The Writer’s Guilt

"I don't know about your past much. And who is this girl who keeps messaging you on g-talk and scrapping you on Orkut and you keep ignoring her?" The wife asked ignorantly.

"She was my class mate in school. These school friends always try to bug me. I have been ignoring them from a long time; they don't seem to understand, Losers." The husband replied nonchalantly.

"It’s nice to have old friends, isn't it?"

"Those were not the best days of my life. I don't have any thing to cherish only sour moments."

"Why don't you tell me about them? May be after you have done telling me it will not remain as sour as you think it is."

"Oh! You don't know that."

"Then let me know."

"Ok. It was a time when I was in 12th grade. The time seemed so good then but when I think of it now it haunts me.

I used to write stories back then. I don't know why, but my class mates use too cherish them a lot, specially the girl who keeps bugging me. I wrote many articles for school magazines and for newspapers.

"My teachers use to praise me as if I was an asset. People use to like me for nothing. They didn't even read the article.

"It was nostalgic. Then one day I thought of not writing for them anymore but writing didn't die in me. I started a novel.

My imagination was taking me places and I kept going. I was wondering whether my characters were fictitious or real. I use to talk to them; I used to dictate them; I was god. The power of decision was taking a toll on me, for I could decide about the times and lives of my characters. After some time I didn't had the idea of what I was writing or what I was imagining. The story was killing me. I went and went. It was getting frustrated. The characters were getting sad. It was then that I thought to end it and I did.

"I took the manuscript and gave it to my class mates to read it. They read and kept it in circulation. They used to say me that I should publish it. There praises were obnoxious. I use to think why people try to stay so happy and why they always try to portray it. They live a life of herds, of following and listening.

"But the fact that the story was over was not so easy for me. I was wondering that I will also become like others, ordinary. I was lost, disappointed and depressed. I had nothing left. No more characters to talk to, no one to dictate, none to be killed. And I killed the most important person in my life, now I don't have anything to live for. So what should be the end of my story go back to being a regular kid at school or ...

"I was thinking all that lost in time and space when I saw a big truck coming my way. I was in the middle of the highway in the night on my bicycle. It was dark and became darker as I don't know what happened next.

"I was in hospital for a long time, going in and out of my consciousness. The accident was the best thing that happened to me lately. It wiped all my fixtures with my story and it was strange that I didn't think about the story for a long time. It cleared my head and I was breathing easy.

"When my classmates came to meet me I asked them about the story. They started to talk about their favorite characters and who read it and passed it to whom. This girl was also there. Everyone was saying that they read and passed the manuscript to other. And it happened so that the manuscript was lost, no one new who had it last.

"I recovered and went back to school but I never found the manuscript again. It was lost. I don't know whether it was lost for good or not.

"That's my story. I moved on and now I am here with you."

That left the wife astonished and speechless.

"Wow! You never told me that before. I don't know what was in the story you wrote but your story is lovely. I think you should get in touch with your school friends." She said.

"No. They are just a bunch of looser. Don’t you see how desperate they are to get in touch with me, and this girl, I think she had a crush on me. I did everything to avoid them. There is this common friend who also works in my company; he was saying that she came to the city looking for me. I warned him not to tell her about me.”

“That’s so mean of you.” Wife went away to another room saying this.

“There may be something important that she came to the city looking for you. Right?” She came back.

“I doubt that.” He replied strongly.

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A few months later the friend of writer busted into him in a mall. After the usual greetings the writer introduced his friend to his wife.

“I have something to tell you.” The friend said.

“Remember the girl I told you about who was looking for you for over a month. She died last week of leukemia. Apparently she was here to give you something. Her parents were looking for you too to fulfill her last wish. You asked me not to tell anyone about your whereabouts, so I didn’t. But I think you can at least do this for her. Talk to her parents.” He gave the phone number to the writer and went away.

“It’s so sad and you took pride in keeping yourself a secret. I think you will not call her parents either. After all they are looser. They lost their girl.”

But he did. He called her parents. They just asked for his address and asked him to acknowledge when he has received the package, as this was their daughter’s last wish. They blessed him long life and wished only if she could have met him the last time.

He was sad and become more when he received the package. There was a note with the package. She left it for him. It was unopened, no one dared open it; and with great dare he did.

“I hope this letter find you in good hope, because hope is all I have left now. By the time it will reach you, if ever, there will be no hope for me. I could have given you this long ago. But then I felt it’s my duty not to. Here I give you your story back. The story is grave but good. I and everyone who knew you back then when you wrote this think that you should be publishing this and many more. You deserve fame and this will bring you what you want. I stole this book and hid it for this long. I will like to apologize for that, but then I felt that the story will kill you if I would have given it back to you. It seems the books wanted a life and it will have mine. I hope and I hope for you.”

He was not sure what to feel. But the tears in his eyes said it all. He handed the note to his wife. He hoped that the girl was still alive and hoped if he could talk to her. His thoughts and his knowledge gave way to hope to fill his heart.