Modern Slaves

My Brothers & Meera

The sun beat down mercilessly upon my skin, its scorching rays searing through the fabric of my shirt. 'Burn me once more,' I thought bitterly, staring up at the unforgiving sky. It was a stark reminder of my own insignificance, of the vast expanse of time and space that stretched out before me. The sun, indifferent to my suffering, continued its relentless ascent, casting harsh shadows upon the dusty ground below. With a heavy heart, I trudged forward, the weight of my regrets bearing down upon me like a burden too heavy to bear. My skin was red and raw, but strangely, I welcomed the sensation. I forced a smile, though it failed to reach my eyes. I had burned all the bridges, all the memories, all the feelings. I had nothing left to lose. Nothing left to feel. I was numb, and oddly, I found solace in that numbness.

Just as I began to drown in my thoughts, the piercing ringtone of my phone shattered the tranquility. With a reluctant sigh, I reached for the device, my heart quickening with a mix of apprehension and curiosity. Glancing at the caller ID, I noticed an unfamiliar number, sparking a surge of uncertainty.

With a hesitant hand, I answered the call, the cool metal of the phone contrasting with the lingering warmth of the sun on my skin. "Hello?" My voice was guarded, betraying a hint of apprehension. Walking into my room, I felt numb and empty. The news of my brother's death in a car accident had just reached me. We hadn't spoken in years, ever since a falling out over some trivial matter. I was lost, unsure of how to feel, how to react, how to grieve.

My room mirrored my inner turmoil—a blend of order and chaos, passion and indifference. In the corner, a guitar leaned against the wall, next to a yoga mat rolled up neatly. I used to find solace in playing the guitar, in practicing yoga. But now, I had lost interest, lost motivation. A ceiling fan whirred above, offering a gentle breeze. I switched it off, preferring the stillness and silence. My bed, adorned with three colorful pillows, occupied the center of the room. But I rarely slept in it, opting instead to stay up late, watching TV or browsing the internet. I had no dreams, no goals, no plans. Opposite the bed, a large cupboard housed books and dresses, reflecting my varied interests and tastes. I once loved to read, to learn, to explore. I loved to express myself through fashion. But now, I had grown indifferent, lost in my numbness.

Sitting on the bed, I felt a whirlwind of emotions—or perhaps, the lack thereof. I reached for a photo album hidden under my pillow, opening it to see my brother's face. A surge of emotion engulfed me—a mix of love and hate, regret and resentment, sadness and anger. I closed my eyes, and tears welled up, streaming down my cheeks.

Feeling a sudden pang in my chest, I looked at the photo of Meera, my ex-girlfriend. She was smiling, her brown eyes sparkling, her blonde hair falling over her shoulders. I remembered the night we spent together, the night before she left me for good. I could still smell the smoke of the cigarette we shared, the taste of her lips on mine. We were lying on the bed, naked and sweaty, the sheets tangled around us. I wrapped my arms around her, feeling her heartbeat against my chest. I felt happy, content, and alive.

We talked about philosophy and life, our favorite topics. I asked her the big questions, the ones that had haunted me since I was a child. I hoped to find some answers, some meaning, some purpose.

"I wish I wasn't born at all," I said, staring at the ceiling. I'd always felt like an outsider, a misfit, a burden. I'd never felt like I belonged anywhere, or to anyone.

She chuckled and kissed my cheek. "Still edgy, Akhil?" she teased me. She always found my pessimism amusing, endearing, even. She always tried to cheer me up, to make me see the bright side of things.