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She Wants To Live (Somewhere Beautiful)!
#WritcoStoryPrompt4
The email he has received today is marked urgent. But it’s from a friend who dies two years ago. Or maybe she didn’t die. Maybe she is still alive somewhere filling her lungs with polluted air. Maybe she’s on a beach with her hairs swaying with the salt wind, and eyes looking into distant with mind traveling somewhere deep. Is she really alive? After whatever happened? After whatever she had to face through. Is she still fighting? I know it can’t be true and that I saw her black and blue face as they carried her away. I saw how still and quiet she was; not screaming, not crying, not demanding, not fighting, just quiet. I never saw her like this and never even wanted to see her like that.
They say it was suicide. I say was it really? I believe it was murder. I believe every suicide is murder. There are people around her crying and giving condolences. They bought flowers, fake stupid flowers. The same people who never talked to her let alone cross her on the road. They were afraid of her as if she would start biting them if they came close. They barely talked with her. I don’t know who and why they were so scared of homosexuals. It’s not like its contagious or that she would fall in love as soon as she spots you. Homosexuality, a word still makes people cringe a little bit in India. It has been legalized but not chosen. It has been recognized but not accepted.
Who makes the parents see that she is not mad because it is not a disease or some disorder? Who would make her stereotypical boss understand that she can is still the perfect candidate for her job as she was before she decided to reveal herself? Who would make those uncles and aunties believe that she is the same person with blood and flesh? She still feels pain when you call her names, her heart still cries, she feels cold when run by fever and feels hungry when you do not give her food. She cannot breathe underground if you bury her in a box just because your guruji asked you to do so. She still needs her mother to hold her in her arms. She could still listen when you say things in her existence as if she didn’t exist. Maybe that’s the reason she decided not to exist. Not to exist in this world where her voice is not listened but heard, where she is not looked at but seen.
As for the mail, I know what does it contain. I was the one who found her just before she was about to… don’t’ want to say those words. I am glad I received that call. Yes, you thought right, I was the one who helped her escape. Escape from her horrible world and brought her somewhere where there is peace, happiness; where there is heaven.
Do you know who I am?
You do know who I am.
© Vaish
The email he has received today is marked urgent. But it’s from a friend who dies two years ago. Or maybe she didn’t die. Maybe she is still alive somewhere filling her lungs with polluted air. Maybe she’s on a beach with her hairs swaying with the salt wind, and eyes looking into distant with mind traveling somewhere deep. Is she really alive? After whatever happened? After whatever she had to face through. Is she still fighting? I know it can’t be true and that I saw her black and blue face as they carried her away. I saw how still and quiet she was; not screaming, not crying, not demanding, not fighting, just quiet. I never saw her like this and never even wanted to see her like that.
They say it was suicide. I say was it really? I believe it was murder. I believe every suicide is murder. There are people around her crying and giving condolences. They bought flowers, fake stupid flowers. The same people who never talked to her let alone cross her on the road. They were afraid of her as if she would start biting them if they came close. They barely talked with her. I don’t know who and why they were so scared of homosexuals. It’s not like its contagious or that she would fall in love as soon as she spots you. Homosexuality, a word still makes people cringe a little bit in India. It has been legalized but not chosen. It has been recognized but not accepted.
Who makes the parents see that she is not mad because it is not a disease or some disorder? Who would make her stereotypical boss understand that she can is still the perfect candidate for her job as she was before she decided to reveal herself? Who would make those uncles and aunties believe that she is the same person with blood and flesh? She still feels pain when you call her names, her heart still cries, she feels cold when run by fever and feels hungry when you do not give her food. She cannot breathe underground if you bury her in a box just because your guruji asked you to do so. She still needs her mother to hold her in her arms. She could still listen when you say things in her existence as if she didn’t exist. Maybe that’s the reason she decided not to exist. Not to exist in this world where her voice is not listened but heard, where she is not looked at but seen.
As for the mail, I know what does it contain. I was the one who found her just before she was about to… don’t’ want to say those words. I am glad I received that call. Yes, you thought right, I was the one who helped her escape. Escape from her horrible world and brought her somewhere where there is peace, happiness; where there is heaven.
Do you know who I am?
You do know who I am.
© Vaish
