Okay,I get bored easily during work and thats where my imagination comes into action.I get weird stories floating around in my head and suddenly its all penned down.And so i am going to be transferring them here Enjoy.
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Travesties of Expectation
The burning blaze rolled up higher in the sky, as he shied away from its gaze. Flanking up his hands,he tried to imaginarily protect his features from the tan he hated. The buzz of the engine kept him fidgety as he hated the vibrations under his bum cheeks. The squeaks of babies and noisy chatters of his race fellows irritated his ears but not as much as the loud laughs of the lady behind him.For the entire 20min of journey in the bus, he could not comprehend what compelling disaster allowed her to laugh 30 times in the last 10minutes and ‘Yes’ he had been counting.
Missing the serenity he grew up in, he sweared mentally for the gargantuan workload that required his frequent travels to the law library situated more than a 20mile drive. He did not hate the subjects he studied, nor the career he was about to embark on. On the other hand he was always enthralled at the prospect of the knowledge he was emmassing in. Every moment he spent learning the law, allowed him to be closer to person he had always dreamt about. Now who could hate that?
Not able to bear with his own impatience, he started tapping his feet on the wooden board of the bus bottom. Mentally thinking about his next paper, his mind started to roll saving him from the displeasure of waiting. The bus halted and rolled off to a stop and incognitively prompting him to get up and out of the stinking bus. Exhaling a deep breath, as if to cleanse off his lungs, he increased his stride and went on to his house. He never called it a Home, for the simple matter that he never felt the love in that empty walls. But he did declare it His Solitary Fortress. The peace and serenity granted him the moment to sulk on everything from his school work, to his spenditures to his overdue library fines to everything an adult would have to deal with.
But the real deal was: He was only 19.
Entering his house, he eased himself off his shoes and socks. Going ahead to clean himself off he bumped into his mother in the kitchen. With a cigarette in her hand, her gaze lingered on him. Something he always pondered about. Did his mother really smoke? Every time he saw she would be looking at him with the burning stick wedged between her fingers never moving. Well, maybe she is always amazed that I still did come home.
Avoiding her eyes, he mumbled out his “Hi” and shuffled off to his ‘fortress’. With a single sweep he ensured every item was in order and he went on to arrange his case studies on his table. Seated down, he went on reading the cases.
That was Jormaine King, the most brilliant 19 year old kid in Brooklyn. One, who never smoked, drank, clubbed or even had a girlfriend. He would have been any other parent’s diamond star. Yet not for his own mother. He always saw disappointment in his mother’s eye,always bringing him down. Yet for everything he could ever accomplish, he could never figure out why.What else need he do to ask for a real mother’s love?
One could never figure out the whole story. She stood there in the kitchen with those exact same thoughts.”What have I done”. Her skin wrinkled as she burdened her already cancerous body with those incumbent thoughts. She knew somehow. He was not to be. As if somehow she could tell the monster she had in her house. The person who would bring so much pain to millions of people.
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Mistakes of a Life well-Lived
The light extinguished from his eyes the moment his heart stopped its rhythm. Blood flow splashed to a stop within his aged and softened arteries. The gush of electrical firing within his synapses fluttered out as if still hanging to some hope. The doctors stopped their resuscitative actions after 1 long hour. Flicking his left wrist out, Dr Joannes declared him dead at 1134am.
To everyone’s sight, Mariam Pereira was just another dead man living behind a lovely family and a wonderful legacy of the Pereira’s to be continued by his healthy span of grandchildren. He was just another man who had made some difference and one who would be sorely missed. However, Mariam with his dying breath muttered only two words, “I’m Sorry”. For what?
He had everything he had to repent for. From the bad judgements to the Live he slowly took over the years and to the type of sons he had created. He had been the epitome of what a family should be. His neighbours were always praising him for his hand in raising two great and successful sons. His poker buddies always joked about his 50 years of marriage to his wife. But all Mariam ever wanted to do was never to repeat the mistakes of his own father. He never wanted to pay for the sins of his father.“My family will be different”, Mariam had sworn the day Joaquin was born.
Being part of a middle class family, in the Great Britain during the Industrial Revolution, was equivalent to our modern day poverty. Life wasn’t just hard, it had been long and a draggy road. His father was just another coal worker. The surprising fact was that he was actually one of the educated few. Yet Mr Pereira had decided that family was more important than the green notes that actually paid the bills of his roof. He had vowed to be more personally involved in raising his sons and daughter in the hope that they would grow up to have a loving family and a future to be proud off. Yet fate always spun the wheel in the opposite direction. Mr Pereira raised Mariam to be a man of his own yet never to understand the importance of love.
As Dr Joannes walked out of the ER to declare the death of Mariam Pereira, he felt the usual heaviness in his chest. He dreaded the feeling of death and he could never handle the cries and the accusing stares. As Joaquin heard the news, he flipped his cell open and informed his office that he would be there in 10minutes.Coming down to hug his mother was just another formality of Joaquin. As a high flying marketing director, Joaquin had the entire domestic market of Jersey spinning around his thumb. Family was just a portfolio he had to keep just like his childhood hobby of stamp collection. If anything his father had taught him well, it was that only Money ruled his Life. His father had made it clear that family were just meant to belong in the lonely embrace of the four walls of his property. His father never returned home on time and had never read Joaquin a single bedtime story ever.That life had forged Joaquin to be ruthless.
One would have seen Joaquin’s departure out of the hospital as his way of him handling the bereavement of his father. Yet Joaquin felt nothing. No gaping vacuum eating him up from the inside.No sorrow forcing tears to trickle out of his eyes. No numbness. All he actually felt was relief.His thread to his father was finally sheared. He was his own Man now, something his father always told him work for. Who knew all it took was for his father to drink himself to death.
