There are five people in the world whom I don’t want to disappoint- mom, my sports coach, God, my best friend, and me. In that order.
Mom I have lived with all my fifteen years. She’s the person I know, and who knows me. never once, for as long as I can remember, has she been wrong, and that’s why I blindly trust her. And to disappoint her would mean to do wrong.
My sports coach just has one simple motto, his answer for everything sports and otherwise- “When in doubt, always tackle.” It gets pretty weird defining “tackle” in badminton (who do I attack- the shuttlecock??) but pretty much all my school life I avoided being bullied because of that singular sentence. To disappoint him would mean to give in to the bullies after all.
God. Well they say God forgives… But I don’t even wanna imagine what pot I’d be boiling in if he changes his mind and wants to teach me a lesson. So, no. Definitely don’t want to disappoint Him.
My best friend, she’s a rather loathsome creature. Her life is filled with loathing- she loathes her family, her family tries not to loathe her. She loathes me, and well, I call her a loathsome creature don’t I. But still, I don’t wanna disappoint her for one simple reason… How deep must I have fallen if I can’t live up to even her expectations?
And here we come to the last. Me.
I have read my share of self help books. If anything, they leave me in a denser tangle than before. But I learnt one thing. The mind is a rather strange thing. If it focuses on something, it can create mindblowing revelations. But make it focus on itself, and you can go mad! So to spare all the mental carnival, I prefer not to disappoint myself.
But the whole point of writing this blog post is that I did. I disappointed. Everyone.
I took drugs. I promised myself- Just once. But yeah, you can nod away, it’s never once is it. We only realise that after. And then it’s too late to stop. Anyone who’s life has ever seen a drug addict, in themselves or in another, can tell you all I am about to tell you.
It was great. I felt better than Superman must. Sure, the mornings were horrible but back then, I took it as a sign of what I was missing and had been missing all my life off drugs. Drugs were basically becoming, my idea of heaven.
When people started noticing the hollow eyes and zombie talk, I just scoffed off their questions. Then one day, my younger sister found me with a packet of weed in hand. She recognised the load from a campaign in school. Mom went ballistic. dad shouted louder than a truck horn.
But do you know what I did… I called them cowards. I called them conformists. I told them they were meek to just abide by the general scheme of the world, and get so psyched when they hadn’t even tried the stuff. You won’t believe what I did next. I brought them some. I brought them some weed and told them to try the stuff before they said anything to me ever again. Dad slapped me across my face, for the first time in my life. Mom fainted. The time they took to get her to a doctor, I used to take money from my parent’s locker and run off.
The police found me unconscious and high in the middle of the road that very night. They wanted to put me in rehab right away but fortunately, the drug amount in my bloodstream was too low to qualify. First time in my life that I liked not qualifying. 🙂
I was locked in my room for three days. Dad thought I would come to my senses with that. The poor man. The day he let me out and I acted all sorry and crying, he let me go to school. before the first period started, I had some long awaited weed in my body again. I bit back teachers’ snide comments. I just stood while the opponent hit smash after smash into my court. I slept with my feet on the table in recess. I shamed my best friend when I kissed her boyfriend (of sorts) in the hall just to hear everyone else hoot.
It was to be the last day of my freedom. But it was bliss.
Then you know the drill. Principal to parents to rehab center to lots of mommy tears and lots of sister stares and finally, here.
In this chair… that’s bolted to the floor… with this guy… a civilian volunteer… who’s writing…as I speak… who’s writing this blog post.. because I can’t…
I can’t… because I’m in a straightjacket.
Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I am in an asylum.
And ironically, I have finally found sense, in a mental asylum.
They keep me in a straightjacket because the nerve clots I have developed from the weed, moreover the defiled weed mixed with other’s body fluids, dust and God knows what chemicals, these clots stop my brain momentarily and I do things that I don’t know I am doing. Law of the land- Don’t let me do anything at all then.
I sit everyday in this straightjacket, sleep in it too, and now after twelve years of this routine, and nothing but the clots left behind from the drugs, I have returned to the kind of person i was. But now, that person is not allowed to roam free. I have all my life, or what’s left of it really, to sit and dictate to a kind volunteer and regret the highs. My heaven… was really the road to hell… The end.
PS. All that was fiction 😀 And for any of you who’s concerned about the effect of drugs and such, I would advise you not to solely or largely go by the storyline here. Consult with a doctor or welfare citizen.
Third and final part. Continued from Long Gone.
The tears didn’t bring Whit back. The tears didn’t tell Sam she was sorry. The tears didn’t do her tired body any good. But the tears were warm, and she let them flow. She needed time.
Elle knew that enough wrong had already happened, and that she had to bring back together all that was left. She had to bring Sam back, she had to cleanse Whit’s memory, and she had to prepare for her burial. She had to tell Whit’s family in the best way possible that Whit died trying to escape from the drugs, and she had to accept that her best friend… was gone.
Elle fingered the green envelope. This was the last time Whit had tried to communicate with someone she realised. And then Elle remembered the other envelope inside. She ripped the tape away, and peeked inside.
She felt inside, her fingers struggling to hold the tiny thread she had seen. When she finally pulled it out, it turned out to be the charm Whit had made Elle for Friendship Day in fourth grade, but had had to take it back because Sam had protested that he hadn’t got one.
The tears had dried. Elle picked up the phone, rubbed her very swollen eyes, and dialed a number she never had to look up.
“You’ve reached Sam. Leave a message after the beep!”
“Hey Sam. It’s me. I want to talk so whenever you’re back-”
He was there after all. She had wondered for a moment where he would have gone the day after Whit’s death. He’d probably be venting with soda. All alone.
“Hey. Sam. Uhh… Whit died.”
“Umm… yeah, I told you that yesterday.”
“No, she died fighting it.”
Elle breathed out. She told him about the letter, and about the charm, and how she wanted to make things right again.
“This really sucks you realise that? She was at it for months! And she survived every dangerous night in the hospital! And then , when she wants to change, she… Damn it!”
“Hey. I know. I just wish we had been there for her.”
“Oh I was there.I went over cause she said she couldn’t sleep,and she did soon after, while I was there, and I realised she wasn’t… breathing… when I tripped over her foot and she didn’t… I was there.”
Elle didn’t know what to say. So in Whit’s final moments, Elle had left her best friends and been busy where? Sleeping?
“Okay. When is the funeral?”
Elle hoped against all hopes that she had at least not missed out that.
“I’m still planning it. There’s her family to talk to and frankly, I don’t know how I’ll-”
“I’ll do it. I’ll do all of it.”
“Okay El.” She heard a smile in his voice, and she felt better herself.
“Oh and where are we meeting then? Coffee shop?”
Elle smiled as she replied, “Yeah. In ten.”
“Okay. And don’t forget to bring the flowers and stuff. To say sorry.”
“Yeah. I’m sorry Sam.”
“Forgiven. See you in ten.”
And the line clicked.
Elle had just got up to change, when the phone rang.
“Oh and one more thing El.”
“Bring the key.”
“Yeah. I will.”
Disclaimer: Since this is so much a week of firsts- my first science fiction, my first horror, my first bad class test, my first… Yeah, so it’s a week of firsts. So here comes another first- My First Fantasy. Of course, fiction.
Wilson dropped to his knees and started off with the scrubbing again. The only motivation he had was this was the very last patch left, but when you have a hall as big as the Lord Hall, and that too all to yourself to clean till it blinds one with its shine, even that motivation is bleak. And the fact that it was a punishment made it none the better.
Wilson dipped the thinned cloth into the bucket for the hundredth time. And then he cursed, just as many times. If only he had been allowed magic. At least. But he was told he couldn’t even refill the water by magic, and everything, down to the last piece of cloth that broke off from the mop was to be picked by hand.
What use is magic if you can’t use it, thought Wilson, yet again. He was very angry and very irritated, even his crime wasn’t this major. But the Lords had never been liberal. He had expected cooking duty for the next week but not this. And what he had certainly not expected was a reply to his frustrated thoughts.
What’s the use of magic? Well, for you, Williase, the objective is to show just that. And why such an important thing should not be mishandled. The Lords were sure that you would think twice before levitating a bridge next time on.
It was Lord Tahalan. But he wasn’t speaking. But then, he had never needed to. Lord Tahalan’s talent was that he could pick thoughts, dreams and hopes from the air if they were fresh. And the number of times Wilson had complained about the No-Magic condition, the thought must be really strong in the air.
About to finish, Willianse?
Wilson flinched at hearing his real name again. But he knew it was no point telling a Lord to call him by his human name, so he just answered, actually speaking out the words, “Last place, m’Lord.”
Lord Tahalan nodded and progressed down the Hall.
Lord Tahalan was actually distant family. He was the second cousin on Wilson’s mother’s side. But he had never encouraged the feeling and certainly not after he was made Lord. Beautiful as Wilson’s mother may be for a gnomess, it was said Lord Tahalan would never agree being kin to someone with even a pinch of gnome blood.
Wuss, thought Wilson. But he was too loud and Lord Tahalan heard. He turned and gave Wilson a broad smile and walked away.
Super wuss, Wilson thought louder, on purpose, and the distant echo of a loud laugh was heard come down the far exit.
Wilson finished the last corner, placed the bucket back in the cupboard, and made off before another Lord could appear to check his work. Satisfy yourself, thought Wilson, happy that Lord Tahalan was the only Thought Picker completely capable of his skill in the land.
Wilson ran up the stairs to his room. He put on a pullover and took a scarf. The human newspaper had reported snow today. As quickly as he had come, Wilson ran down the stairs and dashed for the door, but his mother had always been quicker.
“Are you crossing over to London?”
“I was thinking more of the Gobi desert actually, it’s snowing out there you see.”
“Don’t you get cocky with me, Wilson.”
His mother always called him Wilson, whatever the place or time. But it was through her itself that he had picked up a dislike to his real name.
Wilson looked at his mother. Her red hair, sparkling like fire, set loose down her shoulders. Her grey eyes, blank as the London sky he loved so, watching him intently. His fair skin, too white for a gnome in fact, giving her the name she had become popular with- Icelly.
“Sorry. Yeah, I’m going to London. And it IS snowing.”
Icelly looked at her son for a moment. He had always been so like her. How could she be mad at him when he was doing exactly the same thing she would have done in his place?
“All right. Get me some snow. Bottled, not in your hands.”
Wilson giggled at the recollection of his last snow gathering, and dashed off to the Tube.
Within seconds, he had paid some magic bonuses and stepped into the Tube.
“Hey! You are eighty pluses short!” shouted the collector.
“I know! I will say my own spell!” Said Wilson and spread the rest of his bonuses around his place in the Tube. He said the spell he had been taught long ago, by his mother.
The magic bonuses glittered and swirled around a bit, like moved by a non-existent wind.
Wilson blinked and when he opened his eyes, he was standing in a London alley and a few human coins lay littered around him. A good investment of his magic bonuses, he always believed them to be.
Wilson never wasted time at sightseeing. He had had a school trip for that years ago and his memory, thanks to gnome blood, was vivid as if he came yesterday. Instead, Wilson set off for the shop he visited every third day by rule. He had already created a fake identity for himself and today he was going to press upon where he had left- his sick uncle who needed the powder desperately.
Wilson used a spell this time. He was in a rush, the cleaning at the Hall had made him late, and the shop would close in ten minutes. He traveled down two roads and arrived at another valley by riding on the wind, but he was so fast that the slow eyes of humans couldn’t possibly catch him. One time, he had even yelled on the ride and no human had heard. He learnt later that they were taught that the wind sometimes ‘gushes’.
Wilson now ran down the last road and hurried inside the shop before the girl at the front desk could shut him out.
She saw him enter, and as she knew what he was in for she didn’t speak to him. Not that she approved, such a beautiful face, she had often thought, wasted on drugs.
Wilson too had learnt that the powder he made these rounds for were something the humans talked in whispers about. It was also illegal. And he was told there were only a few ‘dope’ shops in that part of London.
Wilson quickly made him way to the back of the shop, parted the bead curtains carefully. lest he should break them again and waited in the dark. He was glad that his gnome blood lost much of it’s brightness in the human world or else he would be lit up like a lamp.
And then it happened. Out of nowhere, a small man stepped out, put a little amount of ‘dope’ into Wilson’s hand in a plastic bag, took the money from the other and disappeared again.
Wilson looked down at the powder, once outside. Stardust. If only the humans knew the power they held in their hands. He wondered why none of them had really questioned the ‘high’ they felt when they took some. But for him, it was something else altogether- in the machine that he was setting up to find his dad. The reason his mom let him travel to London so often.
Wilson bottled some snow, much to the surprise of an old lady walking past, and rushed back home.
P.S. I might not be writing too frequently for some time now, my Tests are going on. But I do hope you will be here when I am back. Till the, ta ta!