The Victim

David took a step back, as broken pieces of the glass vase bulleted across the kitchen door, and fell on the floor of the hall. He was not sure if he was quiet enough, but hoped his abrupt steps had been boycotted behind his mother’s scream, and his father’s roar. There was nothing unusual about the shouts and the beating anymore. It had become the story of every night lately. But never had his father been this monstrous before, never this cruel. Had he not given a second thought before dragging the glass vase across her face? Sharper than those dripping edges, were the wounds engraved on David’s heart that night.

The family had seen better times. His father had not been like this before. He had been a respected man before the war, had a small store where he sold hand-made sculptures, by carving wood. In fact, he had been the benchmark among sculptors in the village. Everyone admired his work, and he too had pride in it. However, no one was hurt more than he was, when the first bomb in the village fell on his shop, and the fire destroyed all his work and money. That had not been all. David’s father was also a freedom fighter in the war. He stood with many other brave souls to defend his village, and his family. He paid for their victory with an arm. He could still move it, but it became impossible to do heavy work with his left arm. Thus, he had no other option, but to give up his passion. He gave up carving, and that punched a hole in his heart. He had to carry this consequence of war as a burden, for the rest of his life. He was a victim of war, and at the end, he had nothing. That was when he picked p the habit of drinking. He started taking out the grudges against the war on his family, his wife and David.

David hid under the staircase, as his father went out the main gate. He waited till he heard the footsteps fade, then he walked to the kitchen. His mother’s face was covered with blood. Her tears made the vibrant red blood look pale. Like every other night, without any reason, she was victimised to his rage. David treated her wounds, washing away the blood with tears in his eyes. But she refused to rest till she cleaned up the mess on the floor. She never blamed David’s father.

David’s father returned after midnight. The roaring and screaming started again. This time it was more intense. David heard crockeries break, and slams on doors and walls. Finally, there was a gun shot. It seemed like the world mourned at her loss. Everything turned quiet. When David went downstairs, the whole village had already gathered up in their house. He saw his father tied to the pillar of the staircase. And on the once-spotless floor and carpet, lay his mother. Dead. His right of having a mother, a simple family, was ceased. The completeness of the family was torn and burned down, and he remained the successor of all the pain passed down.broken_glass_s

Wired-in Sunshine

Yarnful of Stories

Written for this prompt at r/WritingPrompts.

The comment is here on the sub.


Naomi scrolled through yesterday’s accumulation. They were darker today than usual. Almost all of them were depression, uselessness, fear, nervousness, frustration. The spot below the hairline on the back of her neck tingled. She reached behind and rubbed as close to the spot as possible, taking care not to touch the cable that connected to the source of her emotions. It felt like a large lump of hair being shifted around if it touched anything while she was plugged in.

Warmth seeped through her fingers from the mug of coffee. Opening a new window, she began a list of the lightest emotions that had come in. The first on the list was a tiny amount of frustration. The donor was a regular. He got frustrated really easily but could let go of it just as easily. He’d…

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Tiny Breezes

Tiny breezes which
Spread the waves,
Are not that calm,
During Summer days.

It growls at the windows,
For they’re in the way,
Hissing much silently,
You’ll know it’s May.

The breezes grew up.
They were tiny once.
From paper to boats, Now
They make the ships dance.

As the queue proceeds,
The breeze washes away.
Summer walks out the door,
The tiny breezes sway.

Time to Wake Up

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All monsters are humans

Veiling their faces in malice,

But we are sweating in the Sun,

Only to make their golden chalice.

 

I was handed a hammer

Instead of a pen,

I was given a childhood

That no child could ever think of even.

 

Is it not unfair?

They give us a fierce glare

So their future could flare.

 

Tell me what accursed life is this?

That I cut rocks on blocks

While the same of my kind read books on Clocks.

 

Wake up humans!

Kill the monster that resides inside you.

Wake yourself up from the hibernation of a thousand decades!

Cause God will take count of

Every drop of tear

That has ever come out of an innocent heart’s fear.

Will you?

Will you kiss me?
if i say this is the last time your lips will touch mine,
Will you still embrace my love
that i have given you for years?
would you believe me if i say,
all the years the memories i made with you,
i will carry them with me to my grave?
Will you look into my eyes,
and search for another world,
for one last time as i march towards the abyss of death?
When you held me for all these years,
i felt a thrill rushing through my body,
Like butterflies staying inside my corpse. would it feel the same way,
when you will touch my skin for the last time?
Years later,
when you will look back into the oblivion of the past,
will i be a mirage to you?
a mirage, if existed you could have had a happy peaceful life.
Would you still look at me with those lively eyes,
when i will say to you that the invitation for my death has already come and the grim reaper is right outside the door. Will you still say you are in love with me,
when i will leave the next second,
saying goodbye to you forever.
Will you promise me?
to live happily,
to forget me and memories,
as i walk out towards my end.
will you still kiss me? for the last time.
So i can close my eyes and jump into the unknown, afterlife.

Suicide Note

The words that I am going to write,
Can be the last words I will write in this life.
Do I want it to end sad?
Do I want it to end happy?
I really have no clue,
The same way as my life.

It all started that time, that supposedly wonderful dawn,
Me breathing and crying when I was born.
For a while I lived in the world full of happiness,
But the feeling didn’t last for long,
It was back to me and my sad song.

Some called my tears,
Tears of joy;
Some called it as tears of dissatisfaction.
Oh, did they ever realize all these years,
I just cried in pain of this loneliness inside.

I am saying this out loud now,
The fear in me for the world is gone now,
I feel so light, that I have the guts to stand on the roof.
And jump to end my life.

They’ll call me a coward for what I have done,
But these people were the one who made me come to this place anyway,
Wont they be happy to read?
Another one they trapped with their harsh words.
Is no more in this world again.

I don’t want to say that
All my life I have been sad.
There were times when I loved my life,
The friends i got,
The family i shared,
They made my life into a beautiful story,
How much i wish, none of them ever left or betrayed me.

My energy is about to run out,
But I made this promise to someone I love.
Those words echo in my ears.
“May death not do us apart”
Oh my dear, death didn’t separate us. You did.

And again I cry in the end,
Just like how my story began.
This whole journey called life,
I learn one thing.
How to cry.
And here I am, saying this for one last time.
Goodbye.

My Letter to Time

I’ll stop. Stop trying to find some glorified, theatrical way to talk about your significance in my life. Because you know nothing even comes close. There are so many things I could say, but none of that would come close to saying what you mean to me.

I’ll stop. Stop trying to fight you back with all I’ve got. Stop trying to resist you. Because when a storm comes, you must embrace it, and let it wreck you from within. But it’s hard. Hard to justify the things you do.  Hard to figure out the way you flow.

It is starting to feel real. It is starting to feel like all those movies I’ve watched. But then sometimes I feel like I’m asking for the pain, like I want to bleed. It’s weird how our perception of reality is different from what reality actually is. How sometimes it feels like “it shouldn’t feel like this”. Maybe it’s just me and I’ve turned to a stone. Maybe I’ve always been.

It is starting to feel like my soul’s dying. It’s crying for help inside, and it knows all too well what’s happening. My hopes shatter into pieces before I even realize I had them. Some days it feels meaningless. Some days the storm gets me drenched. And it rains and it rains and the sky is this shade of grey that stirs my heart.

Then I realize I am in love with being drenched. I am in love with the grey gloom. That there is a certain pleasure in the pain that we all dread. Maybe I’m unconsciously getting addicted to it. That’s when the guilt hits, when you realize you actually want everything you’re trying so hard to fight against. Then again, what do I know about pain?

I try to grasp you within the palms of my hands. But you so effortlessly slip away. I try to catch you before you come, but you so beautifully deceive me. I try to figure out how to spend each minute, but you just destroy the whole meaning of even having a plan. Sometimes I give up and stand in my path, awing at the beauty of your existence. Sometimes I catch up and wonder why I’m still not happy when I achieve you.

What are we all trying to do? What are we running from? More importantly what are we running towards? I try to comprehend every fiber of your being, but fail because sometimes you don’t even exist. I realize I can’t ever hold the water that spills from my glass and I’ve stopped trying.

But I refuse to let you lead the way; refuse to let go of having any sense of control, refuse to admit at the end we’re all at your mercy. I try to give you meaning, I try to give you purpose, to try and usher you to some barely visible path. But I’m feeling like everything is against me at this point. I try to give you dreams, to give you something to look forward to. Something to run for. But I’m at a standstill trying to figure out why everyone else is running. Without a purpose, it all slowly loses meaning.

I try to let other people in. I try to feel like a part of the mob; to try and understand your perception of people. As I sip the last drop of coffee she says to me “Well my mom always told me that life has the funniest ways of showing you what you should really be doing. It wouldn’t mean that you’ve failed or given up it would just simply mean it took you a wrong turn to find the right one. I guess you can always choose not to be miserable I personally think that yeah maybe that day will come when you wake up scared and not liking what you’re doing but that’ll probably be the start of something new if you let it.”

They all say it’ll work out. They all say I shouldn’t fight you. And even I know that you will flow and carve the path for me, without me even moving an inch. But the path being there doesn’t really mean anything if I don’t take it. I want to run for something at least once. Even if I fail and tumble down and hit my face, at least I’d have tried.

I have realized everyone has a different justification; everyone gets into the ring with different preparations. I think everybody gets these questions, but not everyone chooses to answer them. All these stories come together and weave a beautiful creation. Something only God and you can sit back to experience.

“I think my dream actually lies with people and the world and doing things.
But I believe I am not ahead of my time and kids of my age these days don’t know much about dreams.
I remain dissolved in “nows” with wild and broad consuming thoughts of “future and forever”.

I try and weave into my soul these little words that flow in the air. Even if the path I’m walking is for me to walk alone, I have brilliant paths beside my own. The things around me shape how I want to be. I think I’m getting there. Or maybe not. But that’s just a matter of perception in the end.

Wait patiently till you grow up. You are gonna get opportunities on a daily basis. You need to filter them out and no matter how annoyed or pissed or whatever you feel personally at that moment, find a way to power through it and do something. Doing makes the differences. Doing. And trust me for those who want it, God gives them enough chances. More than enough.

I think wanting to do something and getting to do it is in itself a rare privilege that a very few people get. Keeping your expectations even from yourself like an open canvas can sometimes give you a more beautiful picture than any other that exists for you.

Or maybe not. And there comes the matter of your acceptance”

I guess I have to accept you own me, and not the other way around. But you’re amazing all on your own and I’m gonna try my best to make a wreck of which I am happy of. I haven’t reached the answers yet. I haven’t started building my shelter from the storm. But I’ve decided I’m not going to. I have to face you alone and bare and I shall make an experience out of it. I’m not gonna keep running aimlessly, rather slow down and let everything in. Not everyone is meant for a well defined purpose, I’ll shape it into something much bigger than that. I have realized I am never gonna be content with my answers, because the day that happens I’ll stop running. And I’m not ready for that just yet.

It’s about giving back what you have given me. In my own small ways and helping the other souls running about like me. Give a little part of the storm to each one on my way and maybe even let someone else’s storm hit me in the face.

It’s not about the bigger picture. Rather the little rocks and hurdles I’ll pass and the small flowers I’ll plant in my path. To make someone else feel a little joy. To change things for the better, no matter how small they may be. It’s not about success or happiness. It is about the endless questions we try to answer.  It’s about how we all let you flow within ourselves.

I will slow down and let you intertwine with each strand of my soul.

I will stop trying to define you and give you constraints. Instead I will try to be at the center of the storm and let my hair loose because you are the most amazing thing man has ever known.

I will keep running, towards meaning, towards something greater than a dream, towards you.

How much was it?

He stood out in the cold,
Wearing a single shawl
Over his torn clothes.

Walking barefoot on the snow,
Entire body now almost,
In the state to fall apart.

He had no option
but to beg,
With No Food, No House, No Money.

He stopped near a Bakery,
The Smell of Fresh Bread,
Was something he couldn’t resist.

He walked in with a Hope,
To find some burnt food,
That the Boss would Offer.

As the hope weakened,
With Weak voice, He asked,
“May i have some Food, Master?”

The Master signalled at a Small boy,
A Normal boy of 10,
You would see Enjoying a Life.

But this boy an Exception,
Shivering in Fear, Slowly,
He approached, the Man.

The boy Addressed humbly,
“Beggars aren’t allowed by the Master,
Please leave sir.”

For food the Man Pleaded to the Boy,
Helpless himself, the Boy,
Had to Throw the Man out.

Finishing some Task,
Few days later,
For Reward, the Boy Rushed to Shop.

On his way back he saw,
The man he shooed away,
On the white Snow, Curled up like a ball.

The Boy neared him, to check for life,
Cold as the man was,
The boy realized, to Heaven he was Gone.

With Tears flowing all over his face,
He ran as fast as he could,
With tonns of Questions Rising in his Mind.

“How much is the bread?”
To his master,
In anger the little Boy asked.

Without a doubt, the master answered,
“Only Two pennies.”
The boy repeated “ONLY TWO PENNIES!!!”

Wasn’t his Heart,
As same as the Heart of Others?

Wasn’t his Cry for Hunger,
As same as the Baby crying for Milk?

Wasn’t his Blood,
As same as us All?

Was a man not worth 2 pennies?
Why was he dead?

For Life he wondered,
About the REAL COST of the Bread.
2 pennies or life,
how much was it?

Go Away

We fell in love,
each day I looked at you
I created a new world full of fantasy, in my mind.

you gave me the one thing I never had.

Hope.
Each day I would pray to the almighty,
I believed in him because one of the stories said his realm was somewhere above you. Each day, when I was about to cry, I would look at you.
You gave me hope.
It happened on the day I was walking home,
it was raining again.
Rain always made me sad,
I felt as if you were crying,
yet I walked with slow steps looking at the sky,
and that’s when I saw you strike,
a magical beam out of nowhere with a loud noise,
you destroyed,
my best friends house.
You were my daydream,
But I was wrong all the time.
You in real were a nightmare to humanity.
I stopped looking at you,
as each day passed,
I couldn’t stand the sight of you,
the sky seemed dull with you,
that’s when I realised, you were a parasite
A parasite, which dominated the sky.
years passed by,
I was finally used to being on my own.
But then I heard the news on television
how you created cyclones,
and floods in various places.
Millions lost their loved ones,
just like I did.
I misunderstood whenever it rained,
it was the cries of happiness not sadness.
You were mocking how weak humanity is.
My loathing soon turned to fear,
finally when I got married and had my own child.
Each day she went out,
walking beneath you,
I started hallucinating,
I started getting mad.
My husband left me,
my kids called me mad.
The psychologist said I was just afraid of you.
But little did everyone know,
how cruel you were.
Stay away from me,
you hollow molecule of water
you so-called cloud.
You are nothing but another form of the Satan

~The Poor girl running away from you~

Drowning

I stood there, motionless, on the edge of the bridge. The gentle wind kept blowing in my hair but I didn’t put my hands up to fix it. A thought rushed to my head shouldn’t I be leaving a note or something? But then again who cared anyway? No one liked my presence anyway, how in God’s name would anything change in my absence? I’m a parasite to everyone’s world. Coming to think of it, I was making them a favour actually. I wouldn’t be a disgrace to my mom anymore. She wouldn’t have to constantly keep reminding me of how useless I am or how I am not like, what’s that phrase parents use? Oh yeah, like “most children.” This is the best thing I can do for everyone around me. My friends, people who I know since I was kindergarten. They wouldn’t have to bear the problem that went by the name “Scott Stanley” anymore. They wouldn’t probably notice the first few days and I don’t blame them. They didn’t seem to notice much when I got sick. My best friend is definitely gonna find a new and better best friend as soon as she permanently gets rid off the deadest weight of her life. I don’t blame her either. Its pretty dead between us for the past one year. It’s just, I don’t know what happened. I didn’t bother to ask her either. I guess we grew up or something. Everything changed so fast and I couldn’t keep up. I’m already pretty dead to everyone’s life. Why would it matter if it had really happened? My biology teacher, Mr. Salman once told us, “before eating something unhealthy, we often say ‘who cares let’s just eat’ ” and he told us to delete the “who cares” part because someone always cares. Maybe that doesn’t apply to everyone. When it ends, people will ask, “Why? He had everything. Genius at school, good at football, had friends, but why’d he let go of all that?” Love. It’s all love. The strongest human emotion. Everything becomes nothing when you have no one in the world understands you. No one who really cares about you. Genius, football, friends become meaningless without compassion. That was the last thought I had on that bridge. They say when you’re drowning, you don’t open your mouth, it’s an involuntary action. Even though you feel like your head is about to explode, the instinct to not let water in is so strong that it provides a little time until you actually drown. That was the same case for me. I saw a bright white  light at surface, glaring at me, as if, it was welcoming me.