imagination dead imagine

She clings on to all the little things she has come to associate with life in all these years. There are tiny trinkets from the past. Some shards of broken dreams, and the uncertainties of a clueless future. She looks at the grin of the monster that seems to be waiting for her to make her next move.

She’s scared. She looks around. For her mother. The child within her cries to be held. She is afraid. She has been for a long time. But like always, there is no one to listen to her sobs. She looks at the clutter around her. It’s all the things she has ever had. All the things the world calls important.

She looks at her past. She sees her elder brother groping at her breast. Scared, she closes her eyes. She sees her mother. Telling her that she was a mistake, telling her that it would have been better if she had never been born. She sees the first time ever she ran away from home. And the endless beating and days of starving that she had to endure later.

She sees the first time her heart broke. The face of the first man she loved, and the endless line of faces that eventually betrayed her, hurt her.

She sees the first bottle of alcohol she ever gulped down. To run away from her life. She then softly called out for her mother. There is no one else she can call out to.

Tears fall, one by one as her eyesight grows dim. A million miles from all the life she has ever known, lonely to a point of insanity, she suffers alone. While the world watches the smiles that she has become adept in carrying.

Mother, she cries… why couldn’t you love me…? She thinks. Another tear. They have started coming more easily now. Salt on her lips. She goes down on her knees. It hurts. The knee that’s still not healed in all these years. It hurts… the heart that’s known nothing else but to hurt.

The alcohol finally begins working then, and bit by bit everything fades into the blue night, until what remains is her mother’s faded likeness among the clouds.

As she finally falls to the ground, in the small pool of the salty tears, she calls out for one last time…

“Mother, why couldn’t you love me?”

This entry was posted by Neha on Monday, July 10th, 2006 at 09:49 am. It is filed under Figments, Neha Jhingon. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.