One Last Night

The emphatically coloured eyes seemed to glare directly at him, compelling him to question his very existence. The light brown slowly became darker until it turned bloodshot. The colour then started spilling out of them. The blood slowly dripped down those white cheeks; and he looked down with horror as the drop slid down his own wrist. The gash on his hand seemed to deepen and the eyes slowly dissolved into darkness.

A cusp between Sagittarius and Scorpio, he was an undecided blend of fire and water and he convinced himself that he was destined to live this dual life. Every night, his features softened, his neckline plunged, his trousers got tighter and his gait became more graceful. This duality often left him flustered early in the morning; but later became a part of his life. The numerous wounds that he had inflicted on himself had threatened to taint his only tool - his body. He now sometimes regretted those careless dives for a gully cricket match that left him with bruised knees and marks that never faded. While he turned his fiery brown eyes into gentle blues every night, he saw his mother's misty eyes looking back at him from his reflection. He remembered those eyes as they watched her youngest son grow from a boy tied to her saree to a young man who had stopped caring. He remembered those eyes from the time he left her at the doorstep with a plate that wasn't eaten from. That sight lasted. So did the one of her lying down in the one room apartment, clad in white, devoid of mourners.

The protective younger sibling of an older sister, he struggled to be protected from mishaps every night. He was a little boy with no vices and a carefree life, who was forced to grow up and take charge in the span of a night. With the death of his mother, his father's turn towards spirituality and the concomitant disregard for his family compelled him to live a life obscured by the darkness of the night. He tried his best to lie to himself. It was easier to pity his own life, but the fact was that this was a faster source of income than daily labour work; and he needed quicker money to get out of this life. But whatever money he got never really seemed to be enough. That little aspirant cricketer was now constantly in and out of police stations, first on charges of unnatural sex and then on charges of soliciting in public places. Drug abuse now joined the list but it was more of a necessity than a choice - heroin reduced pain. In those nights behind bars, he was looked down upon and threatened not only by the authorities, but also by the female prostitutes whose daily living he was snatching away.

But the pain today would not get reduced by any drug. Through the layers of colours that covered his face, he saw just grays. The darkened room swiveled with the muffled tears in his eyes. The smell of alcohol overwhelmed the perfume in his clothes that now lay at the bedside. While he spent the night with a man who picked him up, his sister waited for her husband. The gash on his wrist would be deeper tonight.

Image source - http://www.outlookindia.com/article.aspx?228696