Alone!

The rain fell all around him non-stop, with unusual cadence and tempo. The rhythmic pitter-patter of the tempestuous weather all around him churned his insides, shaking his turbulent emotions out of their reverie, as he inwardly groused at the imperfection of nature. Nature’s imperfection was beautiful.

Man’s was not.

An imperfect human was a miserable one.

The wind howled, its tuneless pitch shattering the façade of insouciance he had built around his person to hide the blemished, tarnished and aggrieved man inside.

Whistling tunelessly, Rohit walked along the long winding path that led to the forest. He was completely drenched, despite the sturdy umbrella he carried as a shield against the torrential downpour. He still held it aloft as if fighting the world with it – as if the flimsy stick and the cloth covering it could guard him from his troubles. His left hand was in his pocket; his face bore an expression of utter nonchalance.

It was Rohit’s eyes that gave away the secret. The sheer agony that flooded every nook of his body - the utter woe that threatened to tear through his carefully woven guise of robustness and vigor and spill onto the world outside, had only one outlet – his eyes. His eyes recounted the excruciating tale of how he had lost everything he held dear.

His mother – the lady who had nurtured him, fed him, clothed him had been sleeping peacefully in her grave for ten years now.

His father – the man who had taught him how to walk, talk and deal with the world had banged the door on his face.

His friends – people who had laughed with him, danced with him and sung with him had turned their backs on his penniless self. Why should they not? He had let them down. He had let himself down.

He was twenty seven. He was still jobless. His immense knowledge, trademark truthfulness, and his unique approach counted for nothing. Try as he might, he could not get a job. The average grades he had secured in his examinations at school as a carefree youth stood in his path like a gargantuan monster, demeaning his efforts, tearing him away from success and chucking him into the giant abyss of failure. Presently, he had nothing but the umbrella in his hand and the clothes on his back to call his own. Hope did not exist, even as a stupid notion.

There was no oasis of love in his barren desert of desolation and self-pity. He snorted to himself. Such grandiose expressions for an unemployed burden.

A burden. That was all he amounted to now. A burden to his father. A burden to his friends. A burden – a burden to the society as a whole.

He had nowhere to go, no one to call his own. Or did he? He selected on sturdy tree. Its branches had borne the brunt of several cataclysmic storms but its trunk still stood firm. It could bear a few head-butts. He was no Bruce Lee.

He banged his head against the trunk.

Once. A spike of pain shot through his body.

Twice. Another spike of pain, this time sharper. He could feel the bruise form.

He grit his teeth.

Thrice. Blood blossomed. It rolled down his forehead all the way to his nose, dripping off. His nerves were on fire. A lone tear escaped his eye.

Again.

And again.

And again.

He walked away from his despondent life, he ran away from the cruel society, and rushed into the welcoming and merciful hand of death.

The world went on without him.