It’s 12 o’clock.
It’s so dark.
I am so sleepy. Eye lids are heavy as wet winter blankets. Phone is ringing. I forgot to keep it off hook and I have only myself to blame for that. I have only myself to blame for many more things. Fast reducing bank balance, bad performance at work, daughter’s bad reports from school, the mess the house is in, the glass that broke, the tap that leaks, the AC that needs repairing, the lost driver’s license; the list is endless and spreads in every possible direction of my life. I can either shut all of them down or feel it all. I have lost the perspective to choose the important ones.
It is so dark.
I am so tired. My body aches. Must be because of my increased weight, which must be because of the ice creams and cakes, but my body aches a lot. The phone is ringing again. It’s painful to go and pick it up. Why can’t one sleep in peace?
I dream of black dogs chasing me, dream interpretation says it’s a bad sign. What more can be bad than that ringing phone that is chasing my dreams away. I prefer nightmares, to waking up and talking to him. Why does he keep calling me. My harshest words don’t put him off. Let it ring. It will soon stop. He will soon be put off.
It’s 2 o’clock.
It’s darker now.
The sight in front of me is scary. What happened in this room? The little table with the pretty vase, who kicked it while I was asleep? Books are scattered all around, 'Gone Girl' is brutally gone. Innocent books, who would do this to them, I loved to spend time only with them. I feel so lonely amidst this mess. Broken glass pricks my feet. Blood is staining my carpet and it makes me cry. I need to speak to him right now. I limp towards the phone which is silent as dead, broken as the vase. Who had directed his anger on it? And then dawn's upon me the same old question,
“Was it me?”
I creep into my blanket to go off to sleep. No more ringing of phone. I finally can act dead if cannot be. My blanket is safe, it’s all dark under it.
I am sleepy. I am tired. It’s 3 pm. I finally fall off to sleep. One more day lost.
On bad days it’s all the same, am or pm, it's all dark.
By Mehak Mirza Prabhu