A Silent Tear

Posted by Sameer on Jun 7, 2012 in Say It! | 6 comments

The author, Syed Sameer Rahman, is an editor at iE and a sophomore at Lahore School of Economics. His favourite style of writing involves incorporating contemporary reality with the supernatural.

Every story is the story of a million, in a million different parts of the world, with a million different ways of impact. What we get lost in is our own story, sometimes forgetting how many others share the same story. For us, the million other different stories exist in the peripheries of our lives. Alas, man is, but a self-centered animal.

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The city was filled with the hustle and bustle of life. A sea of humans filled the streets. They walked along to their daily routine, some of them in suits, some in casual, some with sleep dripping from their eyes, some with the marvel of a new day. Amidst this chaos, a particular youth, clad in deep blue jacket with a hood covering his head, carved his way through. His hands were settled into the front pockets of his jacket ad his strides left after images of his black jeans and light green joggers. He strode along, oblivious to the crowd, music jamming in his headphones. The world was a blur to him. To him, the world seemed colourless and monotonous.

His rumination were interrupted by the shriek of a woman. He looked up to find the sea of people having divided themselves into extreme sides of the street, with a single man running in the cleared middle, clutching onto a silver purse. A lady dressed in velvet pink frills was in tears and reaching out towards the one who had robbed her. The thief was clad in a heavy black and grey jacket and wore a typical black woolen hat. His eyes motioned to the youth to move aside, but they bore no intimidation. This was a man who had just recently fell victim to desperation. He ran towards the youth as the audience watched on.

Just as the thief was close in enough for the youth to smell his anxiety, they locked eyes for a brief moment.

“Thanks” was what his eyes were saying, almost on the verge of shedding tears. But the youth’s returning glance was not as conflicted. “Not likely” came the mental warning into the thief. Not a moment later, a clenched fist landed straight into the thief’s gut, the sheer force paralysing him in place before he loosened his grip on the purse and fell on his knees, embracing the point of impact as though he was about to hurl. The young man plucked the purse and made his way towards the velvet lady as the crowd looked on.

He dropped the purse into her arm as a sigh of relief escaped her. The first detail to sting his attention was her breath; it was mint flavoured mouth wash, yet there were traces of a deeply sour sensation, like decaying skin. The second was her dress, which he could now see up close. The material was indeed velvet, with dirty pink frills surrounding the border of her collar and waist. The material thinned above her waistline until it became fairly revealing beyond her chest. It would be no surprise if her back was almost entirely revealed. The make up on her face had been ruined and streaks of black mascara covered her cheeks. The third was the skin which was not covered in cracks of make-up. She had light bruises on her neck and arms, both of which were frail to look at. Her legs bore light imprints of what vaguely seemed like the palm of a hand.

She was prattling on about how grateful she was, but her words were lost on him. It was obvious she was used to sweet talking people and putting up a face. The youth glanced back at the man in black. He was now pushed against a black and white mobile by a man dressed in denim blue wearing sunglasses. An officer of the law, no doubt. The man had been handcuffed, yet his face showed little remorse. The thief was sweating beneath the eyes. He glanced back at the youth just before the officer stuffed him into the car. His eyes once again sent a message, except this time it was not one of gratitude. This one was filled with a silent rage and bubbled with sorrow. It struck into the youth’s heart like an arrow shot at point blank range. As the car drove off with the prisoner, the youth was overtaken by sadness, the kind that leaves a guilty realization in one’s mind.

“Someone will suffer now.”

The scene was over and done with. Everyone resumed their daily routine. But, like a boulder against the flow of a river, the youth remained in place. He stared at his feet, which now felt bare and exposed. Amidst the chaos of the city, a silent tear crashed against the pavement.

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