The murder and the touch…

He was walking through the road, searching for peace. He decided to go to the river banks. He made it there with his fast long legs. He sat there, cross legged. The city at the other side of the river was sparkling brilliantly. He watched the river water reflecting the lights falling into it. He was sad. He was bothered about his failures and his dreams. The exam report was out, he couldn’t even show the report to his family, his mother, father and sister. He looked at his friends going home, smiling, laughing. The river side was peaceful, the only retreat, where he can be private with god. He closed his eyes, tears fell down. How can he approach home with such an exam report? All his classmates made great, but he, awful. He wanted to die. How? The river? How could he sacrifice his life in front of his own god? His conscience held him back. He asked his god to make him more intelligent so that he could do well on the exams. God didn’t answer. God never did. Every year he prayed to god in this river bank, to make him more intelligent. He asked himself, “Why does God never answers me? I truly respect him.” His conscience always pursued him to pray to God. He was about to ask God again, suddenly the gunshot stopped him. He looked at the three men who carried another dead man and threw his body into the river. They didn’t see him. He was sitting in his special corner. “Whew!” he exclaimed to himself. The hoodlums got away. He rose, walked to the water and looked at the body getting mixed with mud. The water was taking him slowly. He asked his god, “Did this man have to die?” No answer again. His conscience no more did persuade him to prey to god. He witnessed death. He sat near the water, spread his hands and touched the half submerged cold body. He felt the soft skin under the drenched cloth. He began to cry.

A hour later, he rose. The rain started a few moments ago. He was getting wet. He took his bag, and started walking to his home. His teeth was in grinding position, his face held high, he moved like a warrior, his blood was warm, his eyes bright.

He had killed his God.


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