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Freedom.
“Don’t you dare touch the glass” barked the beefy, huge, parsimonious man with a bushy moustache sitting on the front seat of a prestigious Aston Martin accompanied by an equally rude looking lady. Both eyed him swelling with fury. He glared at the beefy man in disbelief. I spit on such wealth.
The sudden confrontation turned into a debacle, in spite of the fact it was a trivial, he was moved by it. He had been firm never to think of his vexing past. All those residues killed him from inside. But this incident exhorted his painful memories to re-emerge. He tried to get them off but could not resist the tinges of the past appear on the floors of his caustic mind.
He had never been a normal child. He was an orphan. He always felt abashed of his identity. His behavior was aberrant from conventional children. He blamed God for he had lost his parents and held Him responsible. The faith had desiccated from him. He would be lugubrious in front of everyone, though in the atmosphere he lived, all of the children had one and the same story- of them some had been left on the threshold of churches, some had been left in trash-cans near the orphanage and some had been in arrogant hands thrown in the orphanage punished for the crime of being born in this numb world. Then why did he want a justification for he was denied a normal life?
He remembered once he had been walking on a pavement, his mind overcast with pejorative thoughts and he never knew it was his last walk- he never knew when he was deviated towards the road and when an appalling truck ran him over and when he was demoted of his feet. What actually was his fault? Just complaining about his melancholy? Just longing to get some love?
Now he was a ridiculed beggar. Everybody derided his existence. He was besieged by a plethora of abhorrence. He was crippled, handicapped, deprived of legs. Now he thought himself a no-account- good for nothing- worthless wondering why the world thought of him as a plague for humanity. But now it was futile to blame any.
He heaved his handcart past the cross-roads. Now he was facing a café. He could see the gratifications of life. But what was he to do with all those pleasures when All the feelings had been burnt and his heart was keeping their ashes- his heart had become a cinerarium of love. He looked at them as a bunch of ungrateful animals. They have legs but not feelings, he would think. His vindictive surroundings ripped his soul and ravished his belief time and again. He had become a psychotic scourge to the world. Yet his error was indistinguishable…
He proceeded a few yards further. An anguish took him over when he came across a lady holding a baby- a few month old- dressed in a neat pink and white romper. He aspired for such a conduct during his childhood. But then he comprehended all that he had under-gone and engrossed his concentration towards his entity. He did not want to covet for such aspirations. He concealed his cravings. Instead of yearning for the unattainable, he dragged past the lady towards the successive fountain, with a pole erected on its side that made him look up with a stretched neck. He looked at the summer-sun giving off scorching rays provoking his skin. Then he leaned on to the fountain reservoir and submerged his hands into the crystal clear water and watched his palm-lines. They seemed assorted. He gave a defiant stare at those ostensible lines apparently consecutive to each of the existing lines that were scuffed due to the continuous dragging and heaving of his cart. He felt a chill run down his spine. Was it a tranquil effect of the water or was it a yen of watching his destiny to change like his perceptible palm lines to change falsely. He saw his reflection and felt so scattered - his blood was swarming with animosity for the world- he was fuming with wrath and a vein in his temple was throbbing as if restless to spill the animosity out.
Just then a guy of around sixteen flickered past him on a roller-blade almost banging into him,
“Oh! You nasty tramp! What, are you trying to wash up your hands sitting here?” the boy snarled.
That was more than enough for him. He gulped the bitterness down. His eyes red with hatred gawked at the boy who had gone out of sight without waiting for a response, ignoring even his existence. His ability to think had been plugged by the ashes of desolation. He yanked further but not intentionally- he wanted freedom- liberty to think the way he wished to- overwhelmed by thoughts he for the first time prayed to God for freedom from the acrid world. He advanced further and he got what he sought.
A cluster of those tactless people encircled around someone on the road, exclaiming that a beggar was knocked down by a car. They grieved for he had no one to take him home and organize a funeral or consolation for him. Now they felt gloomy for the man they disdained, humiliated and disregarded. But he was contented- he was free- out of the vicious circle, his soul soared past the skies. He was exalted by it- Freedom of thought.
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*hugs*
