Pocket full of stars

7 [RAHI]

Since the day the lady shrieked because of the leech, I have been keeping an eye out for suspicious movements in the grass and shrubs around the bus stop.

I needed a distraction.

Day and night, I hungrily looked for a distraction like a mad woman in search of something imaginary.

I needed solace for a day, no, a few hours, wait...an hour or maybe even a few minutes would do.

I know I am not well but I am not seeking a cure.

The other day, I was sitting in a park when I heard a mother and a daughter talking to each other.

Eavesdropping is bad but I couldn't help.

I wanted to check how the mother was because mine always told me that I would never find another mother like her and that she was better than all the other parents out there.

I wouldn't deny that.

She was better than all the other parents out there because no other parent was keeping their death on hold for their child.

The mother in the park said softly, "Listen, beta, whatever happened it is not your fault. I am here with you and will always be."

The words rushed up to me like a storm and in confusion, I broke into laughter like a maniac.

It wasn't forceful, it came from within—a heartfelt laughter though there wasn't anything funny in what I heard.

The laughter was unstoppable, it came down like a landslide.

A mother saying things like that is ridiculous.

So ridiculous that my laughter turned into cackles.

I snorted and rolled down from the bench and onto the grass, laughing my head off.

Deep within, my mother's face flashed repeatedly—a face of anger, disappointment and hatred.

The laughter died down abruptly as it had started.

I straightened myself up and decided to leave the park before the other people kicked me out or called the nearby mental asylum.

My body trembled and my fingers were cold to the touch.

The laugh felt rejuvenating.

I wanted to experience that again—that laughter of hatred and utter mockery.

A mother talking like that was so cheesy and cringeworthy.

I bet the daughter puked in response.

'Not your fault'?

I wanted to laugh but a dry smile came out sadly.

It was exhausting.

My mother's ghost was with me, I know it.

Where can she go leaving behind the object on which she vented her frustration?

She did hold back her death for me but torturing me may have given her a new reason to live and that's why she is not satisfied with the death.

Mother, my dear mother, if possible, you can strip me into thin pieces slowly savouring the pleasure from it.

I know your hatred knows no bounds because I took away your reason for living.

Cut me into pieces, crush me into a pulp, and bring out your vengeance the way you deem fit.

But leave me alone.

Or appear in front of me with that candid look of hatred on your face, so that I can hate you anew.

You are always smiling in pictures which is making it hard for me to remember your abhorrence.

Dear mother, I wish you death all over again.

It is what you wanted, so then why?

8 years have passed since you died, so then why am I still fighting with madness?

Why are you haunting me?

Dear mother, do you know what I hate more than your unwanted presence?

It is when people say that I take after you.

I don't like that.

That is a punishment I don't deserve.

I finally don't have to come home to you, mother.

That is a bitter happiness, I hate to admit.

Do you think I am a bad and ungrateful daughter?

Think so, I don't care.

Let us be different and unique.

Let the basis of our relationship be unsullied hatred.

Mother, dear mother, you have left your bodily cage and have gained freedom that people hardly get.

Live your death, just like you wanted—free like a bird and with the son that I took from you.

You are dead to the world but you have not died yet.

You are here, around me, with me, plaguing me.