Frail hand that held me

Hi Everyone,

Note*  work of fiction

From the diary of a murderer :

I was there killing people, seeking pleasure in their cries.  I could see my reflection in the pool of blood.  There was chaos everywhere.  Nothing moved me because I already have died from within.

I was also hurt physically in this carnage, was wandering in streets with a bleeding hand and it was then that I met this old lady.  She must be something over sixty years.  She looked at my hand and asked what happened.  I said had a small accident and couldn’t find a doctor at this hour.  It’s not a small accident, you are hurt severely, come with me I will do some first aid.  I said its fine, I will find something, I will take care of it.  She still insisted, and she did it persistently.  I had to give up as energy was draining out of me with my blood.  I followed her to her home which was nearby.  She did first aid and gave some broth to eat along with medicine.  I felt drowsy and slept.  Was suddenly moved by the police siren that ran across the streets.   Got up to see from the window and relieved that they left.  And suddenly startled by the soft voice and the touch of frail shaking hand on my shoulder.  “How are you feeling now?” she asked.  “Better now”, I said.  “Why don’t you take rest, why did you get up from the bed?  I will bring breakfast for you” she said and left.  I went back to bed and sat there looking around, there were photographs.  The lady was with her daughter and son, I thought so.  She came with the breakfast tray.  We settled down, as I proceeded with my breakfast I asked her “who are with you in these photographs, don’t they stay with you?  since when you are alone? I enquired her.  She chuckled, looked around, and said they are her daughter and son as I thought.  They don’t stay with me as they are no more.  I lost them five years back when there was a attack on school in which they were teachers.  They died while trying to shield kids from being attacked by a sadist.  Bullets were sprayed all over and blood was spilled.  And after four hours of mayhem silence covered the bodies.  For few days there was huge media coverage, this very act was criticised by everyone but as soon as there was a new incident in the town slowly the focus shifted.  She was narrating this horrendous story with a straight face, not even a single drop of tear in her eyes and no frown.

When she finished I asked her ” would you be ever able to forgive that person who created this vacuum in your life”.  For this she said “It is a sign of cowardice, such act is a sign of weakness within, but an unforgiving heart is a weakness too.  Any violence be it within four walls of house, or anywhere in the name of religion, or any resentment against the society is an indicator of frail heart and frail education, and by education I don’t mean what is taught in books alone.  What is important for me that my children did what is right, they were strong enough to stand up for others and I should cherish their strength as long as I live”.

I was done with my breakfast, but my mind was full of her words. Couldn’t stand longer in her light, couldn’t repent enough for what I did in a fit of rage, I felt drained and I felt frail.


Source: Frail

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