WHAT IF I SAY THAT HE WAS NOT  WRONG

He stood in the center of the parking lot. His hands could hardly feel the glass bottle that they grasped firmly. It was broken. So were his thoughts. There was nothing much that he could see in the basement lot which was on a standstill with broken lights and surrounded with walls that echoed. He tried to put himself together by focusing on the possible trace of noise produced by the world outside. But for his desperation all that he could hear was the monotony of the heavy down pour and occasional roaring of the sky. He stood there still dazed. He was not worried of how he is going to be judged. He did not have any concerns of right and wrong. He did not find the need for reasoning. He stood there without any thought crossing his mind.

The roars from the sky seemed to be nearing the parking lot. Now he could feel the breeze over his face for a moment. The whole of the parking lot lit up for few seconds with a flash of lightning. And now he could see the ever so sharp edges of the broken glass bottle. And not for much of his surprise, it was smeared with blood. Now a thought crossed his mind and took a step back just so as to lean on the pillar which was not square, behind his back. It felt uncomfortable. So did his mind. He glared at the ceiling as to get an answer even though he did not have question in his mind. It seemed to him that he was answered for his attempt. Now he could hear a noise, which did not fit in the monotony. He could not interpret the new tone in the old song but it reminded him of one thing. His mind now sent him the first word since a while, and that was ‘police’. His feet signaled him to run. But his brain still failed to interpret it. Now, he could feel the breeze all over his body. And the light from the outside world lit the floor well enough for him to see the body of the owner. The owner, whose blood he managed to smear on the broken bottle. He saw a bunch of men in uniforms and caps with revolver held next to their shoulder pointing up towards the ceiling..

When the heaven close all of the doors look for a new one. He did not remember that. But he could find a door behind the pillar which as just a few steps away. He turned back and took one last look at the ‘owner of the blood’.  He disappeared from the door and the men in the uniform missed his back in a moment of lapse. Suddenly he stopped perceiving his way. The broken thought too, seemed to have vanished. But now he could feel his heart beat in long time and he could sense his breathing. He opened his eyes and looked at the ceiling again. It was still blank and had no answer. After a long pause, he could hear a lady’s voice asking him why he always stands in a corner and stares at the ceiling. You could try something new, say standing on top of the terrace and looking down.” You would at least fall down” she said as she moved the flowers from the table top and placed them on the vase. He just watched her leave the room just a always..

He started thinking now. Rather his mind started. He was at peace when he stood back at the parking lot. It all started with the incoming of light. He thought to himself. This is not the first time he was chased. But indeed this was the most worst for him. He did not find the need to explain his wife because all that she would say is ‘you are worthless’.  He decided to get rid of all the light in the room. He tried his best. H even broke the window pane and dressing mirror because they seemed to b friend with light. He found more light outside the room. He decided to end it all today. He picked up the broken window glass and decided to go for it. Get rid of the light from the whole world. He seemed to have disappeared again..

But now when he woke up, to his surprise he was still in his house. And he still had the broken glass piece in his hand. It was again smeared with blood. On the floor he recognized his wife. He was surrounded by bunch of men in uniform. But this time they walked him out of the front door rather forcefully. He turned back and looked at her for one last time. He let his voice say ‘I was just trying to get rid of the light. Because the feel of staring at empty ceiling let m in peace rather than the thought of jumping from the terrace’

As usual his voice went unheard. But this was different. He heard people say that he killed his wife. They told that he was mentally ill. There as not even one of them who came up to him to ask what made him reach that stage. There was not even an instance before, when his wife asked him why he stood in the corner and stared at the ceiling for so long.. Never.. So who was being really ill..he thought to himself as he rested his head on the worn out wall..
He was not right.. But he was not wrong either..

                                                             -Sowmya