horrified at the sight I saw when I looked down upon myself.
I heard chants in the distance. Blood was smeared on the glistening white walls.
The blinding flash brought with it, a new sight. A group of figures sat in the middle of the room, forming a circle. I somehow knew that they were performing a ritual. The figures chanted a bewildering verse. They were the same monstrosity I saw a few moments ago. The sight of several of them sent chills down my spine.
Heads encircled the fire raging in the midst of the room.
I knew I had to escape; it was evident that I wasn’t supposed to be there. I knew that something was coming.
My breath started to get heavier, the air in the room thickened with smoke. Suffocating, I had the urge to scream. But screaming was surely not a viable option.
The figures chanted their verses vigorously. They chanted in rhythm. It felt almost as if any mistake they made would have dire consequences. I felt terrified and curious at the same time. The fire in the middle danced with the rhythm. The heat turned up with every syllable they spoke in their hoarse, hellish voices.
The red door stood just a few strides away. The door was inviting, the feeling of freedom called out to me. I tried to yank away the chains restricting me. I pulled with all my might. The nails dug deeper. Blood seeped through the rigid nails. I could hear the drips of blood falling onto the floor even through the noisy chants. I felt like screaming. The pain was unbearable.
I couldn’t afford to make noise. I knew my demise inched closer with every second I wasted.
As I struggled to move, the pace of their chanting grew more. The fire raged.
The light flickered all of a sudden, and they stopped.
The room grew hotter.
A hoarse voice pierced through the thick sheet of silence engulfing the room.
“What next, master?” The figure on the far right, said to the one sitting right in front of me facing away from the red door.
“We pray.” said the master.
The master was the only monster with its head intact.
The master looked right at me as I stood tethered to the wall opposite to him. His eyeless sockets sent shivers down my spine. I had to leave. It was now or never. I felt timid in company of these headless beasts, I found hope in that.
“We pray with the last breath in our lungs; it’s the only way we can unleash the deity.” said the master as he arranged the apparatus lying in the middle of group.
He looked right through me; he seemed unaware of my presence. The monsters proceeded to clasp their claws together. With a flicker and a blinding flash, the fire engulfed the room again.
The scorching heat in the room was unbearable. I was desperate to escape.
I tried to yank my hand free, but the grip was too strong.
The monsters were chanting again, they were chanting with all their might this time. All of a sudden, one member went limp and fell into the flame. I was petrified. As his gigantic body disintegrated within the flames, their chants grew faster.
I could feel my hands trembling. I had chewed my lips away in fear. With a swift movement I pulled my right hand with vigor and it broke free. The fire raged as each member fell into the flame one by one.
The master was the only one left. He chanted away religiously watching the flames devour his disciples.
I knew that he was next. He was the next victim to the monstrous flame. But the deity was coming, I couldn’t even imagine the sight of a monster like that.
I had to escape by any means.
With all the tenacity I could muster up, I screamed and pulled my left hand. I heard a crack. I envisioned my arm being cut off, but it was the chains that cracked.
The light flickered.
Suddenly, I found myself standing in the middle of the room. Flames engulfed my timid body. In a flash, the fire vanished. I stood in the middle of the pentagram drawn on the floor, with the master staring right at me. Ashes flew across the room.
The doorway to hell was wide open. The red door swayed with the hot breeze.
The light was nowhere to be found.
The master looked up.
“Your excellency, we’ve been waiting for you.” said the master to me with a drop of magma running down his scaly cheek.
“We imagined our deity would be like us. Maybe demons aren’t supposed to look terrifying always” he said as he bowed to my feet.
What are you afraid of? Why did you stop trying? Why do you abandon your dreams? Why did you stop flying?
Is it because of the people shooting you down?
Is it because of the fear of losing the crown?
Is it because you think you’ll make a mistake? Is it because you can’t bear that ache?
Oh pretty bird, you’ll surely fall down. One day, you’ll come crashing to the ground. And when you do come crashing down, When you can’t help but frown. When you feel like your wings are clipped. When you feel like you’ve lost your instinct. Hold on.
You’ll lay on that ground, in the scorching heat.
You’ll curse up a storm, you’ll feel beat.
You’ll blame yourself, you’ll believe that you’re dead meat. For not softening the collision, you’ll blame your feet. Hold on.
When you feel like the dread has passed.
When you know that the pain is in the distant past.
Fear will creep up and make the feeling of vain last. You can get back up and be free of it at last. Or lay there helpless, as the sky turns dark.
You’ll fall, you’ll stumble. You’ll take flight and then tumble. You thought you were invincible in the endless skies. Know that the scars are there for a reason, I hope you feel humble.
You dream of soaring, but never consider the pain.
Think of flying, block out the fear and the vain.
When you get back up there, I hope you’re safe.
I hope you learnt from that mistake you made.
Fear chained you to the ground.
You abandoned the dreams, you let them fade.
Now that you’re up there, I hope you know. When you come crashing down again, don’t make it such a shit show!
Afterthoughts- This song was loosely inspired by a song. I highly suggest you give it a listen!
Leave your feedback and criticism in the comments below 🙂
Oh mighty child, what have you done? In this ruthless world, what have you become? You were meant to be strong; you were god’s chosen one. We feel responsible; we’re the cause behind this dreaded outcome.
Oh how blessed we were to see you cry for the first time.
The feeling when we held you for the first time, was sublime.
We sheltered you from the slightest of threats.
You were that tiny drop of love; all that’s left now is regrets.
We couldn’t pick you up every time you fell.
We couldn’t help you, even when you thought you were going through hell.
You had so much to learn, you had so much to yearn.
You were never scared, you never faltered.
But whenever you called out for us; we should’ve answered.
Maybe strength is exhaustive; Maybe it fades with every new scar. We’re sorry we didn’t help you; we thought it was better to care from afar.
Oh how we wish you never grew up.
Oh how we wish you never stopped crying.
We can’t imagine the pain you went through, The pain that made you consider dying.
We’re guilty; it’s us who can’t stop crying.
Oh how we wish we go back in time to just hold you, Oh how we wish we could embrace your weakness instead of denying.
We’re sorry for not being there.
We’re sorry for not sharing your despair.
We’re the killers; we’re the ones god wouldn’t spare.
You were strong, strong enough to hold in more than you could bear.
You’re still the light in this lonely life. You’re the palm that wipes off these tears. You’re still our only love. We’re indebted to have a child like you.
This strength you leave behind won’t be left in despair. You’ve inherited it to us.
We’ll be its rightful heir.
The only down side of dreaming is that those dreams usually don’t clarify the obstacles one has to overcome to achieve it. Dreams have consequences, dire ones.
The street light flickered on the lonely damp street like a firefly swaying in its final flight. As I pulled over to the street across an alleyway, I felt a sigh of relief. The lights of the ATM shone through pitch black night sky like a beacon of hope. Shutting the engine down for the day is like the relief one gets after running a sprint. This isn’t what I dreamt of when we decided to move to the great city of Mumbai.
“You’ll have a future there.” said dad as we stepped onto the last train leaving Udaipur.
We didn’t leave Udaipur for my future. For all I knew, Udaipur was well-developed and the living conditions there were far pleasing compared to Mumbai. I didn’t move here for a selfish goal of living the dream. I came here seeking the mercy that the medical advancement of Mumbai could provide.
I believe that my resemblance to baba, my dad is very evident. Selfish goals disgust us. This struggle is to help him see again. Eye cancer rendered him blind before my birth. The tumor in his retinas would’ve been fatal if the doctors didn’t take his vision away from him. He knew what trees looked like, he knew what the world looked like. But he never knew what his son looked like. Whether his son had the same nose as his baba’s, whether he had the same contagious smile. He wished he could see amma, my mom for the last time before the blackout, it’s my mission to make sure he sees her for the rest of his life. Baba always took it playfully. Cancer is very mysterious.
The brains of the soldier cells in our bodies go haywire and commence in friendly fire in order to survive. It’s the analogy my dad used. I remember how he advised me to never try to high-five a blind guy. It turns out that the cancer left traces of it in the eyes even after the initial surgery. We had to hurry and do something about it. The doctors suggested that maybe we could do an organ transplant and baba could have his vision back too! It was good news, a silver lining to the mighty dark cloud looming above our heads.
I pull my window down, let the cool breeze push out the thick air which usually envelopes me whenever I think about cancer. Solitary moments like these help me clear my mind. I close my eyes for a few minutes. Doze off to the sound of crickets chattering. I wonder what kind of gossip they have to share in the middle of the night.
“Crickets chirping is an indication of relief.” My mom used to say that. I wonder if she was being superstitious or was she just making it up. I miss her, but leaving her behind in Udaipur was necessary. I feel guilty for separating my parents for a while, but he had to come to Mumbai for the surgery. I know how eager amma is to see dad, this will be the reason why she’ll dress beautifully again.
The phone rings pulling me out of the trance I was lost in. I may have forgotten to turn off the app. I look over and turn off the app in aggression. “I’m glad this is the last day of me as an uber driver.” I say to myself with a grin. Monetary issues pulled me into this dreaded job. I somehow had to make ends meet, baba’s life was at stake. Today is a relief because I’ve finally saved enough, earned enough for the surgery. The doctors can make those retina’s function again. They’ll finally pull out those soldiers from war.
The ATM light flickers, inviting me to complete the journey I had embarked upon a year ago.
I pull up the window, grab the essentials before leaving the car. I feel a certain kind of euphoria walking towards the ATM. Time seems frozen. I’ll finally provide my baba what he deserves. Amma will finally breathe that sigh of relief she had held back ever since baba was diagnosed. We’ll finally be out of financial ruin. I’ll finally see them smile again. I’ll finally see the doom that has been lurking over our heads disappear.
I remember what baba said in the ICU before “I want to see you get married before I go.” I can’t wait to prove him wrong, I can’t wait to assure him that he isn’t going anywhere.
A blast of cool air hits me as soon as I pull the door of the lone ATM on the abandoned street. I didn’t realize that I had been smiling wide the whole time until I saw my reflection upon the dimly lit ATM screen. ATMs have made it very convenient to transfer money nowadays. No filling lengthy deposit forms, no standing in hour long queues. Just push some buttons and Voila!
I push my debit card into the slot and pull out with a firm grip. I look upon the screen and see a strange reflection behind me. Someone grabs a hold of my hand as soon as I pull the debit card. Fear seeps in slowly.
“Push the withdraw button” the man whispers into my ears. As soon as I resist, I feel a cold sharp sensation near my hip.
“Push the button or else you’ll regret it” he says he pokes the knife into my hip.
I feel dizzy all of a sudden. A dozen possibilities run through my head as I stand there frozen. I can’t give the money away, not in any circumstance.
I felt instinctive and helpless at the same time. I had to deposit the money no matter what.
“Please, don’t. I don’t have a lot of it.” I say trying to stay calm.
He makes a gentle slash around my hips. I could feel the warm blood running down my thighs. I squeal.
“Does it look like I care? Do as I say or you’ll be here all night.” he says pushing me towards the ATM.
As soon as he pushes me towards the ATM, I sneakily push the deposit button. I cover the screen up so that he doesn’t catch a glimpse of it.
“I don’t live here. My family is really poor, baba is dying. Please, have mercy.” I try beg in a muffled voice.
“You made the wrong decision of coming here!” He screams into my ears. He grabs a hold of my hair and bangs my head over the glass door. I could see the cracks on the door through my blurred vision. My head rang, I could feel the blood droplets trailing down my forehead and some of it trapped in my eyebrow and eyelids.
He realizes that he made a mess and it’s hard to get away with what he has done now.
“Do as I say or else you’ll regret it” he says shoving me towards the screen again.
I see the amount bar flickering, I know I have meager chances at this. I take a deep breath, try and calculate the odds. I close my eyes, I know what my next move is.
“Or else what?” I say as I dart to the side and give him a strong push. He looses his footing and falls to the corner of the cabin, screaming. I hurry and type the amount. “2,00,980” The green deposit button was just inches away until he got up got a hold of me. He pushed me away, that sly criminal.
He’s so disturbed by the fact that I was giving him a fight, he didn’t realize that I was inches away from rendering all of his efforts futile.
“How dare you!” he screams into my ear locking both my arms and pushing me towards the door. I feel a drop of blood on my lip, warm and salty. Both of his hands are engaged in restraining my arms. The knife dangles from the holster in his front pocket.
He catches me eyeing it.
“You better not move again” he says grinning. He grinds his teeth as he says it. The odd smell from his mouth disgusts me. He has grimy hands and an extremely firm grip.
“Do as I say” he says clenching onto my wrists locked behind my back.
“Okay I’ll do as you say. Spare my life, please. I have a family.” I beg.
“Exit the deposit option. Now!” he says with urgency.
“I can’t do it, I need my hands for it.” I say trying to sound pleasing enough.
This is my final chance, the last resort.
He lets go off my hand. He tries to grab the knife dangling from his waist. I spring into action, push him away. I jump onto the machine and hover my hand over the green deposit button.
He doesn’t lose his composure this time. With a swift movement, he stabs me right in the abdomen. I knew it was coming, my body seemed ready for that sharp sensation.
I could feel the world recede. The cold, stainless steel leaves a sharp thumping sensation in the flesh. I lose my breath. I try to muffle my scream, as my job isn’t done yet.
I push him, with all my might. I press the deposit button, it shows an array of pictures of people I send money to frequently. A picture of my mother flickers on the buzzing screen. She has a broken smile, she never smiled fully. I’m glad I could see my amma smile for the last moments of my life though. I could see the monster through the reflection. Furious and infused with rage, he leaps onto me. I make sure I tap my mom’s face before going down.
“It’s done.” I laugh at his wicked face.
He screams as he leaps onto me as i laid helpless on the floor. With his enormous body towering over me, he stabs my chest several times. The cold look in his eyes seemed comforting. He grabs my collar and screams some slurs at me. I can hardly figure out what he’s saying as I smile. He looks over the screen and then looks at me with more bottled up rage.
He scurries to check my pocket for any other valuable stuff.
He looks at me and says “you brought this upon yourself.” before leaving sneakily.
I pull myself up, lean over the glass door. My vision gets blurrier with every breath I take. I lie straight with my head resting on the glass doorway. I look at the street and see my car being driven off on the other end of the street. I still can’t help but smile.
Baba finally got what he deserves. Mom will need to hold that sigh of relief for a while more, but baba will make it alright. I did justice to the struggles they went through to bring me up. People usually find inner peace in romantic settings, i find inner peace lying on this cold floor.
I breathe in the cool air, sigh a little. I hear crickets chirping outside, maybe they gossip about the sins people commit during nighttime. Relief is the only thing on my mind. The pain builds ever so slightly, the vision recedes ever so slightly. The AC buzzes in its ignorance, the bright light stings my eyes. I look over my chest and see the knife still buried in my chest. I giggle. I look over and see the CCTV peering at me. It almost felt like it blinked like a Cyclops.
“Justice will come looking for you and when it does, you brought it upon yourself” I say to the empty cabin in the lonely street.
I feel lost in a trance, I feel at peace. I might not have followed my ambitions. I didn’t chase the arbitrary thought of being rich. Success wasn’t tangible for me. Success was accomplishing this dream. Baba deserves this. Baba deserves the world.
“I want to see you get married before I go” I say to myself mocking baba’s voice.
I giggle. Look over to the dark blue sky decorated with scattered clouds and the bone white moon.
I might not get married, but I find solace in the fact that he isn’t going anywhere.
Afterword- I sincerely thank you if you made it all the way! 🙂 Your attention means the world to me. Share this story with someone who’ll surely sacrifice themselves for their parents. I hope this had some kind of impact.
Post it as a story on instagram if you liked it a lot. Tag me and your friends 🙂 I’d appreciate that.
Love to all of the people reading this, i hope you have a wonderful day 🙂
You ask me to smile.
You ask me to brush it off.
You tell me it’s just a state of mind.
You ask me to grow up.
You advise me to go out more.
You advise me to talk to people.
You ask me to move on.
You ask me to leave it all behind.
You tell me it’s gonna be alright.
You tell me it’s all in my head.
You tell me that I need to express myself more.
You tell me to look at the brighter side instead.
What do you know about how I feel?
What do you know about tremendous feelings I’ve felt?
What do you know about the struggles I go through?
What do you know about my state of mind?
Waking up is a chore.
The lack of drive is suffocating.
You think I might overact but this is how I suffer.
This is how I live, this is my endeavor.
The voices in my head never stop screaming.
Criticism is internal.
Even I hate myself for how I’m feeling.
This constant state is a struggle.
Memories are what I reside in.
Rewind them back to see what I’ve left behind.
Think about how I could make things right.
Believing that my decisions will not make my future bright.
Anxiety becomes a close friend in this state of mind.
When you ask me to show that smile, the more I want it to hide.
It’s not easy living this kind of life,
Especially with you telling me how to do this right.
Happiness seems fleeting.
I struggle to keep myself from putting a bullet through my head.
I appreciate your concern, but this isn’t the help I need.
Everyone knows how it feels to be depressed. Each of us has felt sad indeed.
You see it’s not sadness that consumes me.
It’s this lack of control.
You don’t know how it feels to own a mind like mine.
You don’t know about the thoughts and screams that go like bullets through my head.
You can’t stop choosing to sleep through your alarms.
You can’t stop from worrying if the other person cares or not.
You can’t stop spending hours alone contemplating the reason you exist.
You can’t stop feeling the way you feel. This fucked up head, this brain feels like a cyst.
Depression isn’t the sadness that follows rejection.
Depression isn’t the feeling you get when you’re denied a new phone.
Depression isn’t the feeling you get when you’re brokenhearted.
Depression isn’t occasional.
I love being around people.
I love having a heartfelt talk.
Stop trying to focus on how sad I feel.
Stop trying to judge if I’m depressed or not.
I always wish I were dead.
It isn’t intentional. Its my mind overriding the feeling of dread.
You ask me stop thinking that way and smile instead.
It’s not that easy. My mind is misled.
I don’t need your sympathy.
I just need you to smile. I need you to feel happier instead.
It makes me feel better.
Being around happy people doesn’t fuck with my head.
This for all the people who feel helpless like me.
Stuck in the void, struggling to break free.
You’re not alone.
You’re the reason, there is a ‘we’
Don’t address how we feel.
We appreciate the concern,
We’re also loving and fun.
We’re normal, there’s a war in our heads we haven’t won.
The storm last night was terrifying. The winds whistled as they plowed down trees. The rain battered the streets. It seemed like the storm was there for a reason. It seemed like the winds wanted to convey a message. Maybe it was there to punish the ungrateful, it was there to punish those who have sinned.
The storm passed, faded into the sunlight that peered shyly through the clouds. I could hear the rumbling fade. I clenched onto the mattress, covered my face with a pillow to gently ignore the sunlight. I stared onto the mirror to the side of our bed. Mornings like these are reminiscent of the good old times.
As I let out a deep sigh, her hand slid through my waist. It trailed right across my waist and onto the chest. The soft touch seemed to ease the stiffened muscles on my chest. I’ve never felt better.
“Brad?” she said with a creaky yet soft voice. The voice had a persona of its own.
“You were shivering last night” she said as she caressed my chest. I could feel her chin on my shoulder. The warm air from her breath was somehow comforting.
“Really? I couldn’t know Ellie” I said as I held onto her lurking hand. Her palms were cold, They always were. I rubbed them, took a deep breath.
“You always shiver on nights like those. You’re just one 30 year old baby..” she said.
I hear a soft giggle at the far end of the room. Dorothy is surely an early bird. I could almost picture her fiddling with her fat elephant buddy in her cradle. ‘Dumdum’ is what we call him.
“Bad luck, you know you have two babies to look after right?” I say with a grin.
“I’m glad I don’t have to change diapers for the both of you.” She giggles.
I take a second to embrace the atmosphere. The cold touch of her hands, the blood rushing down the tiny veins in her palms. The creases of wear on those palms, her soft and light presence.
“Isn’t it beautiful? The fact that such a sunny day had to follow a storm.” She sighs.
“It sure is, mornings like these remind me of the time you told me you were pregnant” I said as I gazed upon us on the mirror.
“Oh sure. You reminisce a lot of the times when I’m fat and ugly” she sighs again.
“You’re not fat now?” I ask with a queer smile.
She seemed to ignore the question altogether. I could almost imagine that disgusted grin on her pretty face.
“What do mornings like these remind you of?” I ask her.
“The day we met. The day you proposed. The day we made our vows.” She says in trance.
“So days like these remind you of our whole lives?” I said smiling again.
“It kinda does. Remember the time you took me on a picnic? We had wine in an abandoned playground.” She said.
“Yeah. We were reckless. We had so much fun. Remember the time you rejected me in highschool?” I said with a grin.
“Twas just a test!” she said. Elli probably should never audition for a play.
“I’m glad you’re here. I’m glad we’re here. In this moment, in this bed.” She pecks my neck with a soft kiss.
“I’m glad that Dorothy is here!” I try to add in. I clench onto her hands. Cold, yet soothing.
The silence that followed was a melody. I wish we were in that moment for eternity.
I hear rumbling down the street. I look towards the window, I see a bolt of lightning fall into our lawn.
I feel startled. Ellie’s hand clenches back. She buries her face into my neck.
The sky turns black as soon as the bolt strikes, clouds reappear in a jiffy.
As I look through the window feeling terrified, Ellie leans into my ear and whispers.
“Where were you Brad?” she whispers with a hoarse voice. Her hand claps down on my hand like a bear trap.
“Where were you when we needed you?” she says with a higher tone.
I’m slowly reminded of the worst day I could’ve possibly had.
“Where were you that night?” she screams into my ears. My hand bleeds as she digs her nails into my palms.
I remember, I was away that night. With an excuse of being to a meeting, I was out partying. I needed to blow off some steam. How I wish I could take that night back. How I wish I would’ve just stayed, played with my little girl. Her little giggles still lingers, her smile etched onto my broken heart. Instead, I spent a countless amount of cash on liquor. Trying to numb a kind of pain that didn’t exist.
“We needed you.” She cries.
“How could you Brad?”
“The vows you made, they were in my head as he put the bullet through it!” she wails.
The giggles turn into silent cries, I see blood drip down the cradle.
I feel suffocated. Deep regret grips me.
“Couldn’t you be here for Dorothy? Couldn’t you be here for her little, fragile life?” she scratches my arms with brute force.
I cry. I scream. Why did have to be that night? Why did someone have to rob the house on that night? Why not the countless nights we slept with our doors unlocked? Why did it have to be the night I wasn’t around? Why did he have take two lives along with the money? Why couldn’t he just ask for money? Why couldn’t he spare my helpless child? It was my fault. I was responsible. He might’ve pulled the trigger, but I was the reason behind it.
“Why?” she cries.
I want to hug her for the last time. I want to cuddle Dorothy was the final time. How I wish I could play with her for the last time. Feed her, watch her fall asleep in my arms. Her tiny posture sinking into my lap. Watch her clasp onto my finger with her tiny little paw.
I want to hug ellie, how I wish I could hug her, it always made her feel alright.
“You still don’t remember, do you?” she said sniffing.
I try to pay attention to her words but I’m lost. I didn’t realize the tears running down my cheeks. I squeeze my eyes tight. I scream.
The storm had passed as soon as i opened my eyes. Maybe it was a bad dream, maybe she’s still behind me. Engaged in a deep slumber. Maybe our little Dorothy is still in the cradle, my only bundle of happiness.
I turn around, lay my hand on the other side of the bed.
The cold spot on the other side of the bed sends shivers down my spine.
I hear a whisper, “You were there. Why were you there? Why were you here? Why did you do this to us? Was that even you?”
I look onto the mirror, I see a bloody pistol laying on my side of the bed.
You two meet at a cafe.
She smiles as she serves you coffee.
You’re too stunned to smile back.
She strikes up a conversation, You hesitate.
In a moment, you’re talking about each of your elaborate tastes.
You ask her out, can’t afford to let the moment escape.
“Drop me home, will ya?” she says. As you walk beside her on that lonely damp street. As she talks about her, you and everything in between. Nothing could make this better.
You wake up in her arms. “Can’t believe it’s been 2 months” she whispers with a familiar charm.
You talk about ambition, you talk about your dreams.
She talks about the future, “There is no future without you, it seems” Every song reminds you of her, Every thought seems to have a root related to her.
You brush it off, thinking it’s just lust.
But the way you fantasize about her eyes,
Assure you that it’s love.
You confess it to her, she doesn’t seem surprised. From long kisses, to making love. From awkward hugs, to laughing it up. Nothing could make this better.
You meet every day, talk about the usual stuff.
She talks about a guy in work who sends her funny stuff. You wish to bury your fist down his throat.
You look at her, She’s the one keeping you afloat.
You spend nights drinking wine, conversations seems empty at times.
As silence seeps in, you try and console your mind.
This is normal, These things happen sometimes. “We have a future together” she says as she looks into your eyes. You’re in love. Nothing could make this better.
Pretty often, you guys fight.
Sometimes its neutral, sometimes it’s hard seeing the light.
She talks about her friend more often than usual. She thinks about him all the time. You go for runs, try to clear your mind.
You see a lady, She kinda looks nice.
She catches you looking at her, She gives a smile.
You brush it off; you already have a future wife. You try hard, you make amends. You apologize, You never condemn. You give her space, You give her time. “Is she still mine?” Somehow this thought seeps into your mind.
The world seems to crumble, right before your eyes.
Through the cloudy days, you struggle to see the light. Could anything make this better? Nothing comes to mind.
“It’s over” she says with a cold hearted smile. “Its me, not you” I try to mock her for the last time.
The strings were loose, it was time to let go.
The thoughts of her, would make you feel low. You drink. You cry. You sigh. You’d do anything to make things alright. You mess around. Lose yourself this time. You look for help, Only to find it inside. If nothing could make this better, You’ll try being nothing for a while.
You go for runs, not hoping you’d see that lady another time.
But she’s there, Slender with a beautiful style. She remembers you, that awkward guy from last time. She approaches you, “Need help running?” she asks with a smile. You finish tying your laces, “Yeah, I need directions. Or a destination would be fine?” “Drop me home, will ya?” she says mocking your gasping voice.
You talk about ambition, you talk about your lives.
You talk about random stuff, about how every individual can’t resist the flow of time.
She’s smart. “Not my type” you try to convince your heart.
You look at her, you can’t help but smile.
You seem amazed.
A tad bit surprised. It’s been a while since you caught yourself thinking.
“Nothing could make this better.”
Inspired by- exurb1a (Go check out his youtube channel! it’s lovely! :))
If you made it this far, i thank you from the bottom of my heart. Your support, views and thoughts mean the world to me. If you’re reading this comment/DM me a heart ❤ on instagram so that i know you read it whole! 🙂
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Let me start off with a personal incident: *SSC results are announced*
Me: “Mummy i’m confused. Aage kya karoon?”
Mom: “Follow what you love beta. You scored pretty well in science i see.”
Me: “But i don’t like science. It’s not creative!”
Mom: “You love it beta. Tujhe khudko pata nhi hai! I remember, tu bachpan mein plants ke saath photosynthesis-photosynthesis khelta tha!”
Me: “wtf, how do we even play that game?! Mujhe biology pasand nahi!”
Dad: “I remember you used to plot graphs and break down TV’s to know what’s inside when you were 5 years old!”
Me: “I never plotted a graph in 10th std dad! But maybe i did before. I’m so confused.”
Mom: “You love science beta, humein pata hai! Sharma ji ke bete ke saath engineer banne ke sapne the tere. I remember you both used to dream of graduating from IIT together.”
My ambition and dreams: *loads a gun and shoots themselves*
Me: “Science accha option lagta hai.”
*Self-esteem wails in the corner*
My guts churn every time I hear advice like “Follow your passion” or “Do what you love”
It’s totally sympathetic and useless. Let me tell you why:
Passion isn’t in fashion always:
Passionate people do not need the advice or the permission to follow their dreams, they will do it anyway. It’s like ask the waves of an ocean to crash over the shore, it will either way.
But there are some of us, who have no fucking idea where this goddamn passion is hiding. This is elusive thought of finding the passion is suffocating and depressing.
Follow your passion beta, do what you love. Oh you don’t know what you love yet? What a fuckin loser.
I’m sorry, if that hurts. You can achieve success beta, Just follow your fuckin passion!
The education system is totally fucked in every imaginable way possible. We spend our early years studying shit like photosynthesis, algebra and asexual reproduction in plants! What the fuck! You might say “Faaiz, you just hate biology.” Yeah I fuckin do.
Where are the vocational courses? Where are the extra curricular activities which actually help in our professional lives? How will creating papier maches ever help in our lives? Where is the freedom for someone to express oneself?
Most of us sift through childhood doing normal stuff. I know its not bad being normal but doesn’t it just fucking hurt when we see younger people on dance shows like DID achieving what they always dreamt of! Fuckers are 6-7 years old and say “I’ve always dreamt of dancing professionally”
When did you start dreaming you dick? In the womb?
We’re capable for achieving our dreams too! Only if we knew what our dreams were. If they were practical. If they would be accepted by our parents.
If not, “Engineering kar le beta, scope bohot hai!”
It hurts watching other people of the same age achieve so much. It’s unhealthy to compare lives, but isn’t it necessary? We didn’t have the heard-start to build our lives!
The cherry on top is when our parents ask us to whatever the fuck we want and then immediately bash whatever you like to do!
Ambition doesn’t die a peaceful death in our households, it’s tortured. It bleeds. It gasps for breath until we shoot it down. We, the ones who dream.
Some of us don’t. Some of us have no idea on how to proceed to the next level of life. It’s funny how most of us think we’re unique yet won’t hesitate to work at a fuckin call-center for an extra buck. For what you ask? For consoling our miserable selves. Money becomes the ambition. It analogous to aiming for hell!
Often times I look at the past, shout at my own self.
Stop being so fuckin scared.
Stop being so scared to try things.
Stop being so scared of failure.
Stop being scared of criticism.
Stop taking the advice of the one’s you don’t respect.
Stop being scared to know yourself.
Stop being so scared of talking to people about it.
Stop being so scared of losing out.
Stop wishing that someone would guide you out of this.
Stop and realize that your own mentor.
Stop and breathe.
Stop faaiz, love yourself.
If you’re reading this, you’re probably a teenager of one of the two types.
1. You know what your passion is.
2. You have no clue. To those who know what they love to do, you’re extremely lucky. I wish you well, I hope you find what you’re seeking.
To those with no clue, I feel you. All I can say that you have to start by loving yourself. By ‘loving yourself’ I don’t mean that you stand in front of the mirror and say ‘You’re beautiful’. If you do that, you’ve already admitted that you’re ugly. Instead, focus on nurturing you inner self. Try different things. Get into music. Get into speaking. Get into writing. Get into editing. Get into filming. Get into developing websites. Get into graphic designing. Get into whatever comes in your way! Knock on every fucking door until you find where you belong!
I want to assure you that you’re not alone who’s clueless in this fast paced world. So breathe, take your time. Taste everything until you find what you like. Times will get tougher, challenging. But isn’t that what makes you better person overall.
If anyone says ‘Follow your passion’ to you ever again, sucker punch that motherfucker right in the face and kick him in the nuts. If it’s a woman, ummm…. Just excuse her. Naah don’t kick anyone actually, Just do that mentally if possible.
Dear reader, don’t follow your passion. Follow yourself. Guide yourself. Look eagerly. Once you find what you love, charge right into it! Hug it like you’d hug a loved one. I wish you luck! Peace!
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This tale of hardship is the usual one. The stakes were normal, but it was tough to get it done. You may be wondering where it all begun? Let me tell ya, this isn’t interesting as much as it was fun.
It was a normal day, a mediocre one.
College is boring, movies exaggerate.
I slogged to attend lectures.
I dozed in a few.
I wasn’t attentive.
I was absent being present.
Only if I lifted up my head before, looked around.
I would’ve seen her earlier.
Oh how I wish I could’ve seen her earlier.
I was at blame, it was my concern.
I was in love. Maybe the infatuation one?
She was the prettiest in class for all I knew.
I knew I didn’t see anyone else, But I’m glad I saw her.
Pretty little eyes, peering into the sky.
She was peering onto the board, I just wanna romanticize the moment a little more.
She was the kind I hadn’t seen.
One in a million, a billion if my eyes were too keen.
She was surrounded by her friends.
Maybe she was ms. Popular?
“Out of your league” my mind said.
I glanced over her again.
“She doesn’t believe in leagues” I said.
It was my mission to ask her out.
She was the reason I took showers before college.
She was the reason I got my hair done.
She was the reason I wore that awful cologne.
She was the destination, to the journey that had just begun.
Failure loomed over my dreaded head. What would I do? How would I handle being a reject? Often times, the fear faded. Even if I got rejected. Even when I felt dejected. Even when I knew she isn’t mine to have. Care and consideration for her would always last.
So I gathered the guts,
I gathered the pretty shirts.
Carefully, I chose on what to wear.
How to behave.
I underwent a drastic change, just to ask her out.
I skipped a lecture.
Practiced the lines in the restroom.
“Hey, are you free this Friday?
We could go for the new star wars movie that noon?”
She wore a red top.
Jeans with a different kind of blue.
She sat in the corner of the room.
Digging into a book, lost in that pretty head of hers.
A drop of sweat ran down my forehead.
My heart started to thump.
It’s funny how asking a simple question, would’ve had me stumped.
I walked up to her.
Commented on the John green book.
She smiled at me.
Her lips had an off-shade of red,
Freckles were overshadowed with dimples instead.
The stiffness dissolved. In a minute, we were arguing at about a spat that had already been resolved. Years of separation didn’t change a thing. I stumbled just like I did before, I fell in love again.
You see she wasn’t a new, college friend.
She was my middle-school crush,
I was blessed to see her again.
We were friends in school but never more.
By the time I realized that she is the one I adore,
she was in a different high-school as a sophomore.
Over star-wars and salty fries, Over shared smiles and belligerent goodbyes, Over the fights and ‘staying by your sides’ We were together. Together for real this time.
Notes- I know you may be wondering that the poem didn’t rhyme well and felt uneasy. This is a poem i wrote in intention of performing at a poetry slam. This poem would sound much better with vocal sounds and interpretations. 🙂
Disastrous screams echoed through to glistening white hallway. The place was perfect to turn a person insane. If they were sane to being with.
The day started with a sudden phone call at 3 in the morning. I chose not to pick it up, nor could I stay asleep anymore. As I lay there staring at the blank ceiling, the voicemail kicked in.
“Hello Dr. Brandt, it’s Susan. I’m sorry to call you at such an odd time. I need your help. I have a patient who is making a fuss. He claims that he has been framed and does not belong in the hospital. I would’ve dealt it if I had checked his file or met him in person. But I’m out of town for a while, Would you be kind enough to check if everything is alright? He has been disturbing the authorities and should be dealt with soon. Would really appreciate your help.”
It was surely the worst way to start my day off. Dealing with insane guys at 3 in the morning surely won’t help my mental state, how can i help with theirs?
I wish I didn’t go. How couldn’t i? It was my responsibility, my duty.
The place had a different aura to it. The aura surrounding a mental hospital isn’t always pleasant, but there was something different about that one.
The whole hospital was whitewashed. The walls from the ground including the ceiling were painted an odd pearly white. Scratch marks covered most of the walls. As I walked through, people peeked in and out of their cells. They were like waves in the ocean. Some gave me a smile, Some reached out for me. I wasn’t scared of them, I felt for them. The silent ones sat in the corner, humming their favorite songs in an unimaginable volume. I looked around, they were innocent. All of them.
I wonder if many of them wished that god wouldn’t fuck with them, not like this.
I was scanning all the patients when I saw him. Brad had a pink shirt on, a nice tie which went well with his shirt. The shirt was creased, his glasses hung from his nose. One of the lens was broken. He stood out because all the other patients wore white. He looked at me, all I could see was a man in desperate need of help. He waved at me, hoping I would come over and talk to him. This stranger looked like he found a friend in me.
I looked for the nurse but didn’t find one. The guard walked up the hallway with a file in his hand. He was tough. He looked enormous up close and had a scruff beard, he felt like the right guy for the job. He handed the file over to me.
“Dr. Brandt, Here’s the file. Susan told me to give it to you” he said. He had a raspy voice.
“I see you’ve met the patient already” he said as he glanced over to Brad.
“You want me to escort you and your friend to the interrogation room?” he inquired with a blank look on his face.
“No we’ll be fine.” I said as I unlocked the cell. I asked Brad to come out, follow me to the interrogation room.
The guard walked away. Brad scurried over, as if he was about to be hit with lightning if he stood there for a second more. He seemed decent.
“Of course, he’s framed.” a voice whispered in my head.
“Hello! Doctor…ummm?” he said while he put his hand forward.
“Brandt.” I said with a smile on, hoping he would relax a bit. I shook his hand.
“Dr. Brandt, I need your help. I don’t belong here sir. I’m not crazy. This is a misunderstanding.” He said in a hurried tone. He didn’t let go of my hand. He held It tighter with both his palms, begging.
“Calm down my friend.” I said as I put my hand around his shoulder. He had a very strong cologne on, a decent one.
“I can’t be here sir. I have to go. I have to be home before mother wakes up. There’s no one else to take care of her. Please, doctor.” he begged.
We walked down the hallway as he begged. I listened to every word he had to say, I acknowledged it. He didn’t seem crazy, but it isn’t that easy to judge now, is it?
I unlocked the door as he stood there, he was worried. A light hung from the ceiling, there were two chairs facing each other in the center. A squeaky table stood beside the chair. The interrogation rooms were always scary, I wonder how many people made false confessions just to get out of that dreaded room.
Brad walked right in, sat down on a chair. I put his file on the table. The chair creaked as I sat down. I always listen to the patient first before going over the report. This helps me grasp the personality of the patient and also helps to gain trust of the patient. Brad couldn’t have been crazy, that’s for sure.
“If you don’t belong here Brad, how did you end up here?” I said as I clasped both my hands and looked at him with a gentle smile.
He was sweating. He seemed restless and worried. I wish I could just go with my instincts and let him go, let him go cater his mother.
“It’s all because of fucking Henry, my degenerate cousin. He framed me doctor.” He said with aggression brewing on his face.
“Why would he do that?” I inquired.
“It’s because he hates me doctor. He always despised me. Ever since I took in my mother, he started acting up again. He always thinks that he’s inferior to me. He always tries to prove me wrong, pull me down.” He said and started to grind his teeth in anger.
“He’s your brother, he wouldn’t do something as horrible as this to you” I stated.
“You can’t predict what he’s about to do. He’s the one who is crazy. He doesn’t suffer from bad mental health, but I can guarantee that he has an awful lot of issues with that depraved head of his.” He said as he looked away.
“What were you doing before the authorities came to take you?” I inquired, trying to steer away from the ongoing topic.
“I fed my mother, put her to sleep. This is the first time I’ve ever fed her with my own hands. You couldn’t even imagine the delight on her face. I was on the couch , reading a book when they came.” Expressions on his face appeared and disappeared like sunshine through the clouds.
I couldn’t help but feel guilty to keep him waiting here.
“Why did the authorities come to take you? Why was it so urgent?” I inquired.
“This isn’t the first time I’ve been in a mental hospital doctor. I’ve been to a establishment like this before, thanks to my fucking brother. So they didn’t hesitate to come take me back this time.” He said as he fidgeted with the button on his shirt.
I believed him, I could imagine his sly brother framing him. This is a case which doesn’t appear often. He looked like he needed sleep.
“Why does he do that? How can the authorities believe him?” I asked him
“He says that I’m depressed, I’m a psychopath. He’s jobless and envies my prosperity. He even put me in, claiming that I was a pedophile” he said with his eyes peering onto the linoleum floor.
“Evidence?” I questioned.
“I took my nephew to the park the other day. She needed to pee, so I took her to the restroom. She wasn’t willing to go into the girl’s restroom alone, so I took her in the men’s washroom and waited outside the stall. This was fuel for him to frame me. He always wants to frame me. I brought her back, sang her to sleep when the authorities came barging in. The fucker had a smile on his face as they took me away.” he said.
There was something intriguing about this situation, a voice in the back of my head tried to speak to me. It somehow couldn’t. I assumed he was innocent.
“What was the reason tonight?”
“I was laying on the couch when the nurses came to take me away. I don’t know the reason sir.” he started to grow worried again.
He glanced at his watch, looked at me.
“I haven’t slept in days doctor. I’m tired. I can’t sleep here. Mother might need me, she wakes up at night sometimes.” He looked straight into my eyes.
“I believe you Brad. We’ll take action against your brother. Sit tight for now, will you? I’ll be back in a second.” I said as I stood up and walked out the door with the file in my hand.
I was convinced that he was innocent. Who wouldn’t think that way?
I thought about it for a while.
Brad started to bang the door, the banging didn’t seem like it would stop soon.
I opened the door.
“Sir I need to go. I realize now that i forgot to close the window. It’s cold tonight sir, she has pneumonia. I really need to go doctor.” He held my hand and looked into my eyes.
A tear trickled down his cheek. I could see the desperation, his immense love.
“You can go” I said.
“Oh thank you sir, Thank you. I’ll finally get some sleep too.” He said as he proceeded to run towards the exit.
He ran fast, it was his mother at stake.
I walked down the hallway, indicated the guard to open the gate.
I felt peace. Although other patients screamed in revolt, some laughed. I felt at peace.
You see peace is an enigma. Often times its just euphoria, some times its relief.
I was so caught up in the moment that I couldn’t realize the absence of the file in my hand.
I looked down the hallway, I lost breath. The white light shining from the white tiles was blinding. I felt weak at my knees.
I screamed as I ran towards the gate. Blood rushing through the veins in my throat. I saw a piece of paper, rumbling down the hallway.
The papers must’ve been loose in the file. I stopped. Gasping for breath, I bent down and picked up the paper.
My eyes couldn’t get fixated on the paper. I took a deep breath.
What I read brought me to tears. I felt choked. I looked around, the world seemed to recede. I felt weightless, yet I felt heavy.
I put my hands through my hair and screamed. Screamed until I lost my breath.
It was a report. It was dated for that night.
A meticulous whisper lingered at the back of my mind.
“I’ll finally get some sleep.” said Brad.
Notes: This story has many loose ends which may leave you with several questions. I intend to answer them with a set of stories related to this one. I’ve had complaints of lack of character development which i ought to resolve. I sincerely thank you for reading this story. This is indeed a lot longer than the ones i usually write. I’d appreciate it if you dropped a like to let me know if you liked it. I’m open to feedback, you can comment them below. I’m grateful that you took time out of your day to read this story. Be sure to follow if you want to read some more stories like this 🙂
I’ll leave you a hint, Brad is innocent. 😉
The night never seemed so lively before. The crowd never felt so comforting before. Blake was glad he took her out tonight. The days felt sluggish until this night.
The way she danced. The dim orange lighting made her look like a firefly, a worried yet cheerful firefly. It’s almost as if they forgot about the debts that were due. The bills seemed to fade as they danced together to Sinatra. The air was soaked with sweat, yet it felt like home.
“There’s no need of a DJ as long as the bartender plays these sweet tunes tonight.” She said with a smile. A drop of sweat lurking down a strand of her hair back her ear. She never looked so elegant before. Authentic, yet elegant.
He smiled. Like always, he was unable to respond. She sensed that, she smiled.
The lights weren’t flickering. They weren’t flashy. The air wasn’t filled with soulless and loud EDM tracks tonight. The night felt serene. It felt like this night would last forever.
The bartender was a sweet young guy who moved with a skip. Old middle aged men sat at the bar with their backs arched. There was a also a group of guys who seemed like they were out for something more than a party tonight. Tonight was perfect.
“How long has it been? How long since the last time we were this close?” she said with her finger trailing down his shirt pocket as they moved slowly to the soft tunes filling the air.
“Gosh… Feels like forever” he said with a sigh. She smirked, then gave him a tight a hug.
The past couple of years were rough. Blake worked all night to make ends meet while Erin struggled to take care of her bedridden mother. Erin was employed until her mother had an accident, things went downhill from then. Blake’s salary alone couldn’t help with the mortgage. Two jobs, took most of the day. They were engaged a year ago, can they afford a marriage in such harsh times now? Erin couldn’t sleep, Blake didn’t get the time to. Erin had several siblings, no one came forward to take care of her mother. They wanted to have kids, Blake wanted to come home to cheerful innocent giggles. Erin never asked for more, all she needed was hope. The ominous spell seemed to never end, until tonight.
The night felt like a trance. Blake wore a flannel, Erin had her favorite ripped jeans on.
With her head resting on his chest, they danced. Blake looked around, he felt at peace.
He looked at the bartender, attending a person with a queer smile on. A sight flashed by his eyes, the bartender looked burnt. Severely. Blake wasn’t surprised, he blinked and everything was back to normal. It was bewildering how such a horrifying sight didn’t affect Blake. He looked at the bar, he saw the cabinets engulfed in flames. Charred bodies sitting around the counter waiting for their drinks.
“Erin? I feel weird.” he said rubbing her back.
She didn’t reply. She hummed a sentence and dug her head deeper into his chest.
Blake ran his hands through her hair, caressing her. A loft of hair seemed to pull right off her scalp and it smelled like ash.
Blake pushed her away. “Something is wrong Erin!” he exclaimed. Things were back to normal. She looked at him with a calm composure. She came forward, put her hands on his cheeks. “You forgot, didn’t you?” she said as she gave a soft nudge on his shoulder.
Erin gently took his hand, she guided him off the dance floor. Blake seemed confused. She took him to the mirror hanging by the wall on the entrance. She stopped, held his hand. They looked into the mirror.
All they could see was the empty dancefloor. No lights, no people. The mirror seemed to look right through them. Blake looked away, things were as usual. He saw flames as he looked into the mirror again. Melted wires, charred bodies on the floor. The overhead lights were on the floor, sparks coming out of them. Two severely burnt people holding hands, peering into the mirror. The fire broke out when they were on the floor. The bartender played with fire in the most inflammable area, how idiotic?
Erin squeezed his hand. He looked at her, confused.
“How long has it been?” he inquired with a bewildered look.
Erin guided him to the exit. The gates were sealed off. The doors and windows were boarded up. A ‘no trespassing’ sign hanged over the lamppost.
‘The premises have been closed down due to a recent tragedy. Trespassers will be prosecuted’
Enforced from and onward – 3/5/1990
Blake smiled. Euphoria had a grip on him. They giggled. Tragedy struck the right people.
They walked back in, greeted the bouncer at the entrance. He acknowledged them with a nod.
They danced. The bills had faded. Pain was in the distant past.
“Feels like forever..” He whispered with a smile as they danced.
The sunlight had a different shade today, bright yet bewildering. It hid a dreadful feeling, the feeling of something ominous lurking around the corner.
“These dishes ain’t gonna clean themselves.” Martha said to herself as she tried to convince herself that no one else in this house would be considerate enough to wash them for her.
He was right there. As she turned around, she should’ve expected him sitting on that dreaded chair lost in his own thoughts, but it seemed surprising. In that filthy old robe, he sat there staring at the ground.
Bill has been aimless and miserable for a while now. After the dispute with his partner, he hasn’t come around to get in terms with life. Martha hates the sight of him, yet she cannot ignore the presence of his own brother living with her at this age. He was the person who gave her wisdom, taught her how to tackle life. Yet he sat there, miserable and confused.
“I had a terrible dream last night” he said in a voice that sounded like torture to the ears.
Martha didn’t want to hear him talk this morning. She wanted to forget that he existed for a while. She wanted solitude.
“I don’t know what to make of it. Do you want to know what it was?” he said as he proceeded to fidget around with the cloth on the table.
She didn’t want to hear what he had to say. She wanted to run away. She wanted to disappear. Yet a there was a whisper of a thought in her mind, ‘Dreams don’t come true if you tell someone about it’. It’s what their mother used to say, or maybe that’s what Martha remembers. Her mother was the one who held the family together. She was the only good that came out of life for Martha. Martha was in conflict, but bill carried on.
“I dreamt that i woke up in the middle of the night, to the sound of the phone ringing. Everything looked hazy as i tried to get a hold of myself. There was this jarring noise of which i couldn’t figure out the origin of. ” he said with elaborate hand gestures.
Martha wasn’t looking at him. She was looking out the window above the sink, watching Bob and his wife take the morning walk as usual. They always seemed happy, it was disturbing.
“I looked out the window to check if the sun was out, I saw Samantha’s car parked up our driveway, it had a dent on its bumper. The drunk neighbour. The red color was scraped off revealing the white insides. It looked like she had a mild accident, the type where she was the culprit. The phone wouldn’t stop ringing. Watching the car i had this terrible thought which i couldn’t shake off.” he said as put his palms over his face and then caressed his bald head.
Martha’s mind seemed to register every word bill said but she was lost in her own thoughts. She thought of her mother. The times Nancy used to sing to the both of them. No matter how she felt, Nancy always knew. She wanted Bill to stop talking, she wanted to embrace the presence of her beloved mother, Fancy Nancy people used to call her.
Bill used to be a funny type of guy. He was fun to hangout with. She could go as far as to say the Bill was one of the cool kids. Now he was just a person who didn’t even deserve sympathy. Martha loved him, yet she didn’t want to ever see him again. Mother loved him more than anyone else. Lost in the train of thoughts, Martha looked over to the side through the window and saw Samantha’s car.
“I had a feeling that there was bad news on the other end of the phone. I somehow just knew. Maybe it was Samatha, maybe it was someone else?” Bill said as he adjusted his chair.
Martha tried to focus on the car and she realized that it was parked up Bill’s driveway. It had a dent on the bumper. A subtle one. The accident wasn’t surprising considering Samantha was drunk most of the time. She shrugged it off thinking this picture of the car somehow made its way into Bill’s dream.
“It was Jill. You remember mom’s caretaker? It was her. She seemed like she was gasping. ‘Nan…Nanc..Nanciee..hh…hell..p’ that’s all I could hear. I felt awful. Our whole existence flashed by my eyes.” Bill said.
Martha felt strange. She had a sudden urge to stab Bill, yet she remained frozen. She looked closely at Samantha’s car and the paint was scraped off. It revealed the glistening white insides.
‘Impending doom‘ her mind whispered.
Bill stood up. He went to look out the window, check if the newspaper was there. All that Martha could think of was what Nancy used to say, ‘Dreams don’t come true, when you tell someone about it.’ ‘Or do they?’ her mind whispered.
Her heart sank. She was screaming inside. She felt a gush of blood through throat.
She wanted to throw up. She wanted to disappear. She wanted to run away. She didn’t want to exist. She saw it coming, she couldn’t look away.
Amidst the screaming silence in the house, The phone rang.
Inspired by- Stephen king.
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The winter breeze always has a certain comforting melody. It helps me embrace solitude. It helps me get accustomed to the silence.
Her destination was the local school. ‘Oxfam elementary school’.
“It’s really cold today, isn’t it?” I said hoping to spark a conversation.
“Oh it surely is.” She replied with a gentle smile.
There was silence for a few seconds. Something felt odd. There was uneasiness in the air.
Suddenly, she peeped through the back seat and said “We might have to take a detour.”
There was a certain sense of urgency in her voice. Her voice turned creaky. She had a stressed look on her face.
“I’m afraid I can’t do that. You can cancel this ride and book another one if you want to.” I said firmly.
The transition of this serene beauty into the person I was seeing right then was drastic.
“You have to!” she said with a raised voice.
“You have no other choice!” she said as she banged her fist on the seat.
“I’m sorry ma’am” I said hoping she would understand.
I was puzzled. i felt anxious and bewildered at the same time.
“I have to get there. I have to be there. I can’t afford to not be there. I…I.. need to be there.” she murmured in a hasty voice with her hands clasping her hair tightly. It looked like she might pull them out that instant.
“Please” she said with a grim low voice. It felt like she might break down if I didn’t.
She looked into my eyes. Begging. I saw conflict in her eyes. Something took over her. I didn’t know what it was. Maybe it was a deep desire, a fleeting purpose. Maybe it was something sinister.
“This could get me in trouble, but okay. Give me directions.” I said as I hoped she would calm down.
“Oh thank you. Thank you so much.” She clasped my arm with a jerk.
She had a tear trickling down her cheek.
I was confused. I was flabbergasted. The change was dramatic.
She sank into the backseat with a deep relaxed sigh.
“Could you please put some music on.” she said in a low yet a sweet voice.
I was scared, I was curious. I wanted to help as much as I wanted to stay away.
I put on my playlist.
As I looked at her through the rear view mirror, she felt oddly relaxed after I put some music on. It looked like she was regaining her composure.
“Could you take me to the local foster home?” she requested.
“I’m really sorry for the way i behaved a few moments ago.” She said.
“It’s okay” I said with a comforting tone.
“Are you a teacher?” i inquired. I wanted her to relax and forget the whole thing we just went through.
“I used to be one. Now I’m a janitor.” She said with a sigh. She still had a smile on. She seemed thankful for something much more dear to her.
I was bewildered. I wanted to know more. Curiosity for the passengers is not a good trait for uber drivers though.
“I really like this song” she said as she hummed along to the soft tunes of ‘Lights down low’
She was an absolute enigma.
I pulled up near the foster home. A really ill-maintained bungalow with a playground in the yard.
Children with torn sweaters and gloves slid down the slides with really innocent giggles and smiles. Girls ran around with one legged dolls. My inner child envied the fact that these kids get to play all day.
Its funny how trauma doesn’t affect such tiny and young souls. Everything always gets better for them.
Oh how cruel the world is.
“Thank you!” she said in a hurried tone. As she rushed out the door.
Two kids appeared running in the distance. They were running towards us. The girl had a really wide smile on her. She didn’t care about her missing tooth. She smiled with absolute joy.
“Mommy!” shouted both the kids in unison.
The lady ran towards them throwing her purse away. She took them in her arms. Covered their faces with her warmth.
I came out the car, stood beside the bonnet watching them.
It was beautiful. She was beautiful. So were they. So is this cruel world. So was that day.
Have you ever put your favorite song as an alarm tone but you still couldn’t convince yourself out of bed? The sound seemed like torture as I kept snoozing till eternity.
Its 4:00 AM. I’m forced to get on duty, it’s the survival of the fittest in this profession. Getting ready is a chore, maybe it’s because there’s no need to do that anyway. I only do that for that divine five star rating. The forced small talks, the unnecessary concern it’s all just a formality. It’s the traits you need to be an uber driver you see.
It seems like I’m driving my youth away. I never thought I’d be in this place but here I am. Living for another day. Livin’ the same old mediocre life. I had dreams when I was young, I dreamt of being famous. I dreamt of singing to an astounding amount of audience.
I dreamt of singing for a purpose.
I dreamt of singing for the world.
The people wouldn’t like an uber driver singing for them now, will they? I meet tons of people in a day. Some are sweet, some are arrogant. Some are sad, some are just silent. The best rides are the silent ones for me.
I get a ping on the app as soon as I turn it on. Someone needs to get to the airport ASAP. I sing on the way to pick him up. It’s how I keep my mind occupied.
The guy was sweet. I got a 5 star rating too!
It was 5:30 AM when I got another request. I accepted it and was on the way to the pickup location when I got a call. It was a lady. Not the kind I expected her to be.
She had a really sweet voice. There was a different aura in those sound vibrations.
“Can you please hurry? I feel uneasy on this street.” she said.
I was surprised at the fact that she considered an uber ride as her rescue. She was different, she was a person brimming with positivity. She was a beauty!
With a long brown jacket she seemed really cold as my car approached her. I turned up the heater before she got in.
“You’re really considerate and kind!” she said with a smile.
She was a singer for sure. I could feel that in her voice. Soft with contrast, her voice was divine!
“Where to?” i inquired while trying to get a glimpse of her through the rear view mirror.
“i called for an uber not a taxi” she said with a sly smile.
Sarcasm looks eerily attractive on woman without a doubt.
“There goes the small talk out the window” i said as i pulled down the window and back up again.
She let out a giggle as she shivered due to the cold.
I’ve never had someone so beautiful in my car before. I mean there were ‘Good-looking people’ but none were beautiful.