the favorite brother

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
The story revolves around an alcoholic late 20s man who has a darker secret which haunts his existence and finally demolishes it. the story is about his fight with a mental disorder and substance abuse to which he finally loses. and during his last time pens down his secret.

Submitted: August 31, 2019

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Submitted: August 31, 2019



I grabbed the bottle kept next to my bed, a bit hurriedly though and had about five large gulps of water to knock of the dehydration type feeling I was having after having sweated all night long in my bed due to power outage, thanks to myself being posted in a remote rural package and to the torrential rainfall that has been tormenting this area for more than a week now. The time was 8:30; the surrounding was majorly humid and scantily cool. The heat during the day becomes unbearable and global warming is a real time issue for the community of global leaders now but it’s astounding that the people round here don’t know of it, even to the slightest extent. After usual dental and physical routine in the morning now my focus shifted on what to have over breakfast, i usually had bread & omelette, upma with curry leftovers, puri & potato stew at a local ,of course rural food joint. Then suddenly I saw a pack of Maggi lying on the kitchen self, probably my roommate could have brought it during the last weekend when I was home and not there because he is seriously one bad dude when it comes to sharing kitchen responsibilities. Though its sight eased my brain which was storming to decide the breakfast I would probably have but for a moment my body temperature went down to minus infinity and I felt a seizure of some sort for a while. After my brain and body got restored I actually went back in time to see those frames of my past where he used to cook Maggi for us in mornings, sometimes nights or sometimes even during lunch. It was his go to meal whenever he was not feeling like cooking during our days together. Then I rushed for office at 9:30 it was nearby and by cycle it meant 15 minutes and it was my effort towards reducing carbon footprint as well as my own useless calories, which was nearly impossible as theory of relativity for the people around me to understand. Because every other day one of them would ask me at the bank that why am I not having a motorbike like the other staff members in the bank have? I served as a cash officer in the bank, the comfort of my job was inversely proportional to the number of people opting for disbursement of cash from their account. But apart from that it was an all boys office we could sometimes crack jokes amongst ourselves which could have been otherwise obscene, the salary was alright and consistent, and lastly being a publicly owned bank my job was recession proof in my country. That’s what my Mother and Father said about job security. So the idea of termination is extinct in the prospect of my job environment. I am single for 3.5 years before that I was with a girl who left me owing to my broken economic status and unavailable to secure a job. I better let her go off after fighting for a year with her. The day I felt holding grudge and cursing requires more energy currency than meditation can earn. My roommate and I was booth working in bank. , I mentioned of above.

Once my banking hours were over and we have prepared our supper, we mean me and my roommate. I would start drinking my favourite whisky to the extent I am drunk and just need food like a primal to be catered and then sleep.  A dark guilt resides in some corner of my heart that won’t let me live peacefully. This darkness, aghast and morbidity is insurmountable, self imposed though but still it is like the size of a continent for a single person to walk without sense of direction. This grief has slim to no chances of evaporation from the tumbler of my brain. A wound that won’t heal and the pain it inflicts in my life is a subject to be controlled when by brain can’t comprehend due to drinking massive measures not advisable for a normal human. I have decided to fight back but my efforts failed disastrously or should I say fired back at me horrendously.

I am sexually straight and I also express affirmation towards the inclusion of LGBTQ community to normal spheres. When it comes to my fantasies I would say I fantasize most about the Colombianas. I think they are real sexy, so as to say out of league in that attribute as far as internet is concerned. But I can’t get over him; he is a spectre now undeniably but hasn’t descended to the underworld. My roommate says I hallucinate while on high and also gives credit to the dark instrumental tones that listen while sitting and drinking in the darkness. My psychiatrist says that my emotional guilt coupled with spirit and dark tunes help me imagine that I am trying to descend to the underworld to meet him only to apologise of what he has become. 16th century Britons called alcohol, spirit because many have seen or had hallucination of deceased members of their family or friends when in drunken state. As if it enables us to look into the other realm or another parallel world coexisting with us. I don’t know what he had become after death but I feel his presence even in daylight, lone meadows and suburban jungle patches in my hometown. That incident has become a harpoon of grief induction stuck to my heart and only loneliness soothes it.

Jas moved in with me some three years back briefly after my breakup. He was the son of a family friend, closely my mother’s friend. We lived in same hometown during our childhood met at community functions and family gatherings. Almost like a community brother. Now that I was in New Delhi trying to make my way out to secure employment, he heard from some hometown source that I was there so he joined me. We were well acquainted with each other’s bad habits but it was the first time we were sharing the same space. I would be busy through day studying for some interview or surfing for opportunities on internet and the day would end with a little booze and dinner. I didn’t smoke but he used to. Life then was an epitome of freedom, struggle, energy and adaptation. But I never imagined that our life would change like that. Not at least that fast. He was reserved in talking, a grave person only to liberate his words when something is desired of me in terms of assistance. Still he is; I could see him every once and while but he never communicates, not a word. That scares the heavens inside my gut. A fear is incited by his morbid eyes in my nightmares. May be he is alone, he is tired or he may be lost trying to find his way back into our world. I am a murderer for his mother only to be convicted in the eyes of karma. His death severed our family ties even my own mother thinks I am guilty. But I think I was just trying to help being a guardian to a broken man that day.

It was a Wednesday I had ordered some spicy chicken stew and had already started drinking. It was late in the evening and along with that I was going through my social media account page. He came in and asked that how was my day? I replied that it wasn’t happening and there isn’t much of good news. He went in to shower fast when I told him that we dine of his favourite chicken dish tonight. He was excited because it was the kind of excitements that we really mattered to us during those days. We were completely dependent on pocket money during those days. He came back soon for I didn’t count the duration. Then we were sitting on our single sofa across the table waiting for our dinner to arrive. I had my glass in my hand and he had his cigarette. He had just bought a new Smartphone two days ago and was eagerly going through his Facebook feeds after a year or so as he claimed. At a point of time when I noticed him, he was hurriedly sliding pages on his phone with a look on his brows that construed a sense of astonishment as well as shock. What’s next?  His phone dropped to the floor and he bursted into uncontrollable loud wails. Although we knew pretty much about each other’s private life and relationships. But I never discussed it as a sign of matured manhood. But once he was back to senses I asked him of what had precisely happened. And he started narrating.

He had his girlfriend in another town far from Delhi back in our home state. They have been living together for 3 years before Jas came to Delhi and as he said, she had been a source of his motivation in his few successful ventures and his lady luck of life. After she wanted him to opt for a public job, he abandoned all his ventures and moved to Delhi for the same. After he would be successful he would leverage his career credentials to ask for her hand in marriage. But during his absence about for a year she had chosen to abandon this poor soul and get married to somebody instead.

Though it was heart breaking but I had dealt with same so I wasn’t affected but his state was same as of me on the day I knew that my girlfriend had left me. I consoled him in all possible ways and at some point my speeches on inspiration failed miserable.  Giving him a drink was the best way-out then. So, we started binge drinking till we would drop-dead. We went to the booze store procured what we needed according to our respective capacities. And the night commenced, we boozed till 3:00 in the morning and I was left with 2-3% controlled consciousness and I decided to back off. But he in a fluttering and stammering voice asked me to book a cab, so that we could go out on a ride for some fresh air. But cabs wouldn’t go for a spin, so we decided to book a local auto rickshaw instead. The route was pre decided that we will go from our residence round our locality to the expressway and return from the other way around to our residence. The night was cursed for sure. We started out of our residence, enjoying and singing in drunken state and were on the expressway. It was a chilly north Indian winter, foggy restricting vision and desolate in terms of surroundings. All of a sudden I don’t know what had happened. When I opened my eyes I was not on the road, bleeding from forehead and ear, I could have possibly a broken ankle because I wasn’t able to stand or walk. It was dark and I shouted “Jas” twice or thrice when I heard a humming sound for someone in distress or extreme pain. I somehow traced my way to the source of that sound limping on one leg and sometimes crawling when I fell off. It wasn’t him but the driver with a broken elbow and major bruises on face and left abdominal area severing his clothes. My brain at that time wasn’t literally working in trauma. Then I saw him at some distance vomiting blood and mucus in massive quantity. I called the ambulance somehow and managed to send the driver and him inside. And then I collapsed; unconscious for then.

I opened my eyes in multispecialty hospital 1 day after, saw my parents standing near my bed with tears. I asked about him in the first place. But they kept silent and left. 5 days gone, I was discharged to be taken home with a plastered foot. Then I learnt that: That night we were hit by an over speeding tanker vehicle laterally. While I made it alive out of hospital, Jas couldn’t because of some internal rupture of organs beyond repair. He succumbed to his injuries and had passed away within 6 hrs of being admitted into the hospital. It was a gut wrenching tragedy for me and this feeling in my mind intensified when I knew that Jas had passed away even before his mother could talk to him. And his parents had separated when he was in higher secondary. All the guilt that I carry around in my heart and mind today is due to the fact that, on that night I was the elder one and we could have stayed indoors after binge drinking or at least I could have calmed him after four or five rounds of liquor but my addiction got better of me then. I was focussed on drinking not calming or consoling him and on the other hand he has been always volatile and impulsive in situations like that; chances were there that he could have attempted even self homicide. But anyway the deeper I thought the deeper the regret became and darker was its shadow on me. And I am scared because I think he wants to know that what had actually happened to him and why I am not there wherever he is. That is why he is around to seek answer.

At last on a dark midnight without revealing his presence he whispered that he will be meeting me soon. That is when I started writing this to do justice to what I have faced is my life span of below 30 years and how it ended. It was a fine afternoon after I had my lunch and successfully completed my bank hours. I felt kind of uneasy and vomited blood in the late evening. I was rushed to the local hospital and then to a multispecialty one, to discover that I have contracted a rare form of acute cancer of liver or medically called hepatic cancer. And I have approx 8 months to enjoy on this planet as I was on the last stage. The doctor said that the symptoms had gone unnoticed by me and due to that I am critically ill, although I couldn’t feel it then. Now it’s been six months and after two months of diagnosis I left my job, visited a few places in Himachal Pradesh and Rajasthan. Now I am at home waiting for doom that I had invited into my life owing to my love for liquor. But I am guilt free now and don’t blame anybody. It has been great being here and I wish it could have been a little longer. What I actually say inside my head now is “I am waiting to meet my favourite non blood brother who might be waiting in the other realm”. I must conclude then but with a message that “substance abuse could invite havoc to your life and also to those around you, so give life a chance. Seek help of experts in mental illness not shelter of substances that may make you tranquil but ultimately kill”.




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