‘IT’S THE SAME’
She knew what she had decided to end it like. Blind eyes, deaf ears, dumb mouth and numb body. Even if she hated it, somewhere way below she was dying for it. She had made many manuscripts of her saddening break up with her friends just to have them deleted one day, in fact every other day. The day she would get beaten up by her mum over those un-realistic and non-existing relationships that she could have never thought of, she would drive her face into the pillow and weep and wonder of the demonic mum she could get hold of. At times, she would find herself extremely fortunate and at time horribly unfortunate. Fortunate because else could save the person who would have born in place of her, if it wouldn’t have been her. And unfortunate because she was terribly numb to her mother’s torture. She would dream of saying everything straight to her mum, right on her face, on how ruthless, demonic, unsupportive and un-understanding she is and would rehearse them time and again a million and one times and forget the entire plan the very next second.
At the end of the dawn, she would question her own self, if she deserves to speak up or not. She would realize that she shouldn’t even if she should. And thereby her words would remain suppressed under the shadows of respect, fear and thirst for peace. Gradually, her excitement quenches her thirst of rage and she faces the same old scene all over again, before a new dusk could have begun, she would start wiping her tears. Is this your mercy, oh Lord? I hope a ‘yes’ to your very much existing and realistic ‘no’.