When I Die

Life : The Final Push

Book Three - Wilting Flames

There was an earthquake in Gujarat. It killed a lot of people, and destroyed a whole state. Amy was in Guajarat when it happened. I don't know what happened to her.

Some time later, a dude named Osama Bin Laden decided to get jiggywidit.

I witnessed the second WTC tower breaking right before my very eyes, Live on TV.

I thought it was some kind of movie stunt, like maybe the news channel was showing a feature on a new movie. I flicked to CNN, same news, our regional Indian news channel, same news. BBC, same news. America, had been struck below the belt, right where it hurt. A few minutes later, the reporter said that the planes had been hijacked by muhajideens, minions of Osama. And another shot showed people celebrating on the streets of Taliban.

I went to church that day, though I said nothing in there. I wanted to see that glimmer of hope, that small ray of light. I saw only the darkness, and the hopelessness all around me, people being killed, Life being wasted, humanity rusting away.

I just sat staring at The Cross that day, with Jesus hanging, crying his blood tears. That was the last day I went to church.

Another birthday. I heard Mr. Bush speaking about how he'll capture those bastards and give them fitting punishment. Dad's vault got robbed, the money I'd collected for five long years, to buy a synthesizer, was gone. My dream was dead. My faith was dead. I was dead.

I look back at these past entries and what I feel isn't sorrow, but a funny kind of emptiness. As if it all never happened. Or as if it happened to someone else. It doesn't look like my life at all. I mean, here I am, nine-thirty in the morning, ready to start drawing a tech sheet, worrying about whether our sir will accept my work tomorrow.

And what happened doesn't make any difference, it seems. It doesn't even matter.

If that is how it is--if that is how it will be, what is the point behind doing anything? Anything at all?

Why don't I just fade away into the comfort of death?

What is the point of my existence?

Why am I here?