When I Die

A Perfect Birthday

So it's yet another birthday. I'm 19 now. 19 years of waste. 19 years of nothing. 19 years of emptiness. 19 years of a mistake. That's what I am. God's mistake. Unceremoniously kicked into this world, to torture human beings with my presence. It's always been like that. Everyone around me has always felt sorrow. And it's happened far too many times to be just a co-incidence. I'm the reason for the whole world's misery. So if you haven't had a nice day today, blame me.

Damn! It's my birthday, and look at what I'm talking about! I'm reall bloody pathetic. Maybe I just can't feel happy anymore. Maybe I lost my smiles somewhere. I'm a bloody renegade. Like a bloody singer who cannot sing anymore. An idiot, who just doesn't want to feel happy, fearing that the pain will invariably creep into his happiness too.

Just what the hell does Fate want from me? Why can't the old witch leave me alone? Why in the devil's name does she keep haunting me like this? Why can't Destiny find someone else to rape? That's what this is. Rape. Mind Rape.

So it's my bloody birthday. I woke up feeling a little less depressed than usual, my head filled with wild hope. For a change, I actually wished. I wished for a miracle. And a big miracle happened. Really, it was so big, I never believed such a thing could happen. God gave me a lovely birthday present. Here's what happened :

I went to college, and while coming back, there was a bomb blast on the street. In the evening news, I found out, that in the blast, three bloody people were killed, twenty-eight wounded. The third blast in the same week. What a beautiful day. And the biggest bloody irony is that I survived, unscathed. Just like Mr. God to give you what you don't need, and never give you what you really want. I should've been bloody dead in that blast. I want to die. But no, he won't let me. Instead, he takes three innocent lives, and gives so much pain to twenty-eight others, just to show, that he's our damned Boss. I missed the bomb by Half-a-bloody-hour. Thirty minutes... I missed my death by thirty minutes. The road was all twisted and scorched... I almost ran all the way home.

It really feels very good you know, knowing that your birthday's the day when they burst a bomb. It really feels good inside, to know and see that people died today. It feels so good that I'm crying, see, how good it feels? I'm crying. I don't really know what to say here. It's like God's idea of a birthday present. Mr. God, pretty good work, you nicely ruined the one day I wanted to feel happy. Great work, really, you must be commended. Now please, kill me. And find yourself another soul to rape. I'm tired. I'm bloody tired.

Fantastic birthday it's been. I spent almost the whole day after coming home locked in my room. I was too bloody sick of it all. I AM too bloody sick of it all. I wondered if the people who did it would pay. Probably not, because in God's territory, justice and righteousness and other assorted bullshit doesn't prevail. What rules, is pain, wickedness, and money.

I'm too damned angry to sound reasonable here, and I won't try to be reasonable, vulgarity be damned, because frankly, no kind of logic would sound logical to me right now. I'm all messed up. Fried. Inside out. Yeah, great day. And if I live for another year, on my next birthday, I'll look back on this one, and it'll be another birthday wasted in tears, just like the past ones.

You know, birthdays are days when you feel special. Oh yeah, I've certainly been feeling special all these birthdays. Special like a bloody lab-rat. And God's dancing around with my brain as he pleases. Just like a scientist. He takes it out of the storage room, and plays rugby with it for some time, and tosses it back again into storage.

I wish those souls who died may rest in peace. And I wish I was with them too. God! Couldn't you wait for thirty bloody minutes? That's all I needed, you know. Or maybe I should've hurried up a little, instead of wasting to much time in the library reading about something I don't remember now, I should've walked home early. I would've been dead. The Perfect Birthday Present. Perfect.



It's always been like this. I never talked about my childhood a lot here. did I? My childhood was so happy you know, and I loved my Granny.

She was so perfect. She never made a mistake. And she always found mistakes in me. I was such a miserable little child. She always told me that. Oh, and she punished me everytime I did something unforgivable, like stain my shirt with ice-cream.

I remember, this one time, I dropped a glass vase and it broke. It was such a big mistake you know, unforgivable. It was a big sin, she said, and she reminded me of how pathetic I was. She beat me. Fitting punishment. She beat me with a metal rod. It felt heavenly. Almost too delicious. I never really knew what happened, as I was unconscious before I knew it.

I woke up in a hospital. They said I had three broken ribs, and a concussion, and a fractured leg. My grandma came in the room, and said she would have punished me more if I hadn't fainted like the pathetic child I was. My parents told the doctors that I fell off the stairs. They later told me, 'we must not let our family name get blemished.'

It took one month to get better. Of course, by 'better' I mean being able to walk without feeling that wincing pain in my leg, and being able to breathe without feeling like a hundred knives slashed through my lungs. I was six years old then. And she always said that even though I was so big, I was worse than a two year old dog. She broke my shoulder-blade once. I was eight. I can never play any sport again. For, any kind of stress to my hands means that I'll lose one shoulder blade. Forever. I can't swim. I loved swimming. I absolutely loved it. And like everything else I've ever loved, it's gone.

All the time, she kept telling me, about how bad I am. I believed her. I believe her. I'm bad. Why else would she have to punish me? Why? Why else would everyone around me suffer? Why else would people blow things up and blast bombs on my birthday?

Oh, the years with granny were a real joy. Getting beaten is always such a rush, you know. By age nine, she'd become a master at it. She'd beat me at places where she knew the scars would be hidden. She hit me on the legs, she hit me in the stomach, so that my scars and my sins would be hidden behind clothes. I loved those years with granny.

I don't really blame her for doing the things she did. I don't even blame my parents for letting her do the things she did. Because in my heart, I know I deserved all of it. I'm evil. But then if I'm so evil, why am I living in this world? Am I not better off dead? Wouldn't the world be a better place without me?

But you know what? I still love my granny. I never heard her say that she loved me. And I would've died to hear those words from her mouth. But I love her.

Even though she's the reason why I'm not living in America, and am stuck in this hell-hole where bomb-blasts are a way of life. Even though she beat me. Even though I couldn't be a good boy, and please her. Even though I could never be the kind of child that every grand-mother loves. Even though she killed my brain. Even though I let her down. I still love her.

I love you, granny. I hope I die before you do. At least let me enjoy some peace in hell before you come there too. Oh no, granny won't go to hell. She's far too perfect for that. She'll go to heaven. Thank heavens. At least she wont have to put up with this sick pathetic child anymore.

Now she doesn't punish me. She says I'm impossible. She says nobody can 'discipline' me. I'm a waste. A pathetic rusty mistake. I believe her. And just to show her how much I believe that, and how much I love her, I'll die in front of her. I bet she'll feel pleasure out of it. I'd do anything to make granny happy. Anything.



It was the best birthday of my life. Ha, I got my own bomb blast! It felt great! So great that I couldn't stop thanking God and couldn't stop crying. So get out of my bloody life, God. Stop frying my brain. It's tired.

Granny was right. I deserve the punishment I get. Because I still am the same bad person I was then.

Like I said, it's been a fantastic birthday. Totally free from any pain and misery. Just like I wished it to be.

A perfect birthday. So perfect. So much death today. So much pain. So perfectly jolly. Just like a funeral. A birthday funeral. Perfectly Numb.


** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only **