By Vaidehi Jha
I don’t know how there’s blood on my hands. I was never there. Yet, like the haunting melody of a half remembered song, everything seemed familiar. I had chosen silence yet again, and it was weighing heavily on me. I could feel my conscience gnaw at my tattered soul. Why do I keep doing this to everyone? If only had I stood up for Carl, he would have survived. Then again, I didn’t even do anything to him. How can it possibly be my fault?
Carl- He was a rather eccentric young boy. He had just shifted into our class from Bangladesh where he’d spent his life. Gleaming black hair tied up in a ponytail revealed a rather innocent face. Soft eyes set sunken within their sockets glanced at everything around with delicate curiosity. He was petite, but not weak. In fact, most would label him good looking in an unconventional, refreshing way. I immediately wanted to befriend him, partly drawn to the allure of his uniqueness and partly wanting to alleviate my own solitude. Yet, I was reluctant. What if this person turned out like everybody else and started picking at me? So I chose to suffer in silence as I always had, bottling up my emotions and drowning my own voice. However, as fate would have it, the quiet wasn’t going to last long. Little did I know that ever since I laid my eyes on Carl, my insufferable life would never remain the same.
Carl, however, was just another fresh target for the class- an untainted fish dumped in with mindless, flesh eating piranhas. He was bullied for everything that made him a person- from the way he walked to the way he spoke. His interests were feminine, and that only made it worse. I had been through these troubled waters myself, but like an inanimate sea weed, I decided to spectate, regretfully glad that at least it wasn’t me this time. Carl, though, was barely able to keep his head above the water. The unrelenting pressure was starting to get to him. His once-sparkly eyes were dull with pain- the blue in them drowned by the white. He wasn’t his cheerful self anymore as he slowly spiralled into reticence. I finally mustered up the courage to talk to him. Perhaps I could be the person for him that I always wanted for myself. Maybe, just maybe, we could sail through the waves and bask in sunlit glory. But fate has always been cruel to me. Why would I expect this one to be any different?
I began getting to know Carl, and I took a liking to him. He was smart and well spoken, but the most distinctive feature was his queer sense of humour. We would spend most of our time together, jollying around like other kids. He had a fascination for shopping and jumping ropes, and I often got him new clothes. He would always skip around in innocent euphoria, and I couldn’t help but notice he was slowly getting his charm back. I never hung out with him during school though, since that would only make me prone to bullying. But perhaps, I was doing this for myself. His happiness was infectious, and served to heal my wounds that time could only hide.
One day, during lunch, I heard a loud cry from the playground. I first mistook it as one of the jocks doing their usual barbaric activities, but the cry only kept getting louder, and started to resonate with a part of me that I thought I’d forgotten. I went to check over, and what lay in front of me scarred me for the rest of eternity. Carl lay tied to a tree with his skipping ropes, beaten black and blue. His clothes were ripped apart as a bunch of heartless kids pelted stones at him. They saw me and called me to join in. I was furious. I wasn’t going to just stand by. I decided to throw rocks at them, only to find out I couldn’t. I was immobilised. My hands were trembling, as I looked down to notice the scars on my wrist. Everything that had happened with me, buried in time, came out at once and engulfed me. His eyes lit up as he saw me, only to fall into despair as he realised I wasn’t going to help. I let fear burn my anger, and all that ever remained were ashes of regret.
I didn’t see Carl for the next week.The teachers overlooked the incident as a friendly fight, for Carl didn’t raise a complaint. I still remember that day vividly, when our teacher came in with a heavy expression. “Class, Carl is no more. He drowned in Lake Sunnyshore accidentally. I want all of you to maintain a minute of silence in his loving memory.” I could feel the last feeble string that anchored me to my sanity snap in two. The emotions I had kept bottled in began overflowing through my eyes, as I could only wonder “Are these idle tears mine or Carl’s?” Regret, anger and pain came pouring, burning my hands to reveal the blood underneath. I finally knew why there was blood on my hands. I was there the whole time, after all.
By Vaidehi Jha
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