In the cell

Had it been a sunny day, when the golden hue of the sun kisses the fresh greenery over the meadows and the trees where birds cry in distant sweetness bringing in the love of life and hope of the bright times to come, he would have smiled and waved away all worries that pester the mind throughout life.

Had it been a green meadow where he was lying around watching belled, spotted cows grazing away, lazily gazing into the distance at what none perceived and what only the cows knew and saw, he would have gaily looked on in unison with the merry cattle folk.

Had he been a cow, a beast of bondage, yet so carefree and content, and protected by lack of knowledge and freedom from insubstantial constraints, rules and regulations, free to graze, cry and moo at will and sleep under a shed made of thatch with wide holes gaping at the sky in the night, he would have been happier.

But sadly, he was only a poor man in a dilapidated jail cell where the only colors that greeted his eyes were the grayness of the walls and the blackness of the night, living amongst rats, convicted for the murder of a drunken teenager who misbehaved to him at the bar. And in his drunken stupor, he struck him down with great anger and vengeance, lifting a vacant metal stool by his side and bringing it down heavily upon the teenager’s young skull that cracked without further ado, rendering the young man dead in an instant.

The convict thought and thought over again and again about what had happened on that particular fateful day. Had the fat, bald pompous fellow who was sitting on the stool twenty minutes before, not left, the stool would not have been vacant and he would not have anything to hit the boy with. Had he not decided to skip his night shift to drop by at the bar and have a drink, he would have never met such a fate. Had he decided to just sleep, embracing the warmth of his bed, ignoring the blabbering VJ on TV, he would never have been in jail.

There was not a moment when he did not regret what he did and no moment of hope flickered before his eyes. It was over now and the moment was gone. Gone forever was the day when he was a young man of twenty two, freshly graduated and with hopes of making it big someday, someway. Gone were the days when he would spend time in the evenings, walking with her, holding hands, promising each other undying loyalty and love. Gone were those dreams that every young man has and waits and works towards the doom of many such dreams.

It was over. He looked down at the moist ground, holding his forehead with both his hands, elbows rested on his knees. there was nothing he could do anymore. And he cried.

Promises and dreams are anyway meant to be broken.