The place had no soul or spirit left, and it was evident in the colourless walls, the unclean glasses, the empty eyes of the server who left me a menu card.
I’d never felt sadder at the prospect of not being a part of someone else’s story.
The infallible whiteness of the walls, the omnipresent smell of disinfectants, and the fields of artificial grass come back to me. Swimming before me are visions of smiling children and the legions of overworked childcare professionals constantly at their service. Every blink threatens to permanently relocate me to their world of ceaseless laughter.
It’s God’s funny way of reminding me that all that is received is a gift that is broken.
Around 15 minutes before midnight, Mr. Altaf went to his room after a tiring day of pretence. His daughter, her husband and their two kids decided to stay over. His son, though, felt he had done his part and caught the next flight back. It didn’t quite hurt Mr. Altaf; he was his father’s blood after all.
I got drowned; drowned, in the serene ocean waves of my eternal sleep. The water, so dark and so deep;
There it is. There it is again. The only bar of soap dunked in the sink. How repulsive.
Hop on the train. Greet smiling and genial faces. No one is screaming, not even a baby. There is no sign of differences among the White, Brown and Black. There is no room for hatred and agony. Only love and peace resides in your utopia.
The gloomy sky above me grumbled, promising downpour.
