The son shot his father at 14, the
newspaper flashed with the young boy accused as for committing the most
unthinkable crime ever. The reader’s nodded with aghast some closed the paper
in grimace; the people abused the thin conscious of the boy and saw him with
the lowest and most disgusted stare.
“How can one kill his own father?”
Thats what everyone roared with till
their hatred and anger melted away and their wife’s and children faced with the
story of such a heinous act were left startled and shaken.
The very next day they all went back ,
the neighbors continued with their daily ruckus the children dragged themselves
reluctantly to school and the mothers saved their family a delightful meal at the end of the day and nothing else
mattered again anymore .
When the world went on again in its
usual, he sat behind those bars of which the years peeled in the form of rusted
bits and the miasma of the room was heavy with emptiness. There he sat alone in
the cold damp room with absolutely no one in the vicinity of his closed
solitude to testify his act.
Maybe reason and explanations had lost
their meaning in this boy’s diary and maybe repentance was all that was left to
be marked.
He had only walked in to his house
with his sachet hanging carelessly on his shoulder. That day in school his friends had mocked him
all day long about his cuckold father. He was cold and did not bother about the
sardonic spirits hovering all around him.
The door was ajar and he walked in
expecting to see his father somewhere relaxing like everyday around the house
procrastinating everything that mattered, drunk, like an uncouth but this time
the boy was swept with a different emotion
Alas one could say he was totally
swept of life itself.
Right in front of him was the same four walls around which he grew
up the familiarness of the place , the bed which bore the crest of the time
they loved the same cloth on which once slept his parents and whispered
crazy stories to each other however this
time it was different , there she giggled lying her head with matted hair
spread over his chest with only a thin
sheet covering their nude forms . The room now reeked of filthy happiness, of
cheated souls, of blackened romance and the last figment of smoke from the
charred bits of a broken heart it was the sight of his father bedding other
women and that woman was someone he hath never known.
The boy collapsed, he stumbled over blindly over the bonds of a
relation; that of a father and a son. He roared and paved his way towards the table
and took upon the curse of a murderer. he closed his eyes one last time and
gripped the trigger with absolute firm hands and let it go right through his
father’s chest , life seemed to have escaped him forever and that was the mess
he fell right into and drowned himself in it for the rest of his life .
Few moments passed, senses were
uprooted forever from his life, he sat there like a still corpse with the blood
of his father flooding all around him . it did not mater any longer ; the
impulse was gone , the madness was over
the heart felt no need to thump in vain and guilt , what guilt when conscious
had been completely drained from his
mundane, long before when he moved to
take the gun.
The world and its people will climb
the easiest and simplest conclusion they find and shrivel round it to justify whatsoever they find but do you really think that was for the
world to judge . can a JUDGEMENT hold
the weight against the love of a son towards his father or the crime he
committed in its absence .
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