“I’m sorry. I-I didn’t mean to shou-“, he approached her shoulder tentatively.
“Don’t touch me”, came a crisp reply.
He felt bad. And stupid for shouting at her for something so dumb. And the fact that she got up and left him alone, didn’t help the situation.
But his patience and limits, both were running thin. He had seen all. Or so he thought.
He wanted to follow her, but nah. Twenty minutes later, he got up and slowly began to walk. As he paid two rupees for the blade, the shopkeeper stared at him, with a queer expression on his face.
“S***kaler ei shondhe bela kancha blade kinchhish?’, he asked.
The ‘sad’ boy just smiled and left with the blade in his pocket, which jingled with all the khuchro he had. (as expected from a college boy)

Thirty minutes later, he was in a lonely gali of Jadavpur with an old school friend. His head was dizzy. Probably the mint of ‘Total” hit him. Hit him hard, cause he looked at the pack “Smoking Kills” and laughed.
Thick smoke emanating from his mouth, he reached for his plastic glass. The sweet smell of ‘Old Monk’ was intoxicating. Raj was already a peg ahead of him. What a competition.

*ZZZZZZZ*

Raj’s phone buzzed. Pulling down the notification bar, he smiled and looked up.
He smiled and said, “Ami jani o toke dey. Ebar ja. Beshi deri korbi na.”
He said he’d be back in twenty minutes and left.
He took out the blade and began to run it through his tongue. Slowly. Carefully.
Rohit always wanted a friend who would understand and connect on a mental level with him. He was sad. Always. Or so he believed. He had someone who understood this sadness of his as portrayed by his sudden silence. And maybe he lost her today. All this was very stupid. He knew, but couldn’t escape the loop. He was just nineteen. He had a lot to see. To venture. To go through. To understand. But somehow, this very dangerous and emotional rollercoaster amused him.

This feeling of his resonated with his mad thoughts. He never understood why one always associates blood, violence, gore with a negative image. (yeah he is weird) Cause he always found a subtle warmth and a toxic happiness in these. He wanted to embrace it, but for that, he had to wallow in the river of sadness. He knew that if the water seeped in and saw his naked self, it would ache. That is why he was always so closed off. Hence anyone who would try to poke it, would see his eyes flash as the eyelashes would try their best to hold back that ‘salty adamant tear’.

As the battle of resistance continues, sorrow does its job. It manages to crack through to his soul. And it runs deep. Countless memories were rushing through that stream. Both happy and sad. Mingled with thoughts of bloodshed, gunshots and whatnot. As the sweet memories scooted away and got lost in the dark waters, the sad ones washed ashore. A pale Rohit approached them,
“They maybe sad, but were born because of happy times!”
This enthusiastic self-consolation didn’t help at all. Old images of happier times conjured and occluded his clarity, quite ironically. Which took some time to settle in.

*SLASH*

No time was wasted as the cool metal slit through the soft skin of the throat. A sharp pang of pain jolted through as his vision blurred. The plastic cup dropped, splashing the drink all over the rock pavement, where his head hit with a soft thud.
Finally his eyes closed.
The ‘salty adamant’ tear gave up as it mixed with the rum and the blood. The small stub of cigeratte still lay stuck between his stiff fingers, burning away, bearing witness to all this emotional mess. :)