By Shafayet Nabi

Introduction 

The writer pours their pain through the pen. Their struggles are presented in the shape and form of a short story. 

“Every Oak Must Be An Acorn” (Prelude) 

Barren of courage, so I asked the angels to aid me into metamorphosing into the man of valor, my voice went unheard. A futile attempt as I try to whisper in the dark. All roads lead to Rome; I have caved in to defeatism. Damned if I did and damned if I didn’t, I was ensnared in this predicament and condemned to wither in this state. The nail that sticks out faces a mighty blow, is this why I face a barrage of insults? It was believed that I’m an individual without a redeeming quality. The whole world mistreated me, yet I gave my best to allay the pain. I was cornered and they would launch polemics at me. They say, “eagles don’t fly with birds,” so I would try to act impervious. I have come to grief, but I have clasped on to the soupcon of hope. It will be a cold day in hell if I settle for deliverance. The angels blew breath in me and reminded me that I’ll become victorious. This is your modus operandi. I wasn’t going to let your attempts impinge upon my modus vivendi. I am in this abyss, for now I strain my neck to enjoy the view of the ray of light. Armed with grit, I say to myself,  “ I will become the man who basks in the ray of light”.  

“April Showers Bring Forth May Flowers (?)” 

I was on a quest to redeem myself and test the collective wrath of the non-believers. In the olden days, they stared at me with grimaces of disgust. I was determined to exact revenge. I felt like I was stripped of my dignity. I felt insulted and isolated because no one would deign to confabulate with me. My so-so friends functioned as deserters in times of need and left me drowning in a pool of blood. The world attacked my jugular, I believed that I would succumb to this hailstorm of struggles. I was reduced to tears, I felt emasculated. You bore witness to my attempts to divorce myself from my emotions. All they did was smirk and begrimed my name with all the strength they siphoned off me. My body was draped in the white flag. This loss acts as a cautionary tale. Doubters enjoy notoriety, their guffaw terrorizes me even to this day. Sprinkle dirt all over my open wounds by offering that glare of disappointment. In an act of desperation, I stared down the barrel of a gun because my back was to the wall. I aimed pejoratives at my detractors. This was a futile attempt, my struggles were protracted to the hilt as I was left lying on the canvas. It pains me even to this day that from a tender age I was never granted the chance to breathe a sigh of relief. I took pains to make an oath to myself from the depths of my heart. Because “all is grist that comes to the mill,” I made headway by practising freestyle football. I showed promising signs and believed I could free myself from the claws of defeat. I was tantalized. I believed that my ascension in strength would help me to humble the legion of detractors. Unfortunately this wasn’t the case, as the devilish ones succeeded in placing me in the world of hurt and wounded my self esteem. My battlefield scars act as a testament to my words. Despite breaking ranks, my progress was overlooked, I never received an iota of approbation, and I felt despondent for losing an unwinnable war. 

“God Makes The Back To The Burden“ (Epilogue) 

Determined to not let the abyss become my resting place, I had to utilize all my courage. I tried to ward off their attacks and make them receive their comeuppance. All hell broke loose. I teetered on the edge and my hurt increased tenfold, the horde of naysayers were blessed with immense strength. It’s a mismatch. I lay on the ground, I’m completely battered and devastated. Dust in the wind, this label irks me even to this day. Branded as the meek, I have to clean my name and enjoy change. I remained sanguine, I kept a level head and a civil tongue. I couldn’t escape this ineluctable disaster; I felt that this mark of disgrace would continue to haunt and trouble me. To add insult to injury, I became a shadow of myself. My motivation plummeted and I lost the love for my craft. A part of me was content with falling victim to the jaws of defeat, but my other half was enraged and started berating me. This psychological warfare was a God-awful experience. I was battling myself and I was shame-faced for settling for mediocrity. I loathed myself since someone as draughty as me truly appreciated the darkness more than the light. I became what I feared the most: a sob case who crossed the Rubicon. I was on my last breath. I unleashed this burst of fire. This sight perturbed my score of doubters. An iota of my strength made them surrender their arms. They let out a pitched cry, they are now crying in the wilderness. They never had the willpower to endure, my plan of attack has silenced each and every one of them. They beg for mercy, I’ll make sure they give in to their own poison. I looked at the abyss for one last time, the tortured individual is on his last breath, still he has returned to the land of living. For the first time, I felt hopeful and smiled as I plodded. “I wouldn’t settle for a respite,” this I’d remind myself every single day. I returned bulletproof; I poured all my hurt through the pen. My artform is an auriferous treasure. I can now have a dialogue with bullets and return unscathed. I was rewarded for my efforts. I have metamorphosed into the man of valor and squared the circle. I no longer feel defenseless and hapless. I’m no longer squeamish. I have embraced change. The strength I possessed faced a glacial rise. This time, the worm has turned. This time, I’ll prolong my naysayers’ pain and place them on the receiving end of the coup de grâce. A dramatic turn of events, this time the boot is on the other foot. Give in to your fears, displaying fight is of no use, you’re to die in this abject condition. Appear high and mighty? I don’t need to “flaunt” my mettle, I am the man of valor.