FAMILY LOVE STORY

                                                            "TRUTH"

“Now. Look into my eyes.” I said. Making my voice sterner, I continued “And tell me the truth.”

I looked at my 5-year-old son. I stared into his eyes. My false strictness put him off-guard. A small smile began to form on his lips covered with chocolate. A sweet smile that could turn into heart wrenching tears any moment.

“Did you take the chocolate?” I asked raising my eyebrows. He burst into a bubble of laughter and jumped into my hands.

I looked at my wife. She was smiling gently at her bundle of joy. “Make him tell the truth.” She said. I only smiled back. I could never be angry with him. He was the sweetest thing in my life.

The judge had given the verdict. The case was finally over. The man who stood in the stands was sweating, anguish evident on his face. The man on the stand was an empty shell, just an image of what my son once used to be. He wasn’t the same bundle of joy from 25 years ago. He was scarred, broken. There was no joy left in him. The trial was harsh and long, 3 years long. I didn’t know why it took so long, maybe the prosecutors just liked to put him on stands, crucify him and gloat their victory. Maybe the media liked the sensation it created.

He looked at me from the corner of my eyes as he stepped down from the stands. I looked at my wife beside me. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she watched her son being taken away. The recent years had aged her. As her eyes met mine she gave a weak smile. She could always smile for me. I struggled to my feet, my hands trembling, I drank from the bottle we brought from home. The cool liquid stung my throat. It didn’t quench my thirst. As I watched her drink from the bottle I remembered my son’s laughter. An echo from the past, painfully reminding of a future that would never be.

I helped her to her feet and walked towards my son. Finally standing in front of him I held his hands. The handcuffs clinked. I looked into his eyes.

When he called me he sounded scared. He was calling me after a long time. We had drifted apart. So, I didn’t know what to expect when I would walk into his apartment. But even the tension in his voice didn’t prevent me from being weirdly happy that he had called.

I didn’t need to ring the bell, the front door was slightly open. I pushed it open and walked in. The bright fluorescent lights showed the mess in the room. The mess showed signs of feminine life in the apartment. Signs that horribly made me feel like a voyeur. As I hesitantly moved forward, sounds came from inside the bedroom. I called out. There was no reply. Walking towards the room, happiness from the call was quickly leaving me. It was replaced with dread as I saw crimson stains on the floor. I slowly turned the handle. I became horribly aware of how wet and red it left my hand. As light streamed into the room from the hall way the sight in the room stopped my heart. Bile rushed to my throat as I saw a blood stained corpse on the bed.

My son stood in the corner of the room. The light from the hallway framing him. He was pale, like a ghost.

I looked at him and asked “Did you do this?” He didn’t answer. The knife in his hands, used needles on the bed stand and needle marks on his hands were answers enough.

“Dad.” His voice brought me back to the courtroom. He stood in front of me. My boy. My bundle of joy. He is just a shell I thought.

“Look into my eyes. And tell me the truth.” I said. “Did you do this?”

He looked back with the same blank expression from three years before. I always knew when he was lying. His eyes told me he didn’t know and he still didn’t believe the horror he had committed. I smiled and hugged him. It was strange to stab a person. The knife was sharp. It did its job well. He staggered back and fell. My son wouldn’t go to prison for something he didn’t know. He didn’t kill the girl. The drugs had. The prosecutors didn’t see that nor did the media. They only made him a sensational monster.

Now they had a sensation. Only, I and my wife wouldn’t know it. My throat stung from the liquid. My chest was on fire. My sight blurred as I fell and struck the floor.

“Make him say the truth.” I remembered her voice as I closed my eyes. Free at last.

–END–

                                                                                       SOURCE BY-ABHIJIT SASIKUMAR

PUBLISHED BY-OURHELLO.COM