my tryst with evil

“Anyone who stands by the abuser is either extremely envious narcissist, someone who secretly begrudges you, covets to see you fail or have abused you before.”

I did get Vasudha’s drift and agreed with her but it was flipping cold along the pavement and I wanted to get inside as soon as possible.

I ran my eyes around and paced up to the rickshaw wallah behind the clump of locals. I bought some values and some choice words for my everyday use. My mother-in-law was about to come and I had to fix my car AC. However, she wasn’t as ripe and mature as Vasudha.

On the left side sat a Call girl stall and then a Government stall. Government stall didn’t sell the right values or words and didn’t offer packets of sweets I had based my behaviour, my values upon. I asked rickshaw wallah, who was breathing down my neck, if he sells honesty.

I sprinted home to see if my daughter and other ‘good for nothings’ that lived inside my one BHK house are speaking perfectly. But what I saw inside blew my top. Just no good bums! None of these ******s behaved like the perfect adult person. Yes, I am an adult but I am not as adult as these. However, the things I have done, the way I have lived, the kind of deceitful honesty I have put forth towards the world is incomparable. Standard below perfect hasn’t ever been acceptable in my world. I am infallible, I can’t accept I am less than perfect. Whatever I do, whichever way I abuse must be accepted and honoured. I, honestly, took out some values from my pocket and lay it on the table snd glowered at my daughter. She didn’t seem to be a perfect adult, as usual.

I threw a hissy fit and unleashed a hail of abuse as usual to my highest pitch, making disparaging remarks. I devoted my efforts to look around and hoped for applause and someone to pay obeisance to me.

Yesterday, an old person told me that children don’t blossom or succeed without appreciation and admiration. They learn from watching elders. I agreed to him. I turned to the place where we used to meet. Evil was sitting there.

He took a deep breath and his nostrils flared, almost as if he tried, like a hunting hound, to take my scent.

[400 words]


50 Word Thursday #98

Published by Smita Ray

Smita Ray is the mother of two lovely kids and hails from northeastern India. Her perpetual displeasure arising from the hypocrisy in the society underneath the semblance of religion, culture as well as the conditioning for compliance urged her to put down the impressions in her mind. In her spare time, she likes to have some culinary adventures along with her kids trying new recipes or crafting. She describes herself as -- a soulmate, a life alighted on the earth catching the rhythm passing by her. A tinge of joy colours her world and lays its feet on the land where revellers are awaiting her to get into the groove.

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