Sunday, February 28, 2010

The Storyteller Continues...

Chapter 6

My mother holding my hand close to her face was telling me something in close whispers. Even though the words were not clear, I could feel what she was trying to say. Old bastard who was once my dad had died two years back due to excessive alcohol drinking. There are two types of people in this world, the world in which I thrive. One are the kind of people who make their own life hell and the other are like my dad, they make sure that the people around them also have a taste of hell. I don’t know if heaven or hell even exists, all I know is that I have experienced hell, seen it in my mother’s eyes. In the beginning, after a long session of beating with my dad I used to cry my eyes out. Sitting in a corner, staring out of the window looking at all the other children playing, living their lives the way it was meant to be. At the age of twelve when children dream about becoming something in their lives, I wasn’t even sure that I would even survive till the age of eighteen. Here I am eighteen years old, lying in a bed for the past six years waiting for a miracle to happen in this life of mine. Sometimes I just think if I would have died the day I was born.
Lying here like a dead person waiting for my day to arrive. Heaven seems so far, so out of reach from where I stand. I always knew that life won’t be easy; god never said life would be easy. It’s just that I never thought life would be so dead.

What is connection between this life and the life I keep going back to in my dreams?

Angel hope looks a lot like my own town. The difference is that everyone is happy there. Our town used to glitter during festivals. Not all the time like angel hope but it had its fare share of sunny days. But our house was like a dark patch, always gloomy, full of sadness, like the ray of sun couldn’t reach the steps of our house. Life could have been better, much better if that old bastard would have died somehow. But past cannot be changed and the present is lying in a bed waiting for the future to die in slow gasps.

I wish I was dead mother, I wish I was dead.

Adventure Continues...


  1. well written with despair so saddening :(

  2. Ah ok so the story-teller is actually a boy in a state of coma.And all that he experiences are actually his dreams?...or maybe the unfulfilled desires of his unconscious mind.
    How did he come to be in this state?
    Gah lotsa questions...waiting for the next part.

  3. That was a powerful piece. The heaven- hell leitmotif is used so well to explain his current comatose state as well as the abuse by his father. Will come back for more ; in the meanwhile, if it interests you..

    We have a story writing contest and would love to see you participate. Below are the details :

    INDImag’s Katha Sagar Contest. USD $150/- in Prizes

    Stories have a way of connecting people and touching their hearts. Like a good cup of coffee, a thriller can stimulates one’s senses and linger on far after enjoying it, while at the diametric opposite end of the spectrum, a story that your grandmother narrated to you as a kid, soothed you to sleep and filled you with sweet dreams.

    Stories, like clay, provide an endless medium of possibilities limited only by the author’s imagination. We want to unleash a sea of these stories. Hence Katha Sagar..