Young Writers Society

..He feels the wind blowing in his face, he feels a rush of excitement in his body, he dosen't know what it is, but it's as if he has been set free. Free from all his troubles, pain, confusion......

Elvis suddenly sits up on his bed, he had the same dream - again. He has been having this dream for sometime now. He dosen't know what it is, but it feels good. Well, not when he wakes up from it. His mother is standing by his bed, she seems upset. "Your father is very angry, he's down at the store, he's been waiting for you." Elvis' father ran a convenience store in the Town Square. The family of three lived in an old house. The "old house" was a three storey structure. But only the ground floor and the first floor were used. Left to Elvis' father - George, by his father in his will. The house was practically the only thing in the will. There was an old grandfather clock too, which was left to George's sister, who was now dead. The house had two rooms, and one kitchen. The kitchen was where Elvis' mother - Martha spent most of her time. Elvis never figured out what she did in there most of the time, since there were only three mouths to feed in the entire house. One of the rooms was for his parents - George and Martha, and the other room was for the 12 year old Elvis.

They lived in the small town of Westlake.

Elvis walked out of the house and towards Square, which was hardly a mile from his house. He liked it there on Sundays - the bustling market, people from all parts of town roaming, shopping, making most of the holiday. But he hated working with his father at the store. The only part he liked was serving people - so he could chat up with them, but his father didn't appreciate this. He always said this was business, and there was line to be drawn.

He feared his father. He wasn't exactly a joy to be around. Elvis couldn't remember the last time he saw his father smile. He wasn't a man to be trifled with. One couldn't simply put across their point in front of him. He always seemed angry.

This time he was furious. "I've been working my ass for the past two hours! You know its the busiest day, and you decide to cozy up in your bed?"

"I'm sorry sir" is all he could say.

"Well get the bike from the store room and help me with the deliveries, there are lots to do."

"Yes sir"

He quietly goes down to the store room to get the bike, today was his lucky day. He loved going to houses and workshops on his bike to make the deliveries. But even though it was his lucky day, he knew it wouldn't be so back home. It would be like it always is - his ever so weary mother and his workoholic father screaming at each other, fighting over issues Elvis was too young to understand. But the only thing they ever did together was shouting at Elvis. His father just did the shouting, his mother. on the other hand found her hands to be more effective and powerful than her words. Especially as they always reducrd Elvis to a nervous and scared boy. His parents always thought that with all his so-called dreams, Elvis was never fit to take care of the store. But Elvis never even wanted to do that. He had dreams - he wanted to be a doctor. It fascinated him. But when he talked about it, people laughed at him and his parents resolved to their ruthless ways to destroy his dreams. His parents didn't believe in dreams, and that they could ever come true. His mother as a matter of fact didn't believe in anything, she was a depressed woman, and the thing in which she spent most of her energy in was fighting with her husband. His father on the other hand believed that the most important thing was to make money. He had dreams once, but those dreams came shattering down after the war, and he never worked towards them again. When Elvis was born, things were different. His father was starting to make it as a second hand automobile dealer, and even though his mother was housewife then too, she was much saner. But the war changed everything. His father was sent off to fight, and his mother first worked in an ammunition factory, then as a nurse in a hospital. This was where he decided he wanted to become a doctor. But fate had different plans. Elvis' father came back after the war ended, and his mother had started acting differently. She was certainly not the same woman she was before the war. Maybe the war and the loneliness changed her. Nobody knew. The garage was gone, without any notice. After Elvis' father went to war, Elvis and his mother didn't have anything to do with the garage. And now, the only thing left of it was the structure. Everything else was gone. People told him that the Government had cleared out everything and used it as a storehouse for machinery, and now the Government was the rightful owner. This brough down all their hopes. They had no money. So they shifted to Westlake, where Elvis' uncle owned a Convenience store, he was ready to help them. His uncle died of Leukemia a year ago, leaving the shop to be run by Elvis' father. His father now believed that dreams were poisonous. They gave you hopes, but they brought your life crashing down, and left you in the middle of nowhere. But this didn't discourage Elvis. He always believed that if one worked hard enough and had faith in himself, one could achieve anything. And this is what kept him going.

But people laughed at him not because he wanted to be a doctor. But because the kid had never attended school, he was 12 years old and couldn't even write a sentence. This was so because his parents couldn't afford it. They even felt that it was worthless. Anyhow, Elvis was going to be made to run the store when he grew up.

But none of this put down young Elvis.

The clock chimed six times, indicating that it was six o'clock - Time for everyone to go home. Elvis helped his father lock up. His father hardly spoke during work.

"Go home, I've got some work in the bank. We need to talk when I reach home"

"About what?"

"Just go home"

Elvis walked back home, he couldn't take the bike home with him. His father said it was too risky to keep it at home.

He reached home twenty minutes later. His mother was laying dinner.

"Where's your father?" she asked in a disgruntled voice.

"He went to the bank"

"For what?"

"Didn't tell me"

Elvis had his dinner and went to his room. He was tired, it had been a long day. Tomorrow was going to be another long day. He would spend most of the time getting things for his father in the store.

But not longer after he had closed his eyes, his father's commanding voice called out his name.

"Elvis!"

Elvis came out from his room at once. "Yes sir?"

"You should know better than turning up an hour late for work on a Sunday!"

"I said I was sorry that I overslept"

"Don't you answer me back like that you fool, how are you going to look after the store when you're supposed to?"

Elvis dreaded this.

"But I won't have to. I'll be a doctor by then"

"God save this boy" said his mother

"Martha shut up! Elvis, I'm telling you again to get all this nonsense about being a doctor out of your head."

"But sir, I'll be serving people then too, in a much better way." he retorted.

"Oh for the sake of God, look around you! this is what you get after serving people."

"But sir.."

"Enough!" his father cut him off. "We have had this talk a lot of times, you can forget about being a doctor, you can't even write your own name, how are you going to be a doctor?"

His parents always did this. Exploiting his weaknesses to try and bring him down. But he was never brought down. He knew he wanted to be a doctor. And a part of him always knew, that no matter what, he will be one.

"Elvis, we are in a bad condition as it is. And your nonsense isn't helping us in any way."

By now he was reduced to tears. "But I always...."

"What?" screamed his mother

Elvis stood there quietly for a moment. Why did his parents have to put him through this?

"Nothing" he finally muttered

"Nothing?" shouted his mother, now obviously angry and ready to charge on him. "Well, then lets hit the bed".

His mother walked off. His father just stood there for a moment, and then followed suit.

Elvis' father George lay in his bed, thinking about what had gone wrong. He looked at his wife, who was sound asleep, a woman who he had dearly loved once upon a time. He loved her now too, but not in that way. She had changed.

But George didn't blame her. The circumstances had changed him too. He though about Elvis, and how he must think that his father is his enemy. But it wasn't like that. He wanted the best for Elvis. He didn't want Elvis to ruin his life. He didn't want Elvis to go through the struggle he had to go through when he followed his dreams. He wanted Elvis to make money out of the store, and live an ordinary life.

George got out of his bed and went outside the house, he sat on the wooden stairs that led to the door. They creaked as he sat on them.

He couldn't stop thinking about 'What would have been' if he hadn't gone off to war. Elvis would be in school and would have become a doctor. Martha would be the woman she once was and they would still love each other.

He took out the cigarette pack from his pockets and lit one. He sat outside and smoked when he thought about all this. He couldn't figure out what had gone wrong.

Maybe it wasn't the war. Maybe it was him. Maybe it was his fault. He had made Martha what she is today, Elvis couldn't go to school because of him, and the whole family was tearing apart because of him.

Yes, it was certainly him.

He started crying. He couldn't stop from thinking that he had ruined his family. How could he live like this?

George was losing it. He couldn't control his emotions. He was feeling angry, guilty, frustrated and confused.

He picked up the bottle of kerosene which was kept right next to the stairs. It was meant to be used to sprinkle kerosene in the lawn, it helped to keep out mosquitoes. But George had a different use for it.

He walked out on the road, and kept walking along it for sometime, with the bottle of kerosene in one hand and a cigarette in the other. He walked for sometime. Thinking, reflecting.

Then he stopped.

He closed his eyes and emptied the bottle on himself, then he let his cigarette slip from his fingers and fall into the little pool of kerosene on the ground.

He had survived the war - guns, enemy shelling, bombs, grenades, aerial attacks - nothing was fierce enough to kill George.

And now, a cigarette and a bottle of kerosene had done the job.

Martha got up from the bed. George wasn't there, he must be in the bathroom - the light was on. She couldn't take this anymore. It had been six years now and she had never missed a day when she didn't think about George going to war, Elvis and what would have happened it they were still in the city - happy as ever. But she could only think about it. George had never been the same ever since. He wasn't the man she had loved.

But today she was going to end this misery. She had thought about ending it a lot of times, but the mere thought of Elvis had kept her from doing it.

But now she realised that she hardly had any influence on Elvis. And George could easily take care of him.

She went into the kitchen, took a knife and ended her misery.

Elvis felt like something was choking him... probably his thoughts.

He got out of his room after a few minutes since he had been there. He knew his parents were asleep. He went up the three flights of stairs to the top.

There was one room over there. It had been his grandfather's, who used to sit there and write his poems in the silence and the solitude.

There was a window. Elvis peeked out from it. It was high enough. He quietly climbed out and stood on the window sill. He would never let his father touch him, or ruin his dreams - even if it meant for them to remain dreams.

He looked down at the pavement and smiled. He was finally setting himself free.

He closed his eyes and and just let himself to be thrown down.

..He feels the wind blowing in his face, he feels a rush of excitement in his body, he dosen't know what it is, but it's as if he has been set free. Free from all his troubles, pain, confusion......

only this time... he doesn't wake up.