A story, a tale. I have always thought- "Are our lives also written by someone?"
Maybe my life is being written by someone. Every breath I take might be orchestrated, and every muscle I move might be just another thing that was supposed to happen.
There was no way to prove this absurd speculation of mine. But if there was something certain, it would be that they wanted my life to be a tragedy.
***
The rain was falling heavily. There was mourning in the air.
"Poor boy…"
They talked about someone's misery.
"He is so young but… tsk tsk."
Their eyes were filled with sympathy that pricked his skin.
"Who's going to look after this boy now?"
They asked.
"Maybe his relatives will take care of him?"
They kept on throwing questions. The rain echoed in his ears. His mind became jumbled with each step. He wanted them to stop. He wanted them to leave him alone. He wanted to be at peace. But the masses are not one to listen to him, even if he was to raise his voice.
The drizzles fell heavy and hard, his steps muffled by the ensemble of the rain.
He walked and walked, flowers in my hands. Fresh and fragrant flowers. But they were dry to him, withered and fading away. Just like his life.
A day that no child should ever see. But he was there, witnessing the greatest tragedy of his life.
His heart throbbed in an unknown pain.
A man and woman. They were smiling warmly. Their eyes carried a rare kindness and a loving gaze. But that was only a picture with no breath. He could never feel their warmth ever again.
"Father... mother... I miss you..."
The tears that he thought had dried up trickled down in a plethora as if a dam was broken. But he was helpless. His parents were lost, up in the heavens probably, and they were not coming back, even if their child was left alone, crying and cold.
"Why…?"
Why did you have to leave me?
Was I not a good son?
Was that why you betrayed me?
Unanswered questions reigned in his mind. But the only thing that greeted him was the incessant pouring of the cold monsoon.
He kept his flowers down in front of his parents' smiles.
He didn't belong there anymore. All he could do right now was pray that his parents would rest in peace.
He— I left.
***
"Go ahead and fill your stomach."
The food was thrown in front of me. It was stale.
"Tch, useless kid."
The man bent down and unlocked the cuffs that held me by the wall.
"If you run away again, I swear to God I am gonna make you regret it a thousand-fold.
"Yes… uncle."
He was my uncle.
"Ahh, XXXX! Did you give my child the food?"
My aunt's voice was loud and hoarse, very unpleasant to my ears.
"Haha, you did! He, he should be eating that, right? God told me to give him that food."
She was mentally ill.
There was a God for her. A God that she listened to. That God told her to lock me up in my room. That God told her to always give me stale food.
"Hehehe, the evil, the evil will be vanquished from his body, right? XXXX, it will, right?"
"Fuck off."
My uncle lightly shook her off and stared at the book in his hands. Girls. Naked girls doing many poses.
"God, please give me another sign! What should I do to release this pitiful child from the grasp of evil?
"Hehe… these are some good girls…"
This was my "family" now.
I was twelve.
***
"Hey, see, I told you he wouldn't kill himself."
"Fuckin… why did he have to come today?"
"Hehe, now give me the money."
"Yeah yeah, wait here."
Footsteps rang out.
"Oi."
He stood before me. I couldn't help but keep my head low.
"Give me 50$."
He asked for money.
"..."
I didn't reply.
"The fuck? Oi, you ignoring me?!"
I didn't reply.
"This dickhead…!"
He grabbed me by my neck and lifted me. He was huge and I was just a flea compared to him.
Bam—
"You bitch! How dare you ignore me?!"
He bashed my broken hand against the wall.
"..."
I didn't reply.
My eyes were devoid of any longing anymore. It was a colourless world.
"This fucker…! I guess you want your other hand broken too huh?!"
Crack—
He twisted my arm.
I bit my lips.
It hurt.
It hurt so much.
It hurt so much.
***
A year passed.
"Haha, XXXX! God finally replied to me! He, he, he said that if, if we cut his fingers, the evil will be gone! Haha!"
I had my fingers cut.
***
Another year passed.
"Let's break his legs today."
I had my legs broken.
***
Another year.
The torment continued.
***
Again.
***
Again.
***
Again
***
Again
***
Slam—
My aunt slammed open the door.
She smiled angelically.
Something was up.
"Child~"
She called me out slyly, her mouth still curved upwards.
"This is the final message from Him."
Final message…
She slowly revealed a knife.
Tap…
Her strides were small and soft.
Her smile seemed to be evergreen.
"He said…"
She grabbed my hair and yanked my head.
"...to gouge out your eye~"
"Ah…"
A moan escaped my lips.
"Now~ don't resist, alright? It will be over in an instant~"
No.
I didn't want that.
"No, please…"
My voice was meek and muffled.
"Oh, child."
She brought the knife near to my left eye.
"No… please don't do this…"
I tried to struggle but her grip was stronger than mine.
"Please…!"
I shouted.
"Uncle!"
He was in the other room. I knew it. But all I got was silence.
"Stop, please!"
"Stop struggling, child!"
"Get away!"
It was dangerous.
My instincts roared. My body moved on its own.
Tash—
A hand flew and hit my cheeks.
"Yes, now you are being good."
Tash—
Tash—
Tash—
The barrage was painful and continuous.
"Now, do as I say. Stay still, child."
No.
Please.
Stop.
"Just a little more~"
'Ah…'
I realized.
There was no hope.
'If that's the case…'
I'd rather go back.
Just before she could cut out my eye, I shoved my head into the knife.
"Kya—"
Darkness veiled my eyes.
My thoughts were cut off.
My mind was blank like an empty slate.
I could feel something slowing down.
I could feel something dying.
And...
I could finally know the sensation that made its place in my heart.
'This sensation... it's despair.'
Silence.
I died.
***