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.
Chapter 7
There was less of bloodshed in my stories if children were also listening. Angel hope was full of children so my stories were more heroic, of my triumph over the evil without any mass killings. A few minutes after my story ended it started to rain in fragments. The town had a very lavish guesthouse in the midest of the greenery. With the backdrop of rain and greenery merged together it looked like heaven. Reminded me of someone or something I couldn’t remember. For the past six years I have been dreaming the same dream again and again. As if I’m trapped in a loop. A boy lying in a bed unconscious and a lady which I can say is definitely her mother, coming everyday to visit him. Lot of times when I woke up from my dream there were tears below my eyes and my pillow was drenched with my tears. I have never seen this boy or this lady in my life.
Who are they? I have no idea. Then also they look so similar. I can see an image of my childhood in this boy. All the sufferings and pain etched in his eyes. The only difference is that he got his ticket to hell a lot quicker than me. I have never seen his father coming to visit him. I’m pretty sure that he will be a lot like my bastard of a father. But I have made sure my name is there in the reservation list when I knock on the doors of hell. I always used to tell my dad before I got beaten up to death that,” dad some things just don’t end the way you want them to”. There was sweat all over my face now and I think I was shivering. I can still feel the mark of those beatings under my skin. This time I went to sleep without any dreams interrupting my sleep but I was still murmuring in my sleep. I cannot get too close to the people of angel hope town. Love and affection are my enemies.
“Some things just don’t end the way you want them to dad”
Next morning I woke up abruptly, outside the guesthouse it sounded like as if the gates of hell had opened. Still not fully aware of what was going on outside I drew my red colored pajamas over my knees and opened the main door. For a second my eyes couldn’t adjust to so many colors in front of my vision. It was like thousands of rainbows had appeared out of nowhere. There was some kind of celebration going on and overnight they had built a huge funfair in the middle of the town. There was a lot of space in the middle of the town and so they had built lots of rides for children like merry-go-round, ferries wheel. At the entrance there was a huge board with words that were blurry to my vision from that distance. I kept walking towards the board as the words looked pretty similar to me. I went blank for a second and couldn’t believe my eyes what was written on that board. There was a small girl standing next to me and so I asked her what was written on the board to confirm my fears and she said, “Hello Mr. storyteller, your pajamas are red in color hehe.”
Kind of embarrassed a little I replied,” yes they are my dear child and don’t they look just smacking on me?”
The little girl now smiling which looked more like making fun of me said,” they would have looked better if they were not eating the dust on the floor.”
That’s what I was thinking that why suddenly my legs were feeling all airy and comfy. I said to myself that she is only a small girl and I can handle her. After all I’m “the storyteller” the messiah of this town, the soul warrior, god of all gods, ruler of this town to which my inner dad suddenly replied,” cut the crap you asshole, you are no more than a piece of shit, you son of a bitch who looked like my wife until I beat the crap out of her ugly face haha”.
My face was all red with rage and so I mouthed off, “why don’t you go fuck yourself old fuck, oh I forgot you don’t have a body you piece of fuck”.
Don’t know how but I had said these words pretty aloud to the small girl by mistake and the girl crying her eyes out ran towards her mother shouting,” mommy the storyteller is a freak help me”.
From a distance I could hear the little girl’s mother saying,” oh my poor baby, come to mommy. You are having bad dreams again about the boogey man.”
I heaved a sigh of relief and saw that the little girl’s mother was waving to me with a huge smile on her face. She pointed downwards indicating that my pajamas were down to which I gave her a wink. Her cheeks went all red in embarrassment and I started to walk back towards my cottage without looking back at the mother who I think was in awe of me.
Suddenly the purpose behind my visiting that place came back to me. I had completely forgotten about the board and the words written on it. At least the shock had succumbed in the mean time. My name was pasted in gigantic words on the entrance board.
“Welcome to angel hope town storyteller”
I could come up with only one explanation,” these people are nuts and I think I’m fucked. I should get the hell out of here as soon as my work is completed here.”
There are enough numbers of happy souls in this town to absorb.
“Happiness is what I look for; happiness is what I shall seek”
Chapter 8
After six long years finally my body showed some progress. At first the doctors were astonished to see that a coma patient could show some progress after so many years. Normally in such cases if coma patients don’t show any improvements within six weeks of their entering into the coma world, they inform the patient’s family that there is not much hope left. That day when my mother came to visit me she looked a lot younger. Now I know how smile can do wonders to a person’s face. My mother looked a lot like the person who used to caress me and wipe tears of my face few years back. When the doctor came back into the room my mom bombarded him with as many questions she could conceive during that period. Dr.churchill was taken aback a little bit but doctors usually know how to handle eccentric mothers and so without losing his composure he said,” Maam what your son has showed after so many years is no less than a miracle, but a lot of times patients tend to go back to the situation they were in before, so we have to keep monitoring his progress and then only we can conclude what lies in the future.
There were tears in my mother’s eyes and without even saying a single word she conveyed her thank you to the doctor. In a few days the storyteller will be able to absorb the required number of souls to achieve the final count. The count required to make us the gods of our own worlds. Till then I have to keep fighting and keep surviving for a few more days. What the doctors perceive as progress is nothing but the final spark before my life diminishes. They know the basic working of a normal human being. I was never normal. From the beginning my body structure was divided into two different parts. One life living in which I’m surviving right now and, the one that resides inside of me. Both of us have our own different worlds to thrive in. Both of us have our own stories to tell. Both of us are in a way, incomplete stories of our own lives. In a way, bounded by one single thread, thread that has the same purpose written all over it. That’s why both of us can contact each other only in our unconscious state. There are a number of restrictions in our ordinary world. You can only see your dreams but what humans don’t know is what they see, what they perceive in their dreams is the inner world that resides inside of them like a mirror. Everything in this world has two sides. If there is wrong then there is right, if there is good then there is evil, if there are bastard fathers then there exist loving mothers. A coin has two sides and so does the human soul. Living your dream for so many years again and again to the point where it is forced bounded to the real world by a chain. Till the point where your dreams falls on its knees and begs for mercy. Till the point where it’s hard to distinguish between reality and dreams.
“To the point where you are no less than a god and no more than a human being”
You shall be the god of your own world when reality turns into an illusion and dreams breach the barriers of human soul and start turning into reality. Once the gates are open all kinds of dreams will start overflowing to the other side like a dam broken. Patience is the key to your success. Control over every minute particle in your body till the point you are able to sense each and every sense, each and every heart beat, each and every pulse in your body.
What will happen when a human starts to use hundred percent of his brain?
In time you will come to know the epitome of a human body.
“In time when I shall myself be the almighty”
Storyteller keeps cribbing that he has to do all the dirty work while I just lie unconscious in bed doing nothing. But if didn’t have that much control over my brain he would have never existed in the first place. Storyteller would have been like one of those faint memories in my mind which would have in time disappeared forever. I was the one who resurrected hopes, wrote my dream on my wrist till the time the wound stopped to heal and the words were etched on my skin. Most of the people never live their dreams, feel it, try to touch get, get close to it. After some time they just lose hope cribbing over small things like disappointment, losing again and again they just quit. That’s the only difference between winners and losers. Losers they just quit. Me I have already mentioned that I was not born to lie in a bed all my life like a weight on my mother’s shoulders. Even for a second if I lose my concentration the thread is broken. Love and affection are the only two things that make people blind. They drift away from their dreams due to these very two reasons. Carrying the weight of their families and friends on their pity shoulders they crumble after some time. They are no more than a cockroach to me. I want to be remembered. I don’t want people to think of me as the boy who was beaten up by his father all his life and lived the rest of his life lying in a bed. I don’t want their pity. I just want one little thing from them without which they can live their lives the way they live now.
I’M THE STORYTELLER.IN THIS WORLD AS WELL AS THE OTHER WORLD.
I NEED A HAPPY ENDING.
EVERY STORY NEEDS A HAPPY ENDING.
EVERY STORYTELLER NEEDS A STORY WITH A HAPPY ENDING.
I WANT THEIR PITY DISGRACEFUL SMILES.
I WANT THEIR HAPPY ENDINGS.
