Captive Thoughts

1:00 AM

He closed his laptop, putting its sickening light to rest and filling the room with a darkness which seemed too eager to take over. He then dragged himself to the bed at the other side of the room, he had intentionally kept the laptop at the other end of his room in this apartment he shared with two other men. One of them was talking on phone, laughing, flirting with someone while the other slept peacefully after smoking up a joint.

1:30 AM

He lay awake in his bed which seemed cold and stiff to him. He twisted and turned and got irritated with each passing second. This was standard procedure now, a part of his daily routine, lying awake, going through the details of his day on repeat. There was the office and the job, that was all that was left of his life.

He remembers how he laughed at his friends who were working while he was still in college when they told him how work had eaten up everything in their life. He laughed at himself now for not believing what they said back then. And as the chain of thoughts proceeded, gloom started taking over him. Questions now familiar started doing rounds. Questions which did not have an easy answer, questions he dreaded would break him down.

Why don’t things which matter last as long as things which don’t? Why is there such a big difference between what we want and what we need and we often are blind to what is harmful, sometimes even fatal? As he thought of this, his fingers moved over the scar over his wrist which still itched sometimes. He wondered if everyone had the same questions or was it just him? He and his tormented self; they say everyone is fighting a war, do all of their wars are just as bad? The people around him were seemingly happy and satisfied. He too had no apparent reason for such misery. Days were bright, they passed in a flicker but the nights were dark and slow and they hurt. So much that he had to gulp it down, trying to breathe, choking on his own thoughts.

The agitation was increasing, he felt it like a throbbing muscle, hurting with every breath. He wished someone could kill him, put a bullet through his head. Maybe in the morning when he would be walking to office some freak would hit him with his truck and brings a much needed respite, stain his documents and soak his crisp shirt with his blood. He was too timid to kill himself, pop some pills and go to sleep. He was too timid for anything, always skeptical about bringing changes, he thought. The angst soared, and he felt trapped in his body, sweating, shifting uneasily.

The thoughts took a u-turn; It does not have to make sense. It never makes sense. People come and they go, we make choices based on what we find best for ourselves. We cannot predict the future, we can only try to make a better future based on what little understanding we have of life. Its like a Rubik cube, you think you have it sorted but someone walks in, distracts you and leaves with another mess. The trick is not to lose patience but analyze and change things, try and fail and then try again. The beauty lies in trying and changing and growing but not growing bitter. What fun would it be to have a sorted Rubik cube, to have the same, monotonous drudgery, everyday. Maybe all this pain would lead to something good. Maybe tomorrow, he will make a little change and see if it turns into something good. Tomorrow. Tomorrow is the day, he told himself.

1:48 AM

His eyes grew tired and his mind silenced itself and he slept off in hope of a better day ahead.

– Abhyuday Gupta

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