He tossed a crumpled sheet of paper on a pile that was already threatening to overflow from the trash can. This wasn't the first time he had run out of ideas. He wrote for a weekly for a living and writing, re-writing and writing again was the only thing he knew.
The article he was supposed to submit the next day was nowhere near complex as the one he had submitted a few weeks ago, when the calamity had hit his city. One-third of the population of his country had miraculously gone blind on the same day and nobody was able to give a sound explanation. His article, during that crisis was simply stating the news and yet it had been one of the deepest shit he had ever written. His own mother had been a victim as well.
His current article tried to explain how various knowledgeable and scientific people were after solving the issue but no inspiration came to him while he sat with a file of assorted reports and promises that people had already seen over the internet. People who could still see were mostly young people. 25 or below. They were never depended on weeklies or newsletters or anything that dealt with wasting huge resources for practically nothing.
He sat contemplating his own worth for a short while. Why was he doing what he was doing. Was it necessary to have followed father's advice and become a journalist? "Only reporting what other people don't want you to report is true journalism." His father would remind him from time to time. He had died a few years ago. This had been something of a relief. He no longer had to be working in the same institute as his father. It was all for better.
But this. What was with this sudden blindness! Why was the only country that was affected, his? Why only aged people had been victims? Was someone doing it deliberately? Or this was just some huge cosmic fluke?
Negative thoughts swirled in his head while he sat tossing paper after paper into the trash can. As it was, running blank off ideas wasn't new. But what could he do to make his mother be able to see again?
His phone gave a short blink. It was from one of his sources. "They are all being taken to the facility." The message read.
That was bound to happen. A government facility had been created to accommodate all the newly blind people. His own mother, along with every other victim in the country was taken away on the same day. They simply said that it was to find a cure. Two days later rumors started reaching his ears that some big scientist had created some secret place for these people as he feared this blindness could be contagious. While they took her in a white mini-van, he had a sick feeling in his stomach. As if he was looking at his mother for the last time.
His mother had not helped however. She never uttered a word after the blind-sickness struck her. She would simply scratch at whatever blocked her way. He had tried talking to her, feeding her and even took her hand to make her feel his face but to no avail. It was as if she had lost not only her eyes but also her cognizance.
"Can you follow?" He sent a quick response and sat wondering if his source would. He drew out a neat sheet of paper and started writing again. Three hours later, his draft was presentable. He mailed a copy each to his supervisor and editor and checked his phone for messages from his source. There were none.
His editor called however.
"Sharma. What have you sent me? What is this rubbish?" His editor sounded furious.
"Sir, I was asked to write on this crisis. Is there anything wrong with the article?"
"Whatever crisis you are talking about boy, we don't want our readers to be reading about how helpless we are at the moment. Rewrite and submit your article so that it says they are almost halfway curing the wretched blindness." The editor said and disconnected.
Vikas Sharma once again started with the menial work of twisting the facts. Somewhere inside his brain was a realization that he was never going to see his mother again.