One night

One night, he couldn’t sleep.

It was one of those days when he was absolutely tired but sleep won’t come. He resorted, naturally, to what was expected of him- to overtly analyzing every life decision he ever made that had led him here, to this cold hard bed with only a really thin blanket to warm him against the bone-chilling cold.

As he lay restless in bed, his thoughts led him in a whirlwind.

How he wished he had gathered up the nerve to just bear his heart. The regrets, the failures, the missteps all met him in the whirlwind tour.

As he lay in his cold bed, vested in cherished memories of the past, he hated this life even more. It’s time to give up. Time to go home. Back to the sender.

His parents were not home and his younger brother was in a deep slumber. It was a cold night and any other sleepless night for him. He was in no mood of even tapping on any of his social media apps, and it had already been more than an hour, he had been viewing stories on WhatsApp status, he had already cleared his Facebook messenger inbox. No trace of the life he had lived could be pieced together electronically. And with that satisfaction, he was so done with that miniature electronic device in his hand that he couldn’t even look at it.

The last thing he saw 2:42 a.m, now he had only two accomplices with whom he was left alone, one that would scare anyone at this time – the ticking clock and the other he feared the most at this time – his depression. Still sleepless, hardly did he know it was going to be the last one. The battle had been going on for long and his opponent never gave up, returning, again and again, that’s what he stressed the most and then was the time to confront. The night was ordinary yet different, that night he lacked the courage to console, to encourage, to accept himself. This time he was done, he couldn’t take it anymore. His imaginary friend was waiting for the go-ahead to get a kitchen knife for him. Or pills. The imaginary friend kept reminding him that he was at his service. He had to put an end to it now. He would always convince himself that things are going to be fine, but this time it was in vain, he had lost all of it. There wasn’t anything left to think of, he knew he needed to take this step which he should have taken long ago to get rid of everything. He was especially tired of the voices. Very many voices. Both unseen and from the imaginary friend. He hated the imaginary friend more. Because he dared him. Taunted him even. More so, he couldn’t make him shut up. How could he be this powerless? 

With all this in mind, he didn’t want anyone to have even an inch of idea for why he did so or what made him so weak. So the only source had to be destroyed. All his pain, suffering, secrets were known only to his best friend – his diary! ( an idea he got from the imaginary friend). His best friend had been with him all these years, whom he trusted more than any human? Quietly, he took out the box with his diary, all precious presents, betrayals, friends (each friend had a paragraph that described him or her in detail), greeting cards, things he didn’t like about himself, both physically and mentally, his failures, struggles and childhood memories that never put a smile on his face. He took out the diary and having a glance at each page, reliving each memory, with a heavy heart, he then read every friend’s, description. He couldn’t go on as he realised all this while none of the characters could be authoritatively referred to as a friend. He wanted to say something out loud but no sound came out. He felt wasted and with a sinking feeling, he tore each page to bits. For another hour or two, he had the flashback of probably everything that had happened, and then finally he burnt the bits to ashes so that no trace is left. 

Now, in front of him, lay the dead remnants of his story, history actually, it was all destroyed and then he realized he was left with nothing related to the past. He had this sudden feeling as if it was all over, nothing was left. He was left blank just as if all his previous memory had been formatted. Nothing was left. It felt as if he was finally free, free from all that was holding him back. No invisible cage, no imaginary voice, no voice except his own, no restrictions, no thoughts, no worries and nothing to think of! He didn’t know who he was now but was well aware of who he had to become this time.

He thought about his laughter and deep voice. Of his height.Or how cute he looked when his brows frowned while solving a complex problem. How he would make the raunchiest of jokes and laugh at the bewildered expression of his audience. How he would play with his goatee when he was nervous or needed deep concentration. There was no one like him. How could there be? He was perfect and there was no way ever for even God to duplicate perfection. Oh! His heart spoke, reminding him of how he was made in God’s image and likeness. It reminded him about the verse that God had been pleased with his creation- himself included. Moreover, God couldn’t give him any mountain he couldn’t climb. He smiled. 

Then, it was 5:17 a.m, the time had to be noted. He opened a new diary. After all, someone who was going to end it all just got a new life and something that was finally going to win over, lost forever. 

That One night sitting in his cold bed, warmed only by the fire from his burnt diary and the burning whiff, four words died in his throat to be replaced by two “hope and life”. I’ll do this right this time. He thought to himself.