Nomads

Chapter 2, Pt 7- Eruption

Nasr had the feeling that his mother had finally understood him, he was relieved.

When he got back to his house, he went upstairs silently and asked his mother for dinner. The mood was calm and silent. They were talking about random things, when suddenly his mother asked, “How are your studies going?”

Nasr thought for a moment and said, “Not so great. I don’t understand what the teachers say. They are just too fast and in the local Odia language, its too tough for me. Why didn’t you let me enroll in CBSE? Why was that science college so prestigious for you?”

“What’s done is done. Just try to pass that.” His mother said.

“Can I go to Sikkim for a solo trip after that, please?” Nasr said, with hopes in his mind that everything was becoming better and that he might not have the need to run away.

“Do you even have the slightest bit of shame after all that you have done?” His mother snapped.

“Y… yes, Mom.” Nasr said hanging his head low.

“And you still have to say such things?” His mother said.

“But you know I’ve been asking you the permission for this for so long.” Nasr said.

“Shut up! What a little useless piece of shit you are.” His mother shouted.

“You know how I feel about all this. I have suicidal tendencies if I don’t travel.” Nasr looked at her, with hope still in his eyes.

“Yeah? Go commit suicide then! You’re better off dead anyway.” She snapped.

Nasr looked at her in disgust and nodded his head side to side in disappointment, as he got up to leave.

“How dare you look at me that way…!” His mother began shouting, but he paid not heed. He went to his room and locked himself up. He took his t-shirt off, turned the air conditioner off and turned the lights off. It was a cold January evening, but he found comfort in the freezing pain of the cold.

He sat down on his bed, trying to control himself, but the thoughts and emotions kept pouring like the unstoppable rain from a cloud burst. Tears flowed and flowed, he wanted to scream, but he had lost his voice. He had forgotten to cry out loud, to actually cry. All he could do was weep. Suppressed emotions, all he wanted from within was a knife in his hands. He would slash his chest many times, the rage would calm down, he would even slit his throat. There were random pangs of pain in his heart, he wanted that pain to go away. It was too irritating for him; it was a mixed feeling of pain and tickling. The desire to hurt him to ease the pain was burning inside. He made fists out of both his hands and started hitting his bare chest, right on the ribs. He let go of silent screams that came out as loud whispers. The physical pain from the outside suppressed the pangs a bit. He was not done yet. He got up quickly and started banging his forehead on the wall. He banged and banged until he felt drowsy. He breathed heavily, trying to calm himself down, trying not to make much noise.

He had erupted. That was his phase of eruption. He could not handle anymore.

He sat down on his bed again, taking moments to calm down. He tried to channel his thoughts again, but failed to do so. He plugged in his earphones and played his “Hate Metal” playlist.

He opened an app suggested by a friend of his, the app consisted of people sharing their life journeys. He had an account called “Nomad Altair”. He wanted to share his story with someone before he ran away. He had been posting an anonymous story, and updating daily. It was time to end the updates and complete his story as a “journey”.