Modern Slaves

Home

I was sinking in the past, reliving the moments of my childhood, when a loud knock on the door shattered my reverie. I opened my eyes and looked around, feeling nothing. I was still in my bed, in my filthy apartment. I got up and walked towards the door, indifferent to who it was. I opened it and saw Pranav standing there, his eyes full of sympathy. He didn't say a word, he just wrapped his arms around me and pulled me into a crushing hug. I felt a surge of emotion and broke down, sobbing on his shoulder. I told him everything, how I had received a phone call from someone I barely knew from my town, telling me that my brother had died in a car accident. He listened silently, stroking my hair and whispering useless words of comfort. 

"Go instantly," he said to me, after I had calmed down a bit. He reached into his pocket and handed me some money. "It's for the trip. You need to go back home. I know it's been a while, and I'm sure they'll be glad to see you." He lied. He knew that I had no other family left, except for my estranged brother, Barrett, who despised me. He knew that going back to my hometown was the last thing I wanted to do. But he also knew that I had no choice. I hugged him again, bitter of his kindness. He smiled softly and left me to get ready. As I picked up a dress from the cupboard and put it on, a nagging doubt crept into my mind. Did Pranav truly believe his own words, or was he simply trying to ease my burden with empty reassurances?

Regardless, I packed a small bag with some essentials and locked the door behind me. Pranav was waiting for me outside, holding his car keys. He offered them to me, saying I could use his car for the journey. I refused at first, feeling guilty, but he persisted. He said he had another car he could use, and that he wanted me to be safe and comfortable. I thanked him and took the keys, feeling a cold emptiness in my chest. I got into his car and started the engine, feeling a surge of dread. I drove off, heading towards my hometown. It had been 10 long years since I left that place. I wondered what it was like now, how much it had changed, how much I had changed. I hoped I would find some peace there, some closure, some healing. But I knew I was lying to myself. I knew I would only find more pain, more regret, more guilt. I knew I would never find myself again.

I drove away from the city, towards the place I used to call home. But I couldn't feel any attachment to it anymore. I hated everything about it: the people, the houses, the culture. It was a panchayat, where everyone knew everyone and nothing ever changed. On the way, I saw many crows lying dead on the road, their black feathers stained with blood. It was a grim reminder of the news I had just received: my estranged brother had died in a car accident. He was the only family I had left, except for my brother, Hari, who despised me. Now, my other brother was gone too. My life was full of death and misery, and the weight of loss pressed down on me like a suffocating blanket. 

I moved forward, steering the wheel mechanically. The traffic was light, as if the world had given up on me. I hated driving, it made me feel trapped and restless. Why did I choose to drive anyway? I couldn't refuse Pranav, that's why. He was the only one who cared enough to offer me his car and some money for the trip. He was the only one who hugged me and comforted me when I broke down. And why was that, I wondered. I was never the type to care about what others thought of me. Maybe it was because he was the only human I felt who was real in that moment. When he hugged me, I felt like I belonged to this world, even if it was a cruel and unfair one. Damn it, this whole life was nothing but crap. Why was I even born? This thought had haunted me since I was a kid. Some people I knew back then said it was just a phase, a part of growing up. Others just pointed out Africa and how some kids starved there and I was being ungrateful. Pieces of shit. Why should I feel grateful? Did they really feel good thinking shit like that? If the kids in Africa weren't born, they would also be free from the poverty and this fucking universe that didn't give a damn. They would be better off than me, than us, than anyone.