WORK OF THE DEVIL … (18+) … Part 1

His quest for success and wealth got stained with an unhealthy method and means. Now he has hurt some human soul and traded a life, a little innocent life for money.
Would he ever be forgiven? Would he forgive himself? Would who he sold be found again?

Call it the work of the devil. Or some demon. Or any evil being, maybe a messenger from hell. I might not argue with you. I have no strength left for that. Moreover, I have got no proper understanding of all that happened and how they did happen. The motive. The progressions of events that led me to where I found myself now and all of that.
It is one thing to be a part of an event and another to lack proper explanation about it. Who would have been the best person to explain an event if not one that was involved in it? I was not just involved, I was the main character at the center of it all. I was not a spectator, I was at the middle of it.
As I sat in the prison, at one corner, I began to weep again. I am a man for crying out loud. I had lived most of my life without tears. I grew up with the notion that men don’t shed tears. It was my grandpa that put such notion into me. Even though I had spent most of my pre- teen and early teen years with him and grew fond of him, yet when he died, I did not shed any tears. Not a single drop of tear left my eyes. I was so terrified about his death, for I seemed to know him closely. I got scared of dying. Yet I was more scared of something else- of failing to heed to his words at his death. I was scared of crying when he died. That was what he taught me. I stuck to it when he was alive. I must still do while he is no more. My respect for him should not exist only in his presence, it must also in his absence, I had thought.
But here I am in this shit hole of a prison failing him again and again. And that hurted me more. But with the crime I had committed that had put me in here, I could not help but weep. It would not be human if I didn’t cry. It would be evil- a deep one. And I would be so scared of myself.
My fears had increased. I no longer had one fear. As we grow into adults and begin to experience life, we also grow in fears. Our fears increase. I no longer have the fear of disappointing grandpa about shedding tears. I have now the fear of loosing my humanity. I feel something or someone strange has been influencing me and I feel I am so loosing myself. But my tears reminded me that I was still human. There was something human about me. I might have done a very vile thing but then I still have a conscience that can be touched. That can get watery. That can rain down my face as tears. Genuine tears.
And so I let the rain fall more. More tears. More. Let me feel my humanity again.


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