When he picked up the rifle.

He looked stoned. His eyes had a blank stare in them. I shook him twice, but to no avail.



He stood at the door, and went on to look at the blazing fire at one end of the room. It was snowing hard, way hard outside, but with just a jacket on, it did not look like he had any sensation of what so ever was going on around him. I was uncertain of what his expression was meant to convey as well. One thing I was definite about, there was a storm raging somewhere inside him. Would not it be inside us too if we saw one of ours being burned, kicked, abused , and killed right before our eyes? His kid, standing with a slogan in his hand, being pulled by the officials into some wagon, his wife's kameez being tattered into a thousand pieces, and a maniacal laughter all around. Those dogs. All this while, he was there .. lying there, with his legs severely wounded, his wife raped, dead , his son being taken away to some place he had no clue of .. but he was helpless. He was wounded, and slowly giving way to a mental vacuum, whilst the images in front of him grew more and more hazier , and the pain went to become more and more excruciating .. the images more hazy, and hazy ..

A rattle on his lower arm brought him back to his senses, or so he thought. Something struck him, and his reverie broke off in the middle, or maybe it was just his conscious decision, maybe the end of his story was too painful to be thought of. The moment he came back to his normal vision, thoughts circulated, and he realized he was not in the midst of a gore anymore. His body which was shivering as he was daydreaming about his past experience, stopped doing so, 'cos now the scene ahead of him was different. Though, the pain which the memory brought along with it .. ah, it would not ever change.He was himself, without his family ofcourse. When he moved on towards the rifle hung on the left, with a glint of revenge and venegeance in his eyes, something did not surprise me.



..



Man- protagonist. An unknown guy whose swept in the middles of a bloodbath with his family. Sees his family beaten up et al, and takes up arms as a desperate measure for revenge. I wonder if you need this, but anyway!

And yet.

The twist in his expression,
Her violent, miserable sobs,
His lost daughter,
Her husband to who she bids goodbye.
The untold, inexplicable human misery.
And yet the helplessness.

.

Bomb blasts in India. In Pakistan. In Thailand.

What are we coming to?

This goes for the victims.