One Long Walk

There was no possibility of taking a walk that day. Or rather, that night. He usually didn’t walk, especially, after dark.

But walk he did.

He was walking away.

He was walking all alone.

He was just a man. An ordinary man. A man without a name or a face. An anonymous man. A man who wouldn’t be noticed in a crowd. A man who tread his torturous paths silently. A man of mediocre intelligence and skill. A man whose life was just one strand in the infinitely complex web of human affairs. A man who wouldn’t be missed.

He didn’t have the intense feel of a poet, caressing his beloved verse. He didn’t have the strong notions of an idealist, fighting for a lost cause. He didn’t have the cunningness of a politician, ready to exploit any man for self-benefit. He didn’t have the steady hands of a surgeon or even the strong hands of a labourer.

He just existed.

But he walked.

He was born in a very rich family. Granddad ran a huge business. Then granddad died and his dad took over. His dad was not much good at it. The company made huge losses and eventually had to be sold. His dad had reduced their family wealth to next to nothing and in the end, succumbed to the drink. He was without an inheritance.

He had tried studying hard. He tried attending college. But it wasn’t easy. Vectorial equations and market statistics seemed to put too much of a pressure on his poor brain, which staunchly refused to accept its patchiness. He managed to scrape through by sheer hard work.

He didn’t have many friends. There was just one girl he liked. And he thought she liked him too. He never was good at math. She was brilliant at it. He asked her for help. And help she did. But as his math grades improved, so did his practical in chemistry, of the other kind. They were an odd couple.

They married. Had two kids, twins. He worked. She stayed at home.

He loved her.

She thought she did too.

Conditions at home worsened. He never was good at any job he did, try as he might. He was always on an I-just-got-fired-and-I-wasn’t-given-proper-references-but-I’m-looking-for-a-new-job mode. Money was scarce.

To a person accustomed to the luxuries of life, it was a haunting experience. But still, he managed to live, pathetically though it may have been, for four years.

His wife screamed at him. All the time. But he still loved her. He couldn’t fathom any reason for co-existence other than the unspoken truth that he loved her.

And then it happened…

The kids were returning from school. On the school bus. The bus collided headlong into the side of a lorry. Pity though, the lorry was carrying a few thousand liters of kerosene. According to reports, none of the bodies were recognizable. The drivers of both vehicles, the lorry cleaner, the teachers and the children had all been charred to death.

She started drinking. He wouldn’t touch it. When he was 18, he had seen his father die from cirrhosis of the liver.

Home had become hell.

Then one day, she too stopped drinking. And started thinking.

She knew she was wasting her life.

She knew she didn’t love him.

She knew she was in love with someone else.
She knew she had to leave him.

Our man was heartbroken, to say the least. It was the same night that she went away, that he decided to walk.

Hey, which idiot would take a walk at 2 a.m.? Our man did.

He walked on the shore. On the beach. Enjoying the cool breeze. Wondering if he’d ever do that again.

And as he walked, he thought.
He thought of how he had been a failure in his life.
He thought of how fate had played him a cruel hand.
He thought of his granddad, his dad and his mom.
He thought of his wife who had ditched him for a better man.
He thought of his kids.

He kept walking till he was able to feel the warmth on his chest, while the cold wind nipped at his face.

He kept walking till he was able to taste the salt of the sea on his pursed lips.

He kept walking till he was no more.

He knew he did not know how to swim.

- John Arul Prakash

This was a submission to a short story writing contest held by British Council, Chennai. I loved the last line. Disappointingly, I did not win a prize.