Prompt:My mind, my life, my world.
Unrequited. Still certain words and phrases catch our attention, sometimes even when we are not listening in. And the restless mind seeming to be waiting for this piece starts to make a journey on its own. So is the case with her, right now. Her mind is like a wall with graffiti-ed thoughts; remembering every phrase in great detail; like a zone of mixed emotions; a black hole.Over hearing people talk, she is drifting off to a conversation with herself.
'....over and out....'
‘How is she feeling now?’ One of her visitors asks.
‘No one knows how she is feeling. She should either speak up or at least show some emotion, in any form. This staying shut up is doing her no good.’ Grandma rambles on.
What can she say? How she possibly let every one down? How she failed?
She is tongue-tied now. What can she say? Anything at all about the embalmed feelings! When all concerned are far, far away, never to return! It has now become some kind of a reflex. If someone asks, ‘How are you?’ she replies, ‘Fine’. If the question is, ‘Are you happy?’ she immediately says, ‘Yea!’ which may be far from truth.
‘……stop talking about this nonsense……crap....boring...’
‘All she should do right now is eat well and take ample rest. But in this busy world...’ Grandma is still going on.
She has always had time for people she deeply cared. And it turned out to be a mistake to expect the same in return. Suicidal. No, no. It was suicide when she realized what was happening. It was suicide when she actually spoke it out. Someone once wisely said, ‘It is, but, their choices’
Yes. It was her choice, then. To confess. And now she is reaping the rich gains of her folly. She is not able to accept the fact that her air-castle is so brutally and so coldly demolished. Also she keeps thinking that she is not to be blamed entirely and solely for everything that is happening.
'....by a net....m like water...'
All she wanted was some quality time and few kind words. Whatever she got in return were rejection, neglect, regardless words, and sarcasm.
‘It is true. I do too. Loads!’
All those empty words. She has always had a weakness for words. But those were not some carelessly strewn words. Instead they were carefully chosen phrases that are sure to have touched anybody's heart. Some willful. Some misleading.
'Nothing to lose. Nothing to gain.'
Neutrality is like saying, ‘I don't care'. Now she has got nothing. No shoulder to lean on. No soul to truthfully say, ‘hang on’. She stares long at the silent mobile of hers. This had been the only means of contact. But it’s been dead for quite some days now. Maybe it knew of its owner end and preceded her as a truthful aide.
'...of course...catch u later'
Her mom comes near, touches her forehead to feel the temperature. Though her mother says nothing, she can see the pain in her eyes; the pain of seeing her daughter in such evident trouble. She has never let her mother down. Not that she remembers of. Not in her 23 years of truthful existence. But now she is left with little choice. She is no more the truthful daughter, nor does her existence holds any point. 'I'm sorry, ma' she mumbles.
‘I’m so sorry. I’m helpless.’
She is now a prisoner within her own shell. She retreats into her cocoon and the enveloping emptiness does not help much in relieving her from the pain and the memory. She drifts into an uneasy but a forceful sleep.
'...it is a forceful no...'
She feels a cold touch on her cheeks and she opens her eyes to see her dad sitting next to her, gently tapping on her shoulders as if singing a wordless lullaby. Now seeing she is awake, he helps her to sitting position, and gives her the tablets for her fever. But an ailment he knows not is tormenting his daughter. He is still unawares that some deep pining is all that’s the cause; that the suppressed and repressed feelings and emotions are boiling up and torturing her. He assuringly says, 'Don’t worry. No fear! Everything will be all right soon'
'.....fear of...Fear of....fear..'
Fear! A wonderfully absurd word. No further questions after hearing someone say that. A word beyond any rational justification. Seeing that his daughter is no longer listening to him, her dad slowly kisses her a good night and silently leaves the room.
Wonder if angels are living people? Maybe they do exist in the fairy land. A land where prayers are still answered; where things are always what they seem; where there is still respect and dignity of self. Maybe such a land is itself a fairy dream.
‘Maybe ……….it is not true. Maybe ...…….don’t matter. Maybe …..…… not even a close….’
Maybe she will wake up tomorrow to realize that it has all been a dream, a bad dream. Maybe she will wake up tomorrow having to face another long, essentially purposeless day, an aimless journey, struggling with the memory of the past. Maybe she will not wake up at all!
'......its too late for anything.....'
'Yes.' she accepts with deepest remorse. 'Sadly, it is.'