This is me (now):
If I had to choose between red roses and bullets, I’d choose the bullets and the thick red blood that would flow with each bullet speeding in, scrapping my flesh. I would choose the blackness, I would choose to camouflage rather than to stand out because black doesn’t always mean darkness and darkness isn’t always negative. Some people say that they got up on the wrong side of their bed but I believe that I’ve gotten up on the wrong side of life.
The Full Moon was out for four continuous nights. It has been cold, here. It feels amazing. I love the cold and how it makes me feel. And, yesterday was a beautiful day. The nature kept kissing, the drizzle and dew drops kept falling, the leaves kept fluttering, the birds disappeared and the breeze kept hugging. Nature has been at its best and I’ve been thinking that I can be too.
(The next day:)
Right now, my head is exploding. The world around me, in my head is only spinning. My tummy is eating itself up. And, I feel sick from the pit of my tummy to the core of my empty skull. I feel horrible. I feel sick. I feel like someone threw me down from the clouds. I feel like the layer of ground fell off, from below my feet. I feel like I’m falling and I can’t get up because I haven’t hit the ground.
The nature puts on a show. The breeze keeps slapping, there’s no rain but it’s bitter cold. It feels like the Sun and the Moon have left the kingdom of Earth. Something makes me hate my permanent window seat. I can’t move and I can’t sit. I’ve a feeling that’s tough to consume within. I fear of losing everything that I’ve had. I barely fear tomorrow because I fear today.
And, just like that my life has flipped to a page I can’t ignore, to a page I don’t want to read.
I am finding a way out to accept my reality. All I can see is half human faces, bare broken trees, dogs barking, empty lanes and my wandering soul. I don’t know how have I gotten here to this phase of reality, to this face of unending depression. The more I think, the more I fall.
Just then I receive his text. He messages back. He’s texted me after a week, after seven whole days. He says, “I’m back. ” I’m almost crying and my heart is smiling. Where had he been all this while? God, I hope his break helped him. I hope he’s doing okay. I hope his depression doesn’t kill him every day, like it used to. I hope I’ve helped him, made him feel a tiny bit better of reality or of life or even existence. I hope I’ve been a friend to him. I hope he’s doing okay.
I message him and we’re having a conversation. It’s almost like the old days but what’s new is that there’s no love for me from his side. And, it’s okay, I just don’t want to not be friends.
He’s a nice person who has lost his way and I’m a nice person too, who has lost her way. But, I’m too busy helping him find his way and he’s too busy anyway to realize that I need help to find my way too. When we put other’s problems over ours, they do that too. They put their problems above ours. Always.
He is suffering from depression. And, I was suffering from depression but trying to help him has made me fall back in the depression. Maybe I have to go back to get him out but I don’t think he’ll come back for me.
His name was Toby. He never thought of the future. He never thought of what could happen or what should happen. He just always did his best. He lived in the present and his happy self, made the world around him happy. The best part about him was that he never thought of himself as a monkey. He had a horrible childhood but he had only learnt from it. It made him who he was today and he was happy.
But, good days come only to go. We want to flip the sad pages of life faster but they’re nothing but real slow. And, life turned around for him. In spite of his horrible childhood, he loved his Mother and he loved his father. It was easier for him to tell that he loved his mother way more than saying it to his father. Then, came a day when he couldn’t say it at all. He lost his father. He was attacked by another animal and bled to death. There was nothing Toby could do. He didn’t crave for revenge. He didn’t understand life, either. He tried and tried and then realized that it’s nothing but just the circle of life.
With time, he turned to be the super monkey. He was the one who saved his squad. He was the one who everyone worshiped. Toby was then known as Toby and not just a monkey. And, since then being a monkey was the greatest one could ever be.
Sometimes just sometimes, things happen in our favour. But, we’ll know about it only with time.
Monkeys are his favourite animals. He likes them too much to actually someday get a tattoo about it. I’m writing him fairy tales every night. And, it is awful to be able to write fairy tales for someone and fail to tuck myself in bed.
He’s a nice person who has lost his way and I’m a nice person too, who has lost her way. But, I’m too busy helping him find his way and he’s too busy anyway to realize that I need help to find my way too.
If I had to choose between red roses and bullets, I’d choose the bullets and the thick red blood that would flow with each bullet speeding in, scrapping my flesh. I would choose the blackness, I would choose to camouflage rather than to stand out because black doesn’t always mean darkness and darkness isn’t always negative.
Some people say that they got up on the wrong side of their bed but I believe that I’ve gotten up on the wrong side of life. I just hope that the wrong side of my life helps him to wake up on the right side of his life, every day.
Crafted with brevity for select stories to make certain you see what others don't; sent every Friday
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