Credits to weirdosaurs for this beautiful banner. I am absolutely in love with it. Its tone just matches the vibe of the ongoing track so well. Thank you so much, love.
A U T H O R ' S P O V
The little boy had been pissed. He was promised being adopted would be good. He was promised he'd have a family, a real mother and a real father, and yet, as he sat on the ground, he was bored.
At age 6, there weren't a lot of things he could come up with to do in a house alone, only with a caretaker who didn't really care about him at all.
He'd watched his favourite cartoons, scribbled in all the drawing books, broken a hundred chalks, played with all his toys, and now he was bored.
He just wanted someone to play with. But his father was at office like always, and his mother was nowhere to be seen... like always.
But as if in luck, the door of the house opened and his mother walked in.
"Mom!" He happily shouted, running and hugging her foot.
But his mother, she acted differently. Her eyes were red and her hands were shaking as she leaned down to his height.
"Is he home?" She asked him, in a timid voice. He might be young but he knew when his mother was scared.
"Who?" The boy asked back, looking at the scar on her forehead. Where did she get that from?
"Your father," His mom replied, "Is he home yet?"
"No," he answered.
"Okay," she licked her lips, "But he's on his way."
"Are we having a family night? Vibhav has dinner with his family every night. Are we having that too?" A spark lit up in his eyes.
"No," his mother smiled sadly, "Your sister will be sleeping over at her friends house tonight, and Dad has to go back to work."
"At night?" He innocently asked.
She nodded, looking at her son with sympathy, "But if you want, we can play a game."
"A game?" His eyes sparkled again. He forgot how mad he was at his sister for leaving him alone for the night and his Dad for working at night. He had his mother now... and something had to be better than nothing, right?
"Yes," she smiled back, "I'm going to need you to go and hide."
"Will you find me?" He asked, jumping in happiness.
She nodded back, "But don't come out until I find you, okay? Mamma is a little weak at this game. I might take some time."
"That's okay!" He shouted in the air, "Count till 100, okay?"
"Okay," his mother had nodded happily, or atleast, so he thought.
And so, the tough question being, where should he hide? I mean, when his mother told him she's bad at the game, it has to be a lie, right?
She can't be terrible. She was an adult. And an adult was better at everything.
And so, after thinking a lot, he hid at the place he thought she'd never come– his mother's wardrobe. And from the creeks of the door, he kept peeking out. It was dark and he felt suffocated, but anything to win the game.
Time passed.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Five.
He was quick to count to hundred, but there was no shout of 'I'm coming' like his sister usually did. She wasn't really his sister, for he had been adopted, but it felt good to have one.
He occasionally kept peeking out of the wardrobe, to see if his mother was around, but she wasn't. Not her fault, though. The house was big, and it could take hours to find someone. When he and his twin played, they usually limited their game to one section, or their room, but his mother hadn't mentioned anything like that, so it would be a long time before she could find him.
But he came prepared. He sneaked out the bag of M&Ms from underneath his jacket and chuckled to himself as he peacefully sat in one corner of the wide cupboard and ate them in peace.
This was good. His annoying sister wasn't here to keep putting her hand in his share after eating hers, and there was no caretaker for scolding them because they got into a fight over M&Ms and made a mess.
He liked being alone.
But this mood lasted for the next hour. After that, he was getting bored. Not to forget, he was scared of the darkness. His M&Ms were over, and his mom was still not here. It almost felt like he couldn't breathe.
Maybe he could go out for a bit?
Or switch hiding places if his mother was not around?
A little cheating was fair, right?
And just as he peaked outside, he heard footsteps barging in.
Oh shit.
His mom was here.
He hid back, shutting the door and accidentally closing him inside. Oops.
He could still stare outside from the creek in the wooden drawer though, and thankfully even breathe through it, because it was starting to get hot.
He removed his jacket, peeping out from the small creek again. He could see his mom's legs, and the same shoes she was wearing as earlier.
She was finally here.
And then, he saw his father's. Did she involve him in the game too?
That was, well, cheating, but he didn't care. If they played together, they'd probably have dinner together like a family... like Vibhav's family.
He grinned, watching outside.
But they weren't really finding him.
They were standing close, and his father was screaming. The words were bigger than he could understand, but he was trying, when he heard his mother screamed.
He froze for a moment, before trying to rattle his way out. But the door had been shut, and it's banging noises were suppressed under his fathers voice.
If his mother was hurt, his father could sure take care of her, right?
Except he didn't. He was the one hurting her.
He saw his father holding his mother by her hair and dragging her to the corner. He kept raising his hand and brutally slapping her face and she kept screaming.
He could see her tears.
And he still hit her.
He unravelled his belt and screamed angrily before hitting her. The screams just got louder, as did Cole's desire to come out of the cupboard he was stuck in.
But like his mother's tears went unnoticed, so did his efforts to come out.
Minutes changed into hours which seemed like eternity.
It was hot in the cupboard and yet he once again wrapped the jacket around himself like a blanket as he silently cried in a corner.
Soon, his mother's screams faded and he watched his father's feet walk away.
He couldn't save his mother. When he got out of the room that day after spending the night in the cupboard, he found his mother hung to the ceiling with a dupatta.
His father hadn't been around. As he sat in a corner outside the house, crying, no one came, except a man.
"Come with me," the man had bent to his height.
"Mom has warned me to not talk to strangers," The little boy had answered. "I don't even know your name."
"And I don't know yours," the man retaliated. "It's fair, right?"
The little boy nodded, and held the man's hand as they walked away, to the ice cream parlour.
"My mom used to buy me icecream," The six year old told the man, who wasn't much elder to him, maybe twenty years.
"Hmm?" The man asked. "And she doesn't do that now?"
Tears returned the boys eyes. "She's dead."
"Oh," the man replied, with no remorse, as if he had already known. "What do you want now?"
" I just wanted a home," the boy said, his eyes to the ground, but tears disappeared and a shine replaced in his eyes when they landed on a puppy. "Puppy!"
The boy forgot the ice cream, and ran to the little pup, bending to the height of the barely-one feet tall animal, ruffling it's hair fondly.
"You like it?" The man replied, chuckling, as he bent near them.
"I do," the boy replied.
"If I give you a choice, between wanting a home and this pup, what would you choose?" The man replied.
The boy contemplated, and then, finally replied. "Home."
The man smirked, pulling out something from his jacket and placing it in the little boy's hands.
A gun.
"Shoot this puppy and I'll give you a home, and a family," the condition was kept.
With shivering hands, and after much debate, a bullet was shot. It was a tough deal, between wanting a home and letting this pretty pup live, but in the end, the desperation of wanting a home and a family had won.
The man had smirked, forwarding his hand to the kid. "I'm Dom, it's nice to meet you."
With tears in his eyes, the boy kept his hand in Dom's, whispering his name in a breathless, scared whisper.
"Say it again?" Dom asked. "More confidentially this time."
Without stuttering this time and holding the gun a little more firmly, the boy uttered his name again.
"Harshad."
No person is born evil.
Villains are made.
✿ ✿
A N [ U N K N O W N ] P O V
'–Are you insane like me?
Been in pain like me?–'
'–Do you tear yourself apart
to entertain like me?–'
'–And all the people say
You can't wake up, this is not a dream
You're part of a machine,
you are not a human being–'
'–I think there's a flaw in my code,
These voices won't leave me alone,
Well my heart is gold
and my hands are cold–'
'–Are you deranged like me?
Are you strange like me?–'
'–Do you call yourself a
fucking hurricane like me?
Pointing fingers
'cause you'll never take the blame like me?–'
'–I think there's a flaw in my code,
These voices won't leave me alone,
Well my heart is gold
and my hands are cold–'
"STOP!"
In the darkness of the room lit by one flickering orange bulb, my nails scratch the plastic table violently, making screeching sounds. Music fades behind me but I could still hear something loud in my head. Getting to my feet, my hand move over the table hastily until they grab the glass utensils and I throw them to the adjacent wall, watching as they break into a hundred pieces, and I could metaphorically see a dark figure throwing my heart onto the same wall and it breaking into more pieces then the glass plate had.
But the screeching sound doesn't fade, almost as if I could hear a rat's pointed nail scratching a black board.
Covering my ears with my hands, I fall to the ground. Tears filled into my eyes as I try concentrating on my breath like I was taught. "Please stop," I beg, to no one in particular, but somebody heard it anyway, and I was answered.
"I've already stopped the music, sweetheart. What else do you want me to stop?"
"I...." I stammer, "I'm not talking to you."
"Then whom?" The dark figure walks towards me from the corner of the room. The closer he walked, the more I felt the hollowness of my chest rising, and I shivered in fear.
"Stay away!" I shout, removing my shoe in one swift motion throwing it at him. He halts in his place as the shoe hits him on his chest, clenching his jaw and from the corner of my eyes, I could see his fist tightening, making me shudder in fear.
"Oh my, God. I am so sorry," I immediately say, covering my mouth with my hand. "I didn't mean to do that. She is making me do all of it. I didn't want to do it, please don't punish me."
His voice was angry, but patient. "I thought we had already established I would not punish you as long as you obey me, sweetheart."
I nod, crawling away until I could lean on the wall besides the broken glass pieces, as far away from him as I could get in the small space.
"Now tell me," he takes a delicate step towards me. I flinch, and he stops looking at my fear, clearing his throat. "Tell me, whom were you asking to stop?"
"Her."
"Who is she, Mukti?" He asks.
'Tell him who I am'
"She's a voice," I softly answer.
"Where is she?" He demands.
"In.... In my head."
'I'm not in your head, Mukti. I am you.'
"You're not me," I plead, and feel tears fogging my eyes. I just wanted this voice to go away. It was making these screeching soun–
"Concentrate on that voice, sweetheart. What is it saying?"
I shut my eyes.
'Are you looking at that glass beside you?
Take a piece. Stab him, Mukti.
Or he's going to hit you now.'
"She's asking me to stab you," I reply, my voice cracking.
'I'm not a she. I am you.'
"Why?" He instantly retaliated.
"She says you will hit me," I reply, my voice laced with fear as I curl up more into the corner, and one of the glass pieces prick into my feet, the blinding pain overcoming me.
'I am not some SHE. I am you.'
"Oh, no no no!" He says, taking a step away. "I told you, I will never hit you again. That anger, you don't have to direct it to me. It's someone else who deserves that anger."
I look up at him with big eyes filled with tears. "Who?"
"Your best friend, remember? Nandini Murthy?" He asks.
'Yes, let's go kill that bitch–'
"Nandini?" I blink. "Why her?"
"She's the reason Abhimanyu, the love of your life, is not here with you, Mukti. He chose her over you," he patiently explained, taking a step further again.
'She deserves to die for making us
feel so worthless. Let's–'
"No!" I shut my ears with my hands again, furiously shaking my head until the voice stops talking. Once it fades, I look up at the man in front of me again. "Nandini is my best friend and she's a good person. I won't kill her! I am not a murderer."
'Oh? Tell that to Zubin and Aryamman
whom we just killed.'
"I am not a murderer, please!" I shout in the air.
"But you killed Zubin, and Aryamman," he counteracts innocently.
"Zubin is dead?" I look up with wide eyes. "I... I killed him?"
'We did. It's crazy how you took
away my credit.'
"You killed him," the man nods.
"I... I didn't want to," I plead.
"Oh, but you did," he tells me, taking a step closer. "You were angry, remember? Zubin gave you medicines and suppressed your memories. He made you forget Abhimanyu. You love Abhimanyu so much."
"So much," I blatantly repeat.
"Zubin deserved to die for that," he kneeled in front of me.
'Zubin deserved to die.'
I nod. "Zubin deserved to die."
"Even Aryamman did," he adds.
My eyes widen as horror washed over me. "I... I killed Aryamman too?"
He laughs under his breath. "Oh no, that was all me. I blew him up with a mini bomb. You just told me the sad love story of him and my sister."
"Your sister?" I look at him.
"Yes, Aliya." He nods. "We're not related by blood or anything, duh. My adoptive parents gave up on thinking I'm dead and then adopted her. Not that I'm complaining, cause I got adopted later by this super cool guy who has a lot of guns and bombs and all of those dangerous things by which I killed some of your friends and now I'll kill the remaining ones."
"Aliya?" I found myself fixed on that name. When I shut my eyes tight, I hear her voice, I know how I first met her, I know her face, but I don't remember anything distinctly. "Why can't I remember her?"
"That is because I gave you medicines to suppress your memory again," he blinks his eyes innocently.
"You told me you are helping me," I look up to him, terror filled in my eyes as the feeling of betrayal washed. Why did I trust him? How did I find him? Who was he?
"I am helping you, sweetheart," he holds my shoulders. "You are better off without those people."
'We are better alone.'
"Why?"
"Because they don't care about you. You are absolutely worthless to them. Nandini has replaced you in their life. She took them away from you like she took Abhimanyu away."
'We got replaced?
She should die for that.'
"I don't want her to die," I shake my head violently again.
*screeches*
'She has to die.
We have to kill her.'
"She's my best friend! I love her!" I shout back. "I killed Zubin, I will not harm anyone else."
"Oh no, that was all me," The man, whom I had almost forgotten was there, interrupted. "I made you believe that you had to kill Zubin, and you did. It was easier than I had thought, actually. All I had to do was take your medicines away and let you remember Abhimanyu. Lost love sent you into a blind rage. Damn, you loved that man. Too bad I had to kill him."
"You... you killed Abhi?" I look up at him, rage filling into me.
"Actually, I faked his death. He's still alive." The man blinked, "Working for me now. Blackmailed him saying I'd shoot you if he doesn't. And he's been slogging for me ever since. Things we do for love, huh?"
In one moment, I was up on my knees, leaning towards him. All my anger and the voices in my head just faded away. Even the pain in my foot because of the glass cut didn't matter to me as I stood on that foot, pressing the glass further inside but easily ignoring the pain.
"Abhi?" I say, my eyes wide, a smile lingering on my lips, "My Abhi is alive?"
His laughter roared through the room. "One mention of his name, the mere hope of him being alive and you're suddenly okay? Mukti, seriously? You're better than that, sweetheart."
"Is Abhi alive?" I shouted back, only rage in my eyes.
He only laughed louder. "Do you think I'm stupid?"
My voice was desperate. "That doesn't answer my question."
"It does, trust me, it does," he grinned.
'Do it.
Do it.
You know you want to.'
Gripping one of the broken glass piece I raise it to him, aiming anywhere it could hurt but in one swift motion, his hand had gripped mine and I was turned back by him as he painfully turned my wrist behind my back.
"Leave me, please," I say, the pain of the foot flooding over me.
"I told you I wouldn't hit you," he whispers, coming dangerously close, and I sense his breath over my ears, making me shudder in fright. "But sweetheart, I will."
Before I could even register what he had said, I was thrown to the wall with a burning pain on my cheek and my head was turned to the side. He had slapped me.
"D– Don't," I beg. Everything pained. Even the voices in my head hurt.
This time, his belt hit me. I didn't even scream in pain anymore, just shut my eyes tight.
Everytime I closed my eyes, I saw a name floating in front of my eyes.
"Manik," I sobbed in a corner as he continued beating me mercilessly, "Cab– Cabir."
"Oh, they're not coming," he laughed.
"Who– Who are you?" I shouted in pain, shutting my eyes tighter as if I could.
"The devil," he replied, stopping.
I opened my eyes only for a second, to look at his face illuminated by the light. There were scratches on his head and bruises under his eye.
He shrugged, as if giving into my intense gaze on his lie. "They also call me Harshad."
And then he hit me again, barely giving me time to process how his name rings a bell in my head.
It hurt.
It hurt so much.
"Please don't do," I cried in the corner when he stopped to catch his breath, "It's hurting."
"Make me a deal then, sweetheart. Give me something and I'll stop hitting you."
"I'll do anything you say," I desperately plead. "Please just don't make me forget again. Or hit. I will do anything... please."
"Anything I say?" He leaves the belt and a smirk lingers on his face.
With horrified eyes, I find the courage to look at him. "Anything."
He moves away, and I take the minute to wipe the tears off my face, regretting what hell I had pushed myself back into.
Moments later, he comes back with a bowl full of paper chits. "Pick one."
With shivering hands, I put my hand into the bowl and pick up the first chit in his hand, enclosing it in my fist.
"What is in it?" I ask, in a shaking voice.
"It's a name," Harshad replied.
"A name?"
"The name of your friend that we will next kill," he says.
My eyes widen as I gasp.
An apologetic expression covers his face. "I said that wrong, sorry. The name of your friend that you will kill."
I stay frozen.
He goes on, "Oh, don't look at me like that. Open it, I can't wait. Damn, I've not been this excited in too long."
With shaking hands, I open the chit. It feared me how the fate of one of my friends lied in this small piece of paper that I was opening.
"Say it," he asks, "Who's name is written in there?"
I continue staring at the name scribbled across the paper in an ugly, bold writing.
He screams, "Say it!"
I jump at my place, sobbing. He snatches the paper from my hands, rolling his eyes, glancing at the name in the paper.
"Oops," he says with no remorse in his eyes and then simply walks away, dropping the paper on the ground.
As he leaves the room, I crawl to the crumpled paper, picking it with shaking hands and teary eyes as I re-read the name, again and again, until I remembered the face of the person when I read her name aloud:
Aliya.