[All the characters and incidents in this piece is purely fictional. Any kind of resemblance to the living or dead is purely coincidental.]

“Another nightmare son?” his mother asked with worry in her eyes.

He chuckled, “What else!”

It has been exactly 3 years 9 months 26 days, he still wakes up screaming in the middle of the night covered in cold sweat. It’s been 3 years 9 months 26 days of nightmares and insomnia, 3 years 9 months 26 days since that December night. They say time heals all wounds, but everytime he hears this, he asks “How much fucking longer are you gonna make me wait!”

He is tired, exhausted, frustrated with guilt and self loathing. That night haunts him, makes him hate himself more and more with every passing moment. People have tried to console him, her parents never blamed him for anything, they said, “It was not your fault son, there’s nothing you could have done.” But his conscience eats him up from inside, each night he asks himself,              “Why did we board that bus?” “Why didn’t I stop her from boarding that bus?” “Why wasn’t I strong enough?” “If I would have been stronger would she still be here? ”                                                   Every night he is consumed by this darkness, this guilt, this hatred.

Those days of tireless trials, their faces make his blood boil. To everyone justice was served but to him that ‘justice’ held no meaning. Their deaths, their punishments made no difference to him. Yes, it gave him some momentary satisfaction to see them suffer, but that could never bring her back, she was gone forever.

The city that once was his home, once was his escape and safe heaven, now suffocates him, kills him slowly bit by bit every day. He can’t share these things with anyone because he knows no one will understand and he doesn’t want anyone’s pity. His life has become a complete utter mess of a million questions and ‘what ifs’.

People have forgotten her, have forgotten that night and that’s makes him extremely jealous because he wishes to do the same, he too wishes to forget every fucking thing about that December night,  but he knows he can’t. His life, his time, his everything is still stuck in that December night, the night they didn’t only destroy her but him as well. To him December is dark, harsh, cold, lifeless. When the entire  world dresses itself for all the festivities and welcomes another new year with open arms, December frightens him, makes him angry, breaks him again and again and again for 3 years 9 months 26 days now.

“It was a long                                                      cold night,

A winter that                                                       would never end,

A depression                                                       that echoes                                                           forever………”

– A. Bentley


“Solitude isn’t my compulsion, it’s my choice.”

Solitude…the urge of staying alone, the beauty one finds in being alone. People tends to get confused between the terms ‘solitude’ and ‘loneliness’. Loneliness breaks you, drives you deep into your shell, leaves you in a darker place where you get lost inside your own mind. However, Solitude nourishes you, it strengthens you, brings you out of that dark place, breaks your shell. 

Solitude has its own beauty, one that you have to find yourself. Everyone of us harbours some emotions, some secrets within ourselves that can’t be shared, some battles are to be fought alone, some storms are to be faced alone. The sooner we’re able to find the beauty of solitude, the easier for us to win those battles, to face those storms. 

Solitude makes you think, it makes your brain work in so many different ways that you never thought were possible earlier. It makes you observe the minute things in your life which may be small but are in no way insignificant. It makes you value these little things, cause at the end of the day life is not a large piece of chunk, rather it’s the sum total of all these little things.

So find your peace in solitude, find your true self in solitude. Solitude is only a foe if you want it to be, otherwise it can offer you the kind of freedom that no one else can. Be ‘The Solitary Reaper’, for whom solitude is like a music, it’s melancholic, yes, but it’s beauty surpasses it’s melancholy.

“The best thinking has been done in solitude. The worst has been done in turmoil.” – Thomas Alva Edison.

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