《MODERN SLAVES》


 MY BROTHERS & MEERA

    The sun beat down mercilessly upon my skin, its scorching rays searing through the fabric of my shirt. ''Burn me once more,'' I thought bitterly, staring up at the unforgiving sky. It was a stark reminder of my own insignificance, of the vast expanse of time and space that stretched out before me. The sun, indifferent to my suffering, continued its relentless ascent, casting harsh shadows upon the dusty ground below. With a heavy heart, I trudged forward, the weight of my regrets bearing down upon me like a burden too heavy to bear. My skin was red and raw, but strangely, I welcomed the sensation. I forced a smile, though it failed to reach my eyes. I had burned all the bridges, all the memories, all the feelings. I had nothing left to lose. Nothing left to feel. I was numb, and oddly, I found solace in that numbness.


    Just as I began to drown in my thoughts, the piercing ringtone of my phone shattered the tranquility. With a reluctant sigh, I reached for the device, my heart quickening with a mix of apprehension and curiosity. Glancing at the caller ID, I noticed an unfamiliar number, sparking a surge of uncertainty.


    With a hesitant hand, I answered the call, the cool metal of the phone contrasting with the lingering warmth of the sun on my skin. "Hello?" My voice was guarded, betraying a hint of apprehension. Walking into my room, I felt numb and empty. The news of my brother''s death in a car accident had just reached me. We hadn''t spoken in years, ever since a falling out over some trivial matter. I was lost, unsure of how to feel, how to react, how to grieve.


    My room mirrored my inner turmoil¡ªa blend of order and chaos, passion and indifference. In the corner, a guitar leaned against the wall, next to a yoga mat rolled up neatly. I used to find solace in playing the guitar, in practicing yoga. But now, I had lost interest, lost motivation. A ceiling fan whirred above, offering a gentle breeze. I switched it off, preferring the stillness and silence. My bed, adorned with three colorful pillows, occupied the center of the room. But I rarely slept in it, opting instead to stay up late, watching TV or browsing the internet. I had no dreams, no goals, no plans. Opposite the bed, a large cupboard housed books and dresses, reflecting my varied interests and tastes. I once loved to read, to learn, to explore. I loved to express myself through fashion. But now, I had grown indifferent, lost in my numbness.


    Sitting on the bed, I felt a whirlwind of emotions¡ªor perhaps, the lack thereof. I reached for a photo album hidden under my pillow, opening it to see my brother''s face. A surge of emotion engulfed me¡ªa mix of love and hate, regret and resentment, sadness and anger. I closed my eyes, and tears welled up, streaming down my cheeks.


    Feeling a sudden pang in my chest, I looked at the photo of Meera, my ex-girlfriend. She was smiling, her brown eyes sparkling, her blonde hair falling over her shoulders. I remembered the night we spent together, the night before she left me for good. I could still smell the smoke of the cigarette we shared, the taste of her lips on mine. We were lying on the bed, naked and sweaty, the sheets tangled around us. I wrapped my arms around her, feeling her heartbeat against my chest. I felt happy, content, and alive.


    We talked about philosophy and life, our favorite topics. I asked her the big questions, the ones that had haunted me since I was a child. I hoped to find some answers, some meaning, some purpose.


    "I wish I wasn''t born at all," I said, staring at the ceiling. I''d always felt like an outsider, a misfit, a burden. I''d never felt like I belonged anywhere, or to anyone.


    She chuckled and kissed my cheek. "Still edgy, Akhil?" she teased me. She always found my pessimism amusing, endearing, even. She always tried to cheer me up, to make me see the bright side of things.


    I laughed and kissed her back. I loved her, more than anything. I thought she loved me too. I was wrong.


    I asked her, "What do you think we are here for?" I wanted to know her opinion, her perspective, her worldview. I wanted to understand her, to connect with her, to share with her.She shrugged and said, "I don''t know, nobody does." She was always a skeptic, a realist, a pragmatist. She never cared much for metaphysics, religion, or spirituality. She lived in the present, for the moment, for herself.


    I asked her, "Do you believe in God?" I wondered if she had any faith, any hope, any trust. I searched for some sign, some clue, some hint.


    She said, "I don''t know." She was always agnostic, indifferent, uncertain. She never committed to any belief, any doctrine, any creed. She kept her options open, her mind free, her heart guarded.


    I said, "I wish there was a God." I longed for some guidance, some comfort, some grace. I needed something, someone, to help me, to save me, to love me.


    She said nothing. She looked away, her expression cold, her eyes distant. She''d already made up her mind, her decision, her plan. She left me the next day, without a word, without a reason, without a goodbye.


    I gently tucked the photo album back under the pillow, its weight heavy with memories and emotions. With trembling hands, I wiped away the tears that cascaded down my cheeks, leaving salty trails in their wake. The ache in my heart compelled me to seek solace in the shared memories of my brother, to connect with someone who knew him intimately, and who loved him unconditionally.


    If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    My fingers instinctively reached for the familiar device, my lifeline to the past, to the echoes of his laughter and the warmth of his presence. Each digit dialed carried the weight of years of silence, of missed opportunities to bridge the growing chasm between us. I silently prayed that his number remained unchanged, a lifeline to the past that I was desperate to grasp.


    With each ring, my heart pounded in anticipation, a cacophony of hope and fear swirling within me. Would he answer? Would he recognize the voice that trembled with regret and longing? Or would my call be met with the deafening silence of indifference, a stark reminder of the fractures that time had wrought?


    "Hello?" His voice, once vibrant with youth and energy, now carried the weight of years gone by, the weariness of a life marked by loss and longing.


    "Hari?" My voice wavered, the name a fragile lifeline tethering me to the past. "It''s me. Akhil."The ensuing silence stretched like an eternity, each passing moment weighted with unspoken truths and unresolved emotions. I listened intently, the sound of his breaths a balm to my wounded soul, the rhythm of his heartbeat echoing the ache within my chest.


    "Akhil?" His disbelief was palpable, a raw undercurrent that threatened to engulf us both


    "Is that you?"


    "Yes, Hari. It''s me. I''m sorry. I''m so sorry."


    His response was a torrent of anger and pain, a searing indictment of my failures and shortcomings. Each accusation landed like a blow, the weight of his words a burden too heavy to bear.


    I hung my head in shame, the weight of guilt pressing down upon me like a suffocating blanket. "He''s dead, Akhil. He''s fucking dead. Did you know that? Did you care?"


    His words pierced through the haze of my grief, cutting to the core of my being with surgical precision. I felt the sting of tears welling up once more, the bitter taste of regret flooding my senses.


    "I know, Hari. I know. I care. I do."


    But my words rang hollow in the face of his righteous anger, a feeble attempt to bridge the chasm that divided us. I was a broken man, shattered by the weight of my failures and shortcomings. As he unleashed a torrent of curses and sobs, I was left speechless, my throat constricted with unspoken apologies and unshed tears. I listened in silence, bearing witness to his pain and anguish, a silent witness to the wreckage of our shared past. As the call ended, the silence in the room was deafening. I sat motionless on the edge of my bed, my phone slipping from my numb fingers to the crumpled sheets below. The echoes of Hari''s anger and grief still lingered, reverberating off the walls of my sunlit room. Each accusation felt like a weight pressing down on my chest, threatening to suffocate me.


    I closed my eyes, trying to shut out the memories that threatened to overwhelm me. But they came flooding back with relentless force, a torrent of regrets and missed opportunities. I replayed the moments in my mind, searching for signs of where it all went wrong. Was there something I could have said or done to prevent this tragedy? The weight of my guilt bore down on me like a heavy shroud, enveloping me in darkness. I struggled to catch my breath, each inhale feeling like a battle against the suffocating grip of my emotions. Tears welled up in my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. I had cried enough tears for a lifetime.


    Slowly, I rose from the bed, my movements heavy and labored. I crossed the room to the window, the warm sunlight streaming in offering a brief respite from the stifling atmosphere within. I stared out into the day, the brightness of the world outside contrasting sharply with the darkness of my soul.


    I couldn''t help but notice the guitar sitting in the corner of the room, gathering dust like a forgotten relic of the past. Its presence seemed to beckon to me, a silent invitation to revisit memories I had long tried to bury. With a heavy sigh, I crossed the room and reached for it, the familiar weight of the instrument grounding me in the present.


    As I settled back onto the bed, the guitar nestled in my lap like an old friend, I felt a strange sense of comfort wash over me. My fingers instinctively found their way to the strings, hesitantly at first, then with growing confidence.


    As the familiar strings of the guitar settled into my grip, my mind became a tempest of memories and regrets. With each chord, I delved deeper into the labyrinth of my thoughts. "Hari..." The name echoed in my mind, laden with the weight of years of silence and missed opportunities. Guilt gnawed at me, a relentless beast tearing at the fabric of my being. "I should have called more often. I should have been there for him." The words reverberated within me, a bitter acknowledgment of my own failures.


    Yet, amidst the cacophony of self-recrimination, there was a glimmer of solace in the music. Each note was a cathartic release, a chance to pour my heartache and remorse into something tangible. "I''m sorry, Hari. I''m sorry, brother." The apology hung heavy in the air, a desperate plea for forgiveness that may never come.


    But as the melody swelled and filled the room, I found myself enveloped in a strange sense of peace. In the music, I found a fleeting respite from the storm raging within me, a momentary reprieve from the burden of my guilt.


    Stepping out into the open, I found myself bathed in the warm glow of the sun, its rays painting the world in a golden hue. The streets, usually bustling with activity, were eerily quiet, devoid of the usual hum of vehicles. It was as if the world had paused, the silence punctuated only by the distant rustling of leaves.


    In this stillness, a familiar figure emerged - Pranav. An old friend, a relic from my past, one of the few who still remained in my life. His eyes, usually alight with the thrill of discussing his latest anime obsession, met mine with a hint of concern. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice breaking the silence. I could only muster a vague excuse in response before I turned away, leaving him standing there. Pranav had just returned from abroad last week, his passion for anime undiminished by time and distance. Yet, as I moved forward, his excited chatter about his favorite shows seemed like a distant echo, drowned out by the storm of thoughts brewing in my mind.


    With each step, memories of my brother flooded back, a torrent of emotions threatening to overwhelm me. We had grown apart, a chasm of silence and unspoken words widening between us with time. Now, he was gone, lost to me forever. The finality of it was a bitter pill to swallow. I found myself yearning for the existence of a heaven, a place where he could be at peace. A pang of regret washed over me. Why had I allowed the distance between us to grow? The question echoed in my mind, a painful reminder of the bond we had lost. The world around me continued to move, oblivious to the turmoil within me.


    The memory of that day, when we were just 10 or 11, was as vivid as if it had happened yesterday. It was a day like any other, the sun shining brightly in the clear blue sky, the air filled with the laughter and chatter of children at play. We were engrossed in a game of our own invention, a game that revolved around a brick that served as Aladdin''s lamp. We would divide ourselves into two teams, and a toss would decide which team would have the ''lamp'' first. Each team would then select a ''genie'', a powerful figure in the game. The other players had to obey the command of the genie if they were spotted. The thrill of the chase, the anticipation of being caught, and the exhilaration of outsmarting the ''genie'' made the game an exciting adventure for us. But that day, the game took an unexpected turn. An argument broke out, heated words were exchanged, and tempers flared. A friend of mine, a large guy, hit my brother. Back then, though we were close, we didn''t show it in front of others. But we both knew we loved each other to death.


    My brother couldn''t win the fight. The sight of him crying, his face contorted in pain, was too much for me to bear. I couldn''t take it. I ran from there, saying I needed to go home. I held back my tears from them and ran.

 HOME

    I was sinking in the past, reliving the moments of my childhood, when a loud knock on the door shattered my reverie. I opened my eyes and looked around, feeling nothing. I was still in my bed, in my filthy apartment. I got up and walked towards the door, indifferent to who it was. I opened it and saw Pranav standing there, his eyes full of sympathy. He didn''t say a word, he just wrapped his arms around me and pulled me into a crushing hug. I felt a surge of emotion and broke down, sobbing on his shoulder. I told him everything, how I had received a phone call from someone I barely knew from my town, telling me that my brother had died in a car accident. He listened silently, stroking my hair and whispering useless words of comfort.


    "Go instantly," he said to me, after I had calmed down a bit. He reached into his pocket and handed me some money. "It''s for the trip. You need to go back home. I know it''s been a while, and I''m sure they''ll be glad to see you." He lied. He knew that I had no other family left, except for my estranged brother, Barrett, who despised me. He knew that going back to my hometown was the last thing I wanted to do. But he also knew that I had no choice. I hugged him again, bitter of his kindness. He smiled softly and left me to get ready. As I picked up a dress from the cupboard and put it on, a nagging doubt crept into my mind. Did Pranav truly believe his own words, or was he simply trying to ease my burden with empty reassurances?


    Regardless, I packed a small bag with some essentials and locked the door behind me. Pranav was waiting for me outside, holding his car keys. He offered them to me, saying I could use his car for the journey. I refused at first, feeling guilty, but he persisted. He said he had another car he could use, and that he wanted me to be safe and comfortable. I thanked him and took the keys, feeling a cold emptiness in my chest. I got into his car and started the engine, feeling a surge of dread. I drove off, heading towards my hometown. It had been 10 long years since I left that place. I wondered what it was like now, how much it had changed, how much I had changed. I hoped I would find some peace there, some closure, some healing. But I knew I was lying to myself. I knew I would only find more pain, more regret, more guilt. I knew I would never find myself again.


    I drove away from the city, towards the place I used to call home. But I couldn''t feel any attachment to it anymore. I hated everything about it: the people, the houses, the culture. It was a panchayat, where everyone knew everyone and nothing ever changed. On the way, I saw many crows lying dead on the road, their black feathers stained with blood. It was a grim reminder of the news I had just received: my estranged brother had died in a car accident. He was the only family I had left, except for my brother, Hari, who despised me. Now, my other brother was gone too. My life was full of death and misery, and the weight of loss pressed down on me like a suffocating blanket.


    I moved forward, steering the wheel mechanically. The traffic was light, as if the world had given up on me. I hated driving, it made me feel trapped and restless. Why did I choose to drive anyway? I couldn''t refuse Pranav, that''s why. He was the only one who cared enough to offer me his car and some money for the trip. He was the only one who hugged me and comforted me when I broke down. And why was that, I wondered. I was never the type to care about what others thought of me. Maybe it was because he was the only human I felt who was real in that moment. When he hugged me, I felt like I belonged to this world, even if it was a cruel and unfair one. Damn it, this whole life was nothing but crap. Why was I even born? This thought had haunted me since I was a kid. Some people I knew back then said it was just a phase, a part of growing up. Others just pointed out Africa and how some kids starved there and I was being ungrateful. Pieces of shit. Why should I feel grateful? Did they really feel good thinking shit like that? If the kids in Africa weren''t born, they would also be free from the poverty and this fucking universe that didn''t give a damn. They would be better off than me, than us, than anyone.


    I arrived at the place around 2 pm, after driving for hours through the dusty roads. Stepping out of my car, I welcomed the warm embrace of the sun, its radiant rays casting a comforting glow on my skin. As I surveyed the scene, an elderly figure caught my eye, hobbling towards me with surprising speed despite her frail appearance. It was my aunt, my Father''s Brother''s wife, her once vibrant features now worn and weathered by time. Her eyes welled up with tears as she reached me, her trembling hands reaching out to caress my face, as if I were still a child. Despite her gestures of affection, I felt nothing but a hollow emptiness inside. Though she had once been a comforting presence in my life, her presence now served as a painful reminder of the family ties I had long abandoned.


    As I stood there, grappling with my own sense of detachment, another woman emerged from the gathering crowd. Clad in a white sari, her demeanor was somber, her eyes swollen with grief. She approached me tentatively, her voice tinged with a mixture of surprise and hope as she uttered my name, "Akhil?" Her words hung in the air, laden with unspoken questions and expectations. "We''ve been waiting for you," she continued, her tone betraying a hint of hurt and confusion. My mind raced as I struggled to make sense of the situation. Who was this woman, and why did she seem to expect me? Her next words provided the answer I dreaded to hear. "I''m your brother''s wife. We got married two years ago," she explained, her words landing like a heavy blow to my already burdened conscience. The revelation left me reeling, my mind scrambling to process the implications of this newfound information. How could I have been so oblivious to such a significant event in my own brother''s life? The weight of guilt and regret bore down on me with crushing force, threatening to overwhelm me entirely. With a heavy heart, I followed her towards the gathering at the house, my footsteps slow and reluctant. As we approached, I could see the solemn faces of my brother''s relatives, their expressions a mix of sorrow and expectation.


    Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.


    The air was heavy with the weight of grief, the atmosphere thick with unspoken words and unresolved emotions. I felt like a stranger in my own skin, an outsider intruding upon a world I no longer belonged to. As I crossed the threshold into the house, I couldn''t help but wish for a way to turn back time,


    to undo the years of estrangement and missed opportunities. But deep down, I knew that some wounds could never be healed, some bridges could never be rebuilt. All I could do now was face the consequences of my choices and confront the ghosts of my past, no matter how daunting the task may be.


    It was the sixth day following the demise of my brother. As I stepped into the familiar confines of our house, a wave of nostalgia washed over me. His presence seemed to linger in the air, a silent testament to the years we had spent together. The hall was expansive, adorned with three plush sofas and a diwan coat, their arrangement echoing the countless memories we had created in this space. A small LCD TV was affixed to the wall adjacent to the window, its screen reflecting the muted daylight.


    The chill of the marble floor seeped through the soles of my feet, a stark contrast to the warmth of the memories that flooded my mind. To the right of the grand staircase stood Jithin, my cousin. His face broke into a vacant smile as our eyes met. Our childhood days flashed before my eyes - the wrestling matches on the bed, the laughter echoing through the rooms, the day the bed gave way under our combined weight, and the scolding that followed from our mother. A smile tugged at my lips as I returned his greeting.


    I proceeded to the bedroom adjacent to the staircase, setting down my bag with a sigh. A voice echoed from outside, "Maya". It took me a moment to realize that it was my brother''s wife they were calling. She turned to look at me, her eyes meeting mine before she suggested I freshen up. "Okay, Chechi," I responded. She moved a step closer, her eyes welling up with unshed tears, "Your brother loved you a lot," she confessed, her voice barely a whisper.


    Caught off guard, I reached out to hold her hand, pressing it gently against my temple. "I know," I murmured, my voice steady despite the emotions threatening to spill over. She wiped her tears with the edge of her saree and left the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts.


    I locked the door and undressed, stepping into the bathroom. I took longer than usual, the familiar loathing for the village replaced by a strange sense of belonging. Emerging from the bathroom, I dressed and was greeted by a knock on the door. It was Jithin again. We shook hands, an unspoken agreement between us to never hug. Despite my affection for people, I realized I had never been one for physical displays of affection.


    ""Hey, Akhil," Jithin greeted him, his voice tinged with concern. "How are you holding up?"Akhil shrugged, unable to find the words to express the tumultuous mix of emotions that churned within him.


    "Where were you?" Jithin inquired, his brow furrowed with curiosity.


    "I... I worked as a Graphic Designer for a couple of years," Akhil replied, his voice trailing off as he struggled to articulate his thoughts.


    "And now?" Jithin pressed, his gaze steady and unwavering.


    Akhil hesitated, unsure of how to answer. "Now... I don''t know," he admitted, the weight of uncertainty heavy upon his shoulders.


    Jithin nodded in understanding, though there was a hint of sadness in his eyes. "I was the one who called you," he confessed, his voice softening with empathy.


    Akhil''s brow furrowed in confusion. "Oh, it was you," he murmured, realization dawning upon him.


    "Yeah, I mean, I had a hard time getting your number," Jithin explained. "I had to ask around quite a bit."


    "How did you find it then?" Akhil inquired, his curiosity piqued.


    "From your friend, Bharath," Jithin replied, his tone somber.


    Akhil''s mind raced as he processed the information, his thoughts consumed by a sense of disbelief and dread. Bharath was one of the few friends he had managed to keep in touch with over the years, a reminder of the life he had left behind.


    "Does he know?" Akhil asked, his voice barely above a whisper.


    "No, we didn''t inform a lot of people yet, only family, relatives, and his friends," Jithin explained, his words heavy with the weight of sorrow.


    Akhil felt a knot form in his stomach as he absorbed the gravity of the situation. His brother''s death had cast a shadow over everything, leaving him grappling with feelings of guilt and regret that threatened to consume him whole.


    "And, Akhil," Jithin continued, his voice faltering slightly. "I want you to sit down and listen to me calmly."


    Akhil complied, sinking onto the bed with a heavy heart. He braced himself for what was to come, knowing that whatever Jithin had to say would only add to the burden he already carried. "He killed himself," Jithin revealed, his words like a dagger to Akhil''s heart.


    Akhil felt the world spin around him as the full weight of the revelation hit him. His brother, the embodiment of strength and resilience, had succumbed to the darkness that lurked within him. It was a truth too painful to bear, a wound that cut deeper than any he had ever known.


    "Also, he had this addiction recently with gambling," Jithin continued, his voice tinged with bitterness. "He borrowed money from my dad too."


    Akhil''s mind reeled as he tried to make sense of the revelation. His brother''s struggles had been hidden from him, concealed beneath a facade of strength and stoicism. It was a truth he had never been prepared to face, a reality that shattered the illusions of his childhood.


    As Jithin''s words echoed in his mind, Akhil felt a wave of grief wash over him, overwhelming him with a sense of loss and longing. His brother was gone, lost to him forever, and there was nothing he could do to bring him back.


    With a heavy heart, Akhil rose from the bed, his mind consumed by thoughts of what could have been. His brother''s death had shattered the fragile illusion of normalcy that he had clung to for so long, leaving him adrift in a sea of regret and remorse.


    As he stepped out into the hallway, Akhil was greeted by the somber faces of his relatives, their expressions a mirror of his own grief. It was a scene he had witnessed countless times before, yet somehow it felt different now, as if the world had shifted beneath his feet and left him standing alone in the wreckage.With each passing moment, Akhil felt the weight of his brother''s absence grow heavier, pressing down upon him like a suffocating blanket. It was a burden he would carry with him for the rest of his days, a reminder of the bond they had shared and the memories they had created together.

 COWARD

    As the clock neared midnight, I found myself pacing back and forth on the terrace, the ember of a cigarette casting a faint glow in the darkness. Lost in my thoughts, I continued my restless stroll until a figure emerged from the door leading to the balcony. It was Jithin. Offering him a puff, I was met with his gentle refusal; he was attempting to quit. I nodded in understanding, a silent apology lingering in the air. Bringing my pacing to a halt, I moved towards the balcony''s edge, and Jithin joined me in solemn silence. Hours passed without a word exchanged between us. Eventually, fatigue weighed heavy upon us, and we found ourselves drifting into slumber right there on the balcony, under the vast expanse of the night sky.


    We awoke to Chechi''s voice, questioning why we were sleeping on the terrace. I rose without answering, noticing Jithin still lying on the ground. My mind turned to my other brother, absent since my return home. A night had passed, and still, there was no sign of him. Where could he be? The question lingered, unspoken, as I hesitated to voice it to Chechi. Chechi went back down, and I turned to Jithin and asked him why he lied about my brother''s suicide. Jithin, still lying on the ground, replied, "I don''t know, man. When I phoned you, I didn''t know what to tell you, and I hesitated a bit, so I just told you whatever came to my mind in a rush. I''m sorry."


    "It''s all right."


    "Fuck, why did he do it?"


    "Please don''t beat yourself over this. I know it''s been some years since you have been in touch, and you feel somewhat responsible for this, but trust me, he had his demons."


    I struck another match, the flare illuminating the tip of the cigarette as I brought it to my lips. With a deep inhale, I savored the bitter sweetness of the smoke, tendrils curling lazily into the morning air. Resting my hand on the small wall of the balcony, I peered out into the lingering dawn, the world below beginning to stir with the early risers.


    Among the few figures still milling about, I imagined their hushed conversations, likely revolving around my brother''s untimely demise. Words like "coward" and "weak" likely peppered their judgments. Yet, amidst the whispers, a sudden clarity washed over me.


    Why endure this relentless cycle of existence? The suffocating weight of societal expectations, the endless parade of faces lost in their own struggles¡ªwhat purpose did it serve? It was a question I had asked myself countless times, but now it seemed more pressing than ever. And then, amidst the cacophony of doubts, a steadfast conviction emerged. Despite the chaos and despair, I knew deep within my heart that my brother was not like the rest of us, trapped in this maze of existence. He was not a coward, nor was he weak. His absence only underscored the courage it took to confront his own demons, a bravery I could only admire from afar.


    Feeling a hand rest on my shoulder, I turned to find Jithin still by my side. "Let''s have a cup of tea," he suggested softly. Nodding in agreement, I followed him back to the hall. As we entered, I noticed several familiar faces among the gathering, their sympathetic gazes directed towards me. Yet, amidst the sea of mourners, I couldn''t help but feel a surge of resentment towards some of them. Why were they here now, I wondered, when they had never shown any care or concern for my brother while he was alive? They seemed like vultures, swooping in to feed off the tragedy of his death.


    Suddenly, I felt a frail hand on mine, belonging to a weak, slim old lady offering her condolences. Pulling my hand away abruptly, I excused myself and stepped outside, needing the solace of the open air. Jithin followed silently, understanding the turmoil brewing within me. We stepped outside, the gate looming before us, its black paint glistening faintly in the morning light. As we crossed the threshold, my eyes caught sight of a poster affixed to the wall nearby. The poster depicted his smiling face, a stark contrast to the somber mood that hung in the air. With a heavy heart, I lingered for a moment, silently paying my respects before continuing on with Jithin by my side.


    As we walked, my mind wandered, grappling with the sudden flood of emotions brought on by my brother''s death. It seemed surreal, considering I had been numb just moments before. I had convinced myself that nothing mattered, but now I found myself confronting the stark reality of his absence. It had been three long years since we last spoke, and yet, the memory of that day remained vivid in my mind.


    Three years ago... the recollection flooded back with surprising clarity. I began my work as a graphic designer when the call came¡ªnews of my mother''s second husband''s passing. It was my brother on the phone, delivering the news. Surprisingly, I felt nothing upon hearing it. While I didn''t harbor hatred towards him, I couldn''t shake the deep-seated resentment I held towards my mother for remarrying.


    I was my mother''s child, I was at a distance with my father, Hari was the one who was the closest to my father.


    If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    I picked up the call and answered, "Tell me, Sreejith."


    "You should come here as soon as possible, Renjith Annan died," that''s what we all called him, Annan.


    "I don''t think I can," I said without any emotion.


    "Fuck that, Akhil, come here this instant."


    "Why should I?" I retorted, feeling a surge of bitterness. "He isn''t related to me."


    "Our mom needs us."


    "Yeah, if that were true, she would''ve never married another."


    "The fuck are you talking about? She was young when our father died and she needed a companion."


    "I won''t come." With that, I ended the call.


    I packed my bag and went to Bangalore. I only returned after 16 days, after all the ceremonies were finished.


    One day, Sreejith visited me. I came home from my design class, and there he was, standing in front of my PG home. He started to raise his voice, but I didn''t react. Instead, I took the key from under the mat and opened the door. Suddenly, he shoved me from behind, catching me off guard. I cursed at him with some choice words, telling him he was a pimp for agreeing to stand with mother for her second marriage. In response, he socked me hard on the jaw, and I instinctively returned the blow.


    He locked me with his muscled forearm, his strength overpowering me. He was somewhat bigger than me, being a gym trainer with a strong build. I struggled to breathe as he exerted pressure. In desperation, I began squirming and making noises until he finally let go. We both ended up on the floor, exhausted and breathless. Sitting with my back against the bed''s side, I took in deep breaths of air, trying to calm myself.


    When Sreejith attempted to console me, I snapped, telling him to leave and never come back. From that moment on, I distanced myself from my brothers and mother. My father''s death when I was ten marked a pivotal moment in my life. Despite my vague memories of him, I cherished the bond I shared with my mother during my early years. I would snuggle into her embrace as I slept, finding solace in her gentle touch as she brushed my hair. Those were the golden days of my childhood, cocooned under the protective wings of my mother.


    But everything changed after my father''s passing. Though he was a tailor by profession, he had a keen business sense, accumulating a substantial sum of money that he wisely invested. His financial foresight ensured there was no shortage of funds even after he was gone.It was believed by some that those who owed him money laid curses upon him, attributing his demise to their unresolved debts. But I couldn''t reconcile these claims with the compassionate man I remembered. To my recollection, he extended financial assistance to many, albeit with interest, but I couldn''t fathom him capable of wrongdoing. He died of scirosiis, he drank heavily. I mean, if he wasn''t a drunk. we would even be rich.


    He spent much of his time in the hospital, which meant I didn''t have many moments with him. During those days, my mother''s parents would stay at home to take care of me while she was at the hospital. It was during this period that I formed a special bond with my grandfather. I adored him. He would take me to watch the trains passing by, a simple yet magical experience for a young child. Holding onto his hand tightly, I would gaze in awe as the massive vehicles thundered past, their power and speed captivating my imagination. Those moments with my grandfather were some of the fondest memories of my childhood, etched deeply in my heart.


    Amidst the clamor of voices and the chaos of the scene, I found myself disoriented. Jithin was engaged in a heated exchange with someone, their voices rising in urgency. It took a moment for me to register my surroundings¡ªI was standing in the middle of the road, a red car looming ahead, its driver undoubtedly frustrated by the disruption.


    Suddenly, it all came flooding back¡ªI had been lost in my thoughts, oblivious to the world around me. My distraction had caused a commotion, with Jithin now attempting to diffuse the situation. It was then that I noticed a man, clearly agitated, gesturing wildly. He had attempted to stop the vehicle to avoid a collision, his actions driven by concern for my safety. But instead of gratitude, his efforts had seemingly fueled his anger, exacerbated by the inconvenience caused by my absent-mindedness.


    Jithin''s voice broke through the turmoil as he attempted to soothe the situation, calming the irate man and turning his attention towards me. "Are you okay? What were you thinking?" he asked with genuine concern. But I remained silent, my thoughts a tumultuous storm raging within me. Without a word, I continued walking, with Jithin faithfully trailing behind.


    In the midst of our silent procession, Jithin''s phone rang, the sound piercing through the tense atmosphere. It was Chechi, bearing news of Hari''s return home. My heart sank at the thought of facing him, the weight of unresolved emotions threatening to overwhelm me. "I don''t want to face him right now," I confessed to Jithin, my voice barely above a whisper. In response, Jithin offered reassurance, his words a comforting anchor amidst the storm of my emotions. "It''s alright," he said, his tone imbued with understanding and support.


    As Jithin and I walked back, the sight of a fresh casualty, a cat lying lifeless by the side of the road, served as a stark reminder of mortality. Its blood staining the pavement, its brain spilled from its skull¡ªa gruesome testament to the fragility of life. "Death is following me all around," I couldn''t help but think to myself.


    Upon reaching home, Hari awaited us on the steps leading to the entrance. His presence froze me in place. As he approached, he said nothing, simply enveloping me in a tight embrace. We entered the house together, greeted by Chechi. Settling onto the sofa, we found a moment of respite from the outside world, the rest of the visitors lingering outside.


    "So, finally the prodigal son returns," Hari remarked with a chuckle.


    I remained silent, unsure of what to say. Seeing him after all these years felt strange, despite our recent phone conversations.


    "I''m sorry for being angry at you," Hari offered apologetically.


    I nodded in acknowledgment.


    "Do you know why he did it?" I asked Hari, my voice tinged with desperation. He didn''t answer immediately. When I pressed him again, frustration boiled over, and I erupted. "Do you have any idea why our brother hanged himself?" I shouted, the words tearing from my throat. The sudden outburst drew the attention of the crowd outside, who rushed in to witness the spectacle.


    Turning to face them, I unleashed my pent-up anguish. "Why the hell are you all here?" I yelled. "Is this some sort of entertainment for you? A circus? Our brother is dead, there''s no more drama to feed on! Or maybe you want to know why he did it, right? I''ll tell you why¡ªhe was a coward! Now get the hell out of here!"


    My words sent the crowd scattering, some retreating to their homes the moment I began shouting.