God!!!!!!! I need........

God!!!!!!!!! I need………

This story is dedicated to Munawar Alam Mansoori.

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It is a pleasant day. The early riser in me had died way back but the pleasantness of the day is still lingering and trying desperately to induce freshness in me. I pity its foolishness to make me a better person. Any rehab can't make me a better person…..nomore and forever. My legs are numb and are dead beyond recuperation. My head is spinning, my throat is burning, my eyes are blinding, my whole body is shivering. It is coming out…..coming out hard…..coming out hard enough and I can’t stop it. I puke and I know what spread all over me. Blood. My blood. The blood flowing through my wasted body. My innards are throwing themselves out. I am habituated to this stink, to this body. Alam is at the door with a bunch of something. A hand is deftly changing my shirt. I signal Alam to come in once the nurse is done with the changing.

Alam’s words are hitting hard.

“The editor gave me this bunch of letters yesterday. People all around the globe sent their wishes wishing you a speedy recovery.”

Recovery??? Speedy recovery??? My liver is damaged beyond recognition and one of my kidneys is malfunctioning. And the doctor predicts that the other one will fail soon. Why don’t all the parts cease functioning at the same time and let me lie in peace. And the love of Alam, and the love of people whom I never met and never responded to, is killing me more and more. I don’t want to be remembered beyond my death. I want to die. Let me die. Why doesn’t my stupid brain stop functioning?????? God!!!!!! Salvation. I need salvation. Soon!!!!!!!!!!!

Zarina aunty, Alam’s mother, takes my hand into her’s. Her eyes are soggy and their expression is stabbing my heart. Why do you look at me like that aunty??? Please don’t pity me.

Those eyes and the compassion they show didn’t alter since nine years. When I was fifteen, either mama divorced papa or papa divorced mama, anyways I don’t know why. Neither of them wanted to take care of me. Am I a bad kid?

“Mama. Mama” I cried running after mama’s Mustang.

Papa took me into his arms and kissed me on my forehead. And before leaving forever, he placed my hand into Zarina aunty’s.

Life is great. It throws challenges at us and smirks in our shadows.

The only gift God provided me is two hands and a small portion of productive brain.

By seventeen, I am a teen writer and world-renowned.

By eighteen, I drank and smoked and then took to drugs. Alcohol, cocaine, pills, acid, meth, PCP and glue. Alam tried to dissuade me, but in vain.

By twenty-four, I started blacking out five days a week. That is how I ended up in this hospital.

The doctor’s voice distracted me from my thoughts.

“Let her have some fresh air.”

What do I need fresh air for when death is looming large over me???

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WORD COUNT : 500.