A short story

“I can do it, I am telling you.” But not a single person in the room appeared even remotely convinced by my confident proclamation. It was one of those normal days – going to school, a little classroom fight over something trivial, call from a concerned teacher about a small change in my personality, staying a little late after school for this girl I no longer remember, same old veggies in dinner, mom’s chiding while watching TV – the usual stuff. I hated it when people talked to me while watching my favourite show, but they did not care, so I stopped paying attention even during commercials. It was one of those ads, about this super-awesome hunt for smartest kid in the country, but I was the only one listening to one of the best quizmasters on the planet. Never had I experienced a more magnificent epiphany, an instantaneous realization of meaning of life. And it took a really long time to convince my family, even my brother, that I can be more than just a run-of-the-mill middle-schooler with mildly good grades. Still, it was the best thing I have ever done.

For the next decade, everything went like a fairy tale. I became the shining face of the family, even the city; they called me the child prodigy, next Einstein, and what not. All the cousins who were asked to stay away from me a few years ago, had to bear with insufferable torture over meaningless conflict of proud parents. All those dumb teachers started seeing a cute pet in what was once a wild animal, and so did the other first-row sycophants. Friends changed too, with all those nerd jokes and comments, showing slight hatred of the unfair treatment every now and then. It changed me, first I was proud, but slowly the enjoyment turned to embarrassment, so much that I had three fake personalities at hand, just to start a casual conversation at a high-school party. I still loved to ace the tests, even more so when I joined the coaching classes for university admission exams, I loved the awe struck faces when people heard who I was, and it kept me going. Well, until it all became meaningless, and I ended up as the drunk, homeless gambler, dying in this smelly alley, with other unwanted animals.

“You see, I had this beautiful angel that I treasured with my life. Unfortunately, I wasn’t good enough, and I failed.” I went on like usual. Marty listens to me, carefully, almost as if he understands me. We shared everything, food, bed, clothing, water, everything. He used to sit on my lap while I told him about the world, he alerted me if someone was unable to finish their pizza next door, kept me awake on the dark days with snow all around. The best thing I like is his awestruck face, which shows clear signs of understanding, like when I told him how I could hardly respond when my crush talked to me for the first time in high school, the awkward silence after her question, and how those were the best few minutes of my life. I haven’t seen any friends or family ever since I dropped out of college. The world lost meaning, the act wore me out, so I ran, as far away as I could, away from the lights, in to the darkest, deepest dungeons of the world, where no one would expect me to be.

It is Christmas next week. Every Christmas, I write to my brother, just the normal stuff like my job, my wife, how busy I am; he understands me. Never heard back, maybe he knows, or maybe he writes back to where I am supposed to be. Marty is sad these days, looks at me with those teary eyes, doesn’t wake me anymore. I know he knows that he is all alone, but still doesn’t lose hope. He even delivered my last mail, not so usual this time. Well, when you are dead, nothing is usual anymore. There is this new excitement, rekindled interest in learning to live, learning to interact with humans, and the fun in watching their awestruck faces. For the next few weeks, my family is gonna be so thrilled again.

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This is one of my first attempts at short stories, mainly due to a course, so all comments - ranging from constructive to outright demeaning are welcome. And everything in this story is fictional, bearing no resemblance whatsoever to anything, alive or dead. Anything that feels like someone you know, is definitely coincidental.