She was judged.
Everyone stared.
She was judged,
But no one cared.
She was different,
In every way.
Every opinion was:
She could not stay.
They teased and laughed
She’d sigh and cry.
But what no one knew;
She wished she could die.
Then the day finally came;
When her wish was fulfilled.
But she knew her blood had been spilled.
She was gone.
No one cared.
She was young;
Why was not her life spared?
How am I supposed to live? How am I supposed to die? It seems that the society has already planned out everything for me even before I was born. Why is it so easy for everyone to just follow the crowd? Why being different has to be a challenge? Why life hates anyone who tries a different route to death? So many questions one has in life but in the end no one wants to be generic but at the same time everyone is afraid of being ‘the weird one’. This is the tale of that one “weird” kid that no one knows about.
Darin had a pretty normal life. He was born into a very reputed family in the hometown. But his parents moved into a city with the hopes of a better lifestyle. Even though the life in the village was not that bad, the city life attracted everyone. His parents were no different. They bought a nice and cosy apartment in a safe neighbourhood. The people there were nice and welcoming. Darin’s parents, Ryde Laine and Heather Laine, were well educated but not that high. His father was the bread earner of the house. His mother does the household work as that was the usual back in the days. His father earned enough for the family; they could afford more than the bare necessities.
Ryde enrolled his son to a very respectable school around 5 miles away from the neighbourhood. He also arranged the ride for his sons travel. The ride was a public school travel. Everyday Darin’s mother, Heather would carry him and get him into the school bus. The school consists of all types of kids, from all types of background. Even the bus had diverse students from primary to high school kids and kids who were rich to poor. The school uniform was a must so everyone had the same look despite their background. This system was great to some extent. At least he discrimination based on economy was not there. Moving on to Darin’s life in school.
Darin was a quiet boy who didn’t have any friends. Of course he had classmates who occasionally talked to him but never a friend. He was for most his time lonely. Even his parents due to their busy schedule had to neglect Darin. He felt alone for almost all the time. He tried his very best to make friends but somehow it felt like everyone avoided him. His loneliness took to worse turns when his parents fought. That just makes him angry and sad. He wanted to get out of all this. He started reading books instead of playing outside with the neighbouring kids. Even if he had three books, he felt like he was home when he reads the books. Even during the break time in school, he used to read books. He used to eat his lunch alone obviously but books gave him company. Most of the children at that age loved to play during the break except him. He was made fun of his peculiar interest a lot of times.
One day during the English lecture, the teacher advised the students to read some books. The teacher said, “Those who read have the brightest future. I’m sure Darin has a head start in life because of his hobby.” Some of the students didn’t like this. They hated Darin for receiving such a high praise from the teacher. They decided to destroy Darin’s future. They plotted to destroy Darin’s books, all three of them. Darin never left his seat and he always had his bag near him. So, one of the students told Darin that the teacher is calling him to the staffroom. Believing them, Darin left for the staffroom but was intercepted by another boy telling him that he needs help to find something in the storeroom without which the teacher will scold him. So Darin went with the boy to the storeroom. The moment Darin entered the storeroom, the boy locked the room from outside and left Darin alone in the room. The storeroom was pretty far from the main classrooms and voices from the storeroom couldn’t reach anyone unless the janitor was intending to take something. And to top the misery, the janitor comes around in the evening. So for next half of the school, Darin was locked in the storeroom. He screamed and cried out loud but nobody could hear him. The other boys were happy that their plan is working out just fine. They took his books, tore them apart and then threw them in the dustbin. Not even fate was on Darin’s side. Normally he would reach home at 1900 hours and his parents would reach by 2100 hours but that day he was still in the room till 9 o’ clock in the night; around when the janitor came to the storeroom for getting some equipment and found Darin locked inside. He asked him, “How he ended up there?” He lied and told him, “I lost something in here and while searching someone must have locked the room from outside.” The janitor said “Oh… You should call your parents and inform.” “Ok.” said Darin and he then called and informed his parents. His parents came to pick him up and asked about the incident. But he didn’t say more than he said to the janitor. His parents accepted it and told him to care in the future. His bag was still in the school. The other boys hid it in the locker. The next morning the other boys started teasing him and called him names. Those names stuck with him till high school. Later he found his bag in the locker and saw that his books are missing. He realised that those kids did something to them. He didn’t react and went ahead as usual as if nothing happened. The others were pretty bummed by his behaviour and they tried new and interesting ways to bully him. He pushed through it all and reached high school with excellent grades. The only people who had a soft spot for him were his teachers. Eventually, the teachers were more of a friend than the students for him.
Darin became a full-fledged introvert by the time he reached high school. He bought new books which he could indulge in. By this time he had already been in the shoes of a thousand characters. Enthralled by the books he read, he started writing. He wrote poems, songs, books, etc. He enjoyed it very much. He kept this only as a hobby though; he enrolled in the sciences in the high school. He was equally fascinated by the world of science and mathematics. Along with the studies, he had his hobby to live for. But there were times when he had difficulties to cope up with the studies; still he managed to pass through it all with flying colours. This is what all of the others could see about him. No one knew what Darin’s true self. No one tried to know more about him. Everyone was pleased to see his success from the outside but no one saw his pain in the inside.
During the time Darin grew up as a teen, his household was frequently in shambles. The frequency of the fights between his mom and dad grew. Most of them were due to their ego. His mother started earning when he was 9 years old. This developed a complex in his dad’s mind. His dad’s ego kept rising, so did his mom’s. In between these fights, they often forgot about their kid, Darin. They neglected him and forgot to give him love. Because of this Darin became an emotionless person. He started developing a disregard for life. Sometimes the parents lashed out their anger on their son. Which made Darin to start feeling sad. His constant sadness grew into the monster of depression. He was in no mental state to appreciate anything. He simply didn’t care. His lack of interest crawled into his hobby and passion of reading and writing. He stopped trying to being creative. The neglect from the parents and the society made him feel worthless. He felt like no one was there for him. He wanted someone to console him, he wanted a friend at the same time he didn’t want to be a burden to anyone. He didn’t know what he was going through was a disease but he tried his own methods to cope up. He started stealing his parents’ money to buy alcohol. He started abusing alcohol and became a tobacco addict. His parents didn’t care much about each other and about their kid. Heck! They even started to sleep in different rooms. Their family was in a complete mess. Nobody could mend the broken pieces.
In his feeling of loneliness, Darin found music. But it didn’t make him feel anything. He was losing himself to alcohol and cigarettes. One day he decided to end it all. He decided to end his stupid life. People will forget about him as fast as the next night. He will find peace. So he started to write his final letter. The letter read,
“Hey!
Whoever is reading this, I want you to know, you’re awesome and worthy to live unlike me. I am nothing but trouble to my parents and the society. I have not even a single redeeming quality. I cannot offer anything. I am just a burden. Nobody is responsible for what happens next. I take FULL RESPONSIBILITY for my DEATH. I love you mom and dad.
Thanks for helping me get through till now, alcohol.
Regards,
Darin Laine.”
After writing this letter, he prepared the rope and the stool. He placed the letter on the table, said his final prayers and hung himself. It was 18:45 in the clock. His parents were still at work. They reached home by 21:00 to find their son dead in his room. Both of them broke down and were shocked to silence. They eventually called the ambulance. The police also came to the scene. While investigating, they found the letter and the case was closed as “Suicide”.
Whose fault was it? Were the parents to blame? Or maybe the society? Or maybe Darin? Everybody is at fault. Maybe if the parents had given some attention to their only son, he would be still alive this day. Maybe if he had friends, he would be alive. Even if he had a single person believing in him, he would still be alive this day. But sadly, that was not the case. We are so preoccupied by ourselves that we forget about others. Little things we do to others may hurt or mend them forever. Our actions are to be blamed in times like this. No one was there for him. Sadly, this is the truth for many of us. If you look closely to your surrounding you’ll see many who are on the verge of self-destruction. If someone comes to you for help never let them go. Never let anyone go by themselves. Be always kind to everyone. Maybe just your smile can turn someone away from destroying themselves. You don’t have to pay to act kind. All you need to do is be there for them. Just by giving them a sense of belonging can save them. Be friends with everyone. Try to help everyone. On to the story after Darin’s death;
His parents were questioned by the police and after the investigation they realised that Darin was an addict. The parents were shocked to hear this. They didn’t know about his condition. The doctors said that he could have been going through depression which was treatable. This could have been avoided. This knowledge broke them even more. With the grief of losing their only son, they decided to go separate. They felt that being separate would remind them of this incident less. But that was not true. Still they had help to get through. Both of them had their families to help them get through it all. And about the classmates, no one truly cared about his death; after all he was a wallflower that no one knew.
I perceive no other creation
Beyond the four gray walls
Binding me to this enclosure.
I have lost all contact
With the vital world outside
Through a cursed condemnation.
Revealing an execrable lifestyle,
A fate than I converse with the stone.
Of a cold, concrete water,
I squabble with a peel of venerable drapery,
I speak wih the granite
Of the rampant walls.
Waiting for the second
The doors fly open in reality,
And I exit-unrestricted,
To breathe the scent ofa fresh earth.
To feel the grass crunch beneath my feet,
to be an animated part of it.
Covet eternity’s idiomatic spectacle,
To indulge in the sensual bliss of birth,
In the point of reality exist,
To taste the resplendent fruits of earth.
I wistfully hanker for perpetual existence,
I dread to bid farewell to an imperfect world,
My inclinations have been invariably fulfilled,
Yet this anxiously lingers to be unfurled.
Immortality-you breed an unslaked zeal
For the insipid humanity to fabricate,
The embrace of death genes constant repulsion,
As an inevitable cosmopolitan fate.
I habitually gape at your inconceivable swagger,
For which I solicitously aspire,
For your tantalising, alluring seduction
Ignited in a stifling, eternal fire.
Figures stand about a canvas,
Depict a poor portraiture,
In black and white monochrome.
Sketched in pallid discoloration,
Delineating a distorted image
Of a feminine caricature.
Portraying a leaden expression
To the sightless blind.
Tracing a passionate devotion
To the contemplative mind.
Spelling an ardent affection
In a crude syllable,
Illustrating a revered adoration.
In idolised expectation.
On a tarnished impersonation,
In a sallow, ashen shade,
Lies the apex of tender passion
Voiced in an emaciated cascade.
The love, toil and inclination live
In a crude pencil perspective.
It was a hot day. A weary traveller with a haggard look on his face goes through the dense but beautiful forest. He was a soldier from the war who had held prisoner by the enemy. He and his other comrades were freed after his army had signed the treaty. He was tired. The wounds were too painful but like a true soldier, he kept a fast pace bearing the dreadful pain. He was thinking about the way his wife and children would greet him. Maybe even a hot meal would be ready. After the war, all he needed was rest.
These thoughts brightened his spirits. On the way, he met a queer old man with funny clothes. The soldier stopped to ask for directions when suddenly he caught a glimpse of the huge wooden box past the old man. It was a brown crate with tiny holes on each side. From within came strange noises, It struck the soldier that the box was quite similar to the one in the story of Pandora and the box of troubles. Out of curiosity, he asked the funny man about the contents of the box. It was obvious that the old man wanted to talk to someone He told the soldier that once he and his family lived happily in the woods. Then the terrible war broke out and his property, family, everything was destroyed. The only things left in the forest where the trees and birds. As he was forced to take up an occupation, he chose to become a bird catcher. A whole year had passed catching birds At the end of twelve months he had a hundred different birds packed in this crate. He could sell this box at a reasonable price only if-people would buy it is difficult to live without money.
After narrating this sad story, the tiny man a looking pleadingly into the soldier’s eyes. The soldier was so touched that he spent all the money to buy the box.after leaving the man to count the money, the soldier walked slowly thinking about the way his family would ridicule him for spending his money on the worthless box up to full of stupid creatures. Suddenly he tripped over a branch and the box dropped from his hands. There was a pleasant sound of chirping and The sky was covered with beautiful creatures. For or ask the first time in his life, tears rolled down his as she cheeks. It was at that very moment he released _ The Price of Freedom.
This word tells a lot about itself. A mistake is never wrong, it is just a mistake. We cannot categorize a mistake in being right or wrong. A mistake defines the path ahead, the possibilities ahead. A mistake foretells the plausible enigmas ahead. It does not take much to understand or rather differentiate a mistake from the step which should be taken, but it takes a hell lot to accept. Some accept with a smile, some cry over it, but eventually all accept. Now comes the situations where one cannot afford to do anything because one is handcuffed- in such situations we declare it to be a wrong step or rather a wrong doing.
It is all a mistake when you first start talking, it is all a mistake when you first dive in, it is all a mistake when you take your first step (because you have no idea what this cruel world has prepared for you), it is all a mistake when you first open up to your mother- knowing that she would discuss it with your aunt and that would be against your consent, it is all a mistake when you refuse to go out on that first date, it is all a mistake when you first cry out “paaa” or is it not? Do we all think of a mistake or rather give it the respect it deserves? Do we all sit back and try to realize why we call it a mistake in the first place? I don’t think we do! Sit back, and think, are the mistakes we call mistakes really mistakes at all?
When we start being a human in life and be generous towards people, we realize or rather regret being kind, why do we feel this way? Because our kindness has brought pain to us, something we think we did not deserve. But if we think it through the other way round, it is maybe we are hurt because we chose kindness to reward us with happiness, but we forgot that kindness is just an abstract feeling, it does not have an equal and opposite reaction because it is not an action, it raises an unforeseen barrier between expectation and reality. We all are aware of it, that we would be hurt, but still we pounce onto the situation with kindness in our mind and heart and regret in our eyes. You cannot blame yourself when you take such a step in life, you should blame your instincts, and it is your instincts which are to be blamed, because you thought you would get generosity in return for the same.
Same was the dilemma in that five year old girl, she was wanting to give in with kindness, but she refused to accept the fact that her dad would leave her just like her mom did. She thought about everything but she never thought about one thing- how would it be if you left it all and be indifferent towards things which you feel might hurt you? Well, she could not be blamed, she was five! There she went on with committing her first mistake, she shared her soul with her dad, she showed her mind to her dad, she told him her problems, she shed tears in front of him. She felt at peace when she did that, she felt elated and free at the same time, but the next morning she saw the new woman in the house, he dad introduced her to her new mother, a woman he loved and a woman who would be her mother from then onwards. She knew it right then, that her daddy understood nothing she had shared the night earlier, her daddy couldn’t see his daughter’s soul, but alas! She had already opened up her heart! Now it was out- it was lost, she was lost. That was the day she decided not to trust, she is 45 now, and still she cannot trust.
It was a sunny morning when we bustled into our jeep to go on our African Safari. I took my flask of water and basket of food and scrambled into the backseat just as the jeep set off. It was lovely to look out from our canvas windows. The scenery was barren and dry with an occasional tree standing tall in the middle. There were wild shrubs and bushes scattered across the savanna and there was a peaceful silence all around. We could see the faint figure of a giraffe in the horizon and we truly felt at ease. Suddenly, we heard a tiny noise like a baby whimpering. We looked around only to find a tiny ball of fur rolled up, pining away. I Jumped out of the jeep and went up to it glancing around for any signs of its mother. I stealthily crept up to it, cooing in my most comforting voice. It raised its head and my heart went out to it had big, pale yellow soulful eyes and a small black button nose. Looked so lost and lonely that I immediately reached out to it.
Yikes, “I screamed. The tiny little things had scratched me on my arm. My uncle came to the rescue and handling the club like an expert took us home.
I named him Zangoef after my late Brother and adopted him as my friend, companion, and bodyguard. First, I had to teach him how to eat, since food is naturally the main source of survival. I borrowed a dish from my mother and my careful wrote his name on it. It was to be his official plate. I poured some milk from the milk jug and carefully laid it down at his feet. “Tenoo.renoo,” I said that which is the African word for eat and sat myself down on the floor to watch him. Zangoef scrambled onto my lap and then balancing himself before to drink the milk. His tawny hide glowed on my black skin. This was one white creature that did not make fun of me.
Weeks and weeks passed like this and Zangoef and I developed a good friendship. A close bond was formed between us and we experienced clearly inseparable. I slowly common into a lady and Zangoef into a handsome, brave and strong lion. Now his roar was deafening and his canines were sharp and scary, but never harmed me. He was a magnificent sight to see but one thought saddened me. Soon white man bango (Sir in African) would make me send him back to the wild, his natural habitat.
At last the dreaded day arrived and my white banjo came to fetch Zangoef. Zangoef started snapping violently. I was told to pacify him. On doing so, they chained him and led him away. I watched his big body walk away till he was recently a speck in the horizon. He never looked back and from out of my life with such dignity, that I felt ashamed when my little trickled down my cheek. The thing I felt sad about most was that all his life in captivity he was never chained. So why was being been chained when he was returning to the wild?
My summer holidays had begun and I was lazing in bed feeling like a procrastinator. Suddenly Mummy came n with something in her hands. A tiny hummingbird! It was trembling because of a broken leg which was bleeding badly. “Arun Bhaiya found the poor thing lying under the Kadamb tree in the garden,” Mummy said.
Oh! The desire I had to hug and kiss it was uncontrollable and the disappointment, indescribable when I realised it was too small!
My sister, Prakriti, and I got her the basket we used for our chickens a year ago and I washed her leg and bound it with gauze.
We put her in my softest napkin with a bottle cap half full of water and sprinkled some millet – seeds near it. When Dad came home he christened her ‘Melanie’, on the spot and Melanie she was!
For two days we played with, soothed, caressed and comforted her When the sun rays bounce off her back, pink, green, red, mauve, yellow and a deep glint of blue would shimmer and glimmer all around her. On the third day, after giving Melanie her millet seeds and water. I went out to play. When I came back and asked Mummy if could play with her, “Sure” was the answer. I expected Melanie to be up and about-about just the just the previous she had started tweeting.
I opened the cage and there she was stiff and cold, with her legs suspended in midair. I screamed! I was hysterical. I ran to my room and slamming the door shut flung myself ° onto the bed and cried. After I had calmed down I told Mummy and Prakriti what had happened, Silently, we buried her and planted pansies over her grave and sobbed, tears flowing freely down our cheeks.
My time with Melanie was brief but very beautiful My memories of her-hopping in the garden, tweeting for the first time, standing with the nap rainbow colors shimmering around her, sleeping in napkin-these memories always be with always me with me, treasured in my Heart …
It was a cold, winter day.the chilly wind was blowing. The temperature was around 15-degree celsius. The cloud in the sky had covered the sun completely. Every person was shivering after stepping out from the home. Two girls in warm winter clothes went out from school and headed to a nearby cafe. They wanted to have a hot cappuccino so that it could give them some escape from this freezing winter. The freezing wind seemed to whip their faces. They walked quickly and sat down at a table without saying a word.
The sky was becoming increasingly black.the sky gradually was covered with the black clouds which were roaring. The lightning was getting huge just after the another. The Thunder at any instant could be a signal of approaching rainstorm. The wind was blowing at such a great speed that it made some branches of the strongest tree in the town fell. The low-pressure zone was created which could soon turn a rainstorm into a cyclone and a hailstorm.
It started raining, and it became heavier with every passing minute. After the rainstorm, it Sleeted and hailed. There were lightning and thunder and it seemed as if the sky would fall down on their heads.
As the wind blew stronger and stronger, it destroyed everything it found in its way. This was no simple winter storm. It was the beginning of a dreadful twister!
The twister made away with everything it encountered: houses, cars, buildings, animals, human beings. The twister was getting more powerful than before with the every passing second. It damaged the trees, electric poles, vehicles, houses that were coming in its way. It was a mobile destructor. The farther it went, the bigger it grew. Every country it went across was razed to the ground. It went round the world, but it had still a strength for more destruction. It took off and wandered into the Milky Way, forever and ever. But the human race had been wiped out.
Billions of years later, plants, animals, and human beings appeared on Earth. Everything was as it used to be once again. Life again prevailed on the Earth. It was getting covered by little beautiful animals and birds. The plant covered the Earth and there was magnificent lush greenery. The water was so pure that you could see the water- animals like fishes, jellyfishes, crabs and others swimming or walking in it. The oceans, rivers, lakes, and ponds again came to life. the flowers were blossoming. The Earth has fulfilled again.
Years later, a group of scientists investigating the origin of our planet and its sudden destruction. came to the conclusion that THE FINAL TWISTER, as it was called now, had been created by pollution: toxic substances that had produced an ecological imbalance which had affected the atmosphere and had provoked that well-known catastrophe which wiped out the human race.the twister not only wiped the toxic substances that were accumulating on the Earth but also wiped out the creators of that toxic substances.
Can we change our destiny?
Will that be OUR destiny ??