JUST AN ATTEMPT AT FICTION!!

It was 2:22 in the morning, precisely the time she was born. It took her eighteen years to know that it was an angel number. And just as she had started believing that the supreme had blessed her with the life of an angel intellectually if not materially, everything began to change. The change struck her hard, broke her down, and shattered the intellect that she said she owned. The girl who was once proud of her supremely sorted personality had settled in her soul that she, her mind, and her intellect was the bane of her existence at the precise, rather ungrateful moment of her birth. 

 

She never wished for death but the past eight months put her in a position where she started questioning her birth which was in fact a bazillion times worse than wishing for death.

 

Things that she said were her proud possessions were nowhere to be found within her and she knew why. The game of survival that she had been playing and the pretentiously hopeful face that she was trying to put up swept away those possessions. She realized and this time, with an utter sense of calm that it has been long since they’ve been gone that they would never come back because the place to where they once belonged was now filled with thoughts of uncertainty, fear, and despondence.

 

Yes, despondence!

 

That was the one thing she could figure out among the many she wanted to.

 

She knew the village, the home, and the world would be in deep slumber. She slowly walked up the stairs wishing for the worst, steadily heading towards the rooftop.

 

It was her favorite spot; you could get the entire view of the village, the green, the houses, and everything else.  

She carefully lit the mirror that was hung in the corner. The mirror had a story of its own; a friend of hers gifted it on her 10th birthday. It was bejeweled and embellished with regal bulbs and quotes that said she was the prettiest girl ever born. At 15, when she felt otherwise she got it transferred to the rooftop with a bunch of garbage that lay in there. 

 

She lit the blue light in the mirror. Her long-time obsession whom she had blatantly labeled as a silly crush had once said blue was the warmest colour. He never knew of her existence, neither did she want him to. Some things she knew were better off in her head. It was meant to be a wound untended, something that should never manifest into reality.

 

She switched to the bright white light that lit the entire place and her. It had been long since she had looked at herself. The spaghetti-sleeved lace top and the white lace shorts that she wore made her look like a dream she always wished to be. Slowly she untied the hair which was a tight shaggy bun and she was surprised to know how much her hair had grown, almost beyond her waist.  

 

She wished she had seen herself before, and felt the way she did that night. The chiseled jawline, the collarbone, her toned arms; it was all she once wanted to be. Just as she started appreciating her external self, the reality chose to unwind itself. 

 

She looked away in fright of the venture she would be in a few moments. But she had chosen it herself, she always wanted to write her own story, but she never knew it would end this soon and this way. But she was happy that it still would remain her own.

 

Intense grief gripped her, she wanted to cry, scream her lungs out. She waited for a drop of tear, for that could change the betrayal, the cowardice she was about to do to herself and everyone else. The long journey of mending herself had probably made her sans emotions. 

 

She had been living the life that was supposed to be the right way of ‘living life’. But she knew for a fact that it was not her life!

 

She knew there were no tears left to cry. Switching off the lights in the mirror she slowly pulled the string of the fairy light that she once hung across it. The mirror dropped and shattered into a thousand different pieces. 

 

She proceeded to the parapet; she remembered the death glare her mother gave when she begged to sit in there once she was a kid. 

 

She carefully sat on it and dangled her feet in the air. She was afraid to look anywhere, so she fixed her glance at the tall bamboo in her neighbourhood. She was always fond of them and dreamt of having tall bamboos in the mansion she thought she would build for herself.

 

Some more time to contemplate on a few things and it would all be over soon. She couldn’t have not thought about her father, who was her confidante, her mother, the one who lived for her, the grandmother who said the vision of her not being lively was akin to the house being dead, and her sisters, her soulmates, the only people who meant friends and beyond in its true sense.

They could move on, she said to herself. People live and die and that’s how life supposedly works. They would have an undeniably difficult time for months, but they would get over it, move on and probably remember her with a sigh of lament and a drop of tear.

Just as she made the big move, she pulled herself back with all her might. She shut her eyes in terror, she fell and she was conscious; that was all she knew.

 

She wriggled in pain. Something had pierced into her arms. It was the glass. She was intolerant to pain but was equally thankful for it was no force of miracle that pulled her back, it was her. She simply did not have the courage to commit an unpardonable sin.

 

She removed the glass pieces, rinsed the wound in cold water, and wrapped a piece of cloth around it. She was surprised she did not flinch once in the whole process. 

 

She wanted to lie down, she was exhausted. There were three narrow steps that led to an upper roof. The little space was mostly occupied by the gigantic water tank. She had hardly ventured there in the seventeen years she had lived in the house.

She lay down on the bare ground. It was warm and cold at the same time. She wanted to listen to her inner voice that had never chosen to speak before until she almost made the big move. She wanted to listen to it in peace and tune in to it.

 

The past few months were nothing less than miserable for an eighteen-year-old to deal with. There were moments where you trembled, broke down, and felt weak from within. But the fact stays that you lived through it all and you must know that you won’t get through something unless you go through it. It was still your life because you chose to seek help for want of a better life because every atom in you said that the life that you lived back then was not something you wished to. And this remains your life as long as you live it. 

 

She didn’t know what it was; whether that was her innermost self that enjoyed every bit of life or her father who possessed the innate capacity to capture her thoughts or the supreme itself that she had just heard. But all she knew was she had never heard this before. 

 

She chose to listen to it for once. She looked at the few stars in the sky and slowly fell into the arms of Morpheus. As she did, she remembered the conversation she had with her father the night before and everything her family had put up for her. Tears came off her eyes like a deluge and she felt a sense of liberation.

It started to rain as it was close to dawn and her tears blended with those pearls from the clouds. The sun slowly made its way, the weight was not completely off her chest but she knew she had to face the world and she had promises to keep and miles to go!