With every passing second, it was getting harder and harder to breathe. I could see how the water enveloped me, but I couldn’t see through. Only obscured, and almost abstract, jolly little blots twirled in front of me. Sounds of shouts and laughter combined were resonating in my head, and I wondered if it was only that I was imagining the entire thing.
Why was it happening to me, again? Who had I wronged? Who had I hurt?
It hardly ever rained here but today it was pouring like I had walked in on the monsoon at the corners of Bengal. I came out to cherish the rain, to treasure the breeze that accompanied it but they had other plans.
I saw the manholes plugged by bricks, thinking why that ought to be done. The rainwater had already deep enough that my head was submerged, but the water wasn’t worrying me. It was fun, to splash and bask in its glory.
But those kids just had to come out of their homes too. They just had too. I kept my distance from them. It had never worked before and didn’t work this time too round either. They were stronger than me and greater in number too; no wonder they could always bully me, beat me, make me scream, squeal.
But they never made me cry.
Brandishing a cunning smile, their leader approached me. Just a mere look at him made me my bones shake so I ran. I ran, but they were faster. I wondered what sort of cruel beasts they were. The whole group had me surrounded now. I remember being flung into the water. I remember a pair of cold hands around my neck. I remember trying to resist, trying to move my feet and my hands, but they had me pinned down completely.
The water embraced my entire body. I was starting to lose hope for escape; my willpower dwindling away secretly begging for mercy. The episode couldn’t have been more than a few seconds, but it felt like I had carried the pain for a lifetime. Would I die? For a child aged 8, oblivious to the workings of death, the question seemed almost rhetorical. I was suffocating. Choking. Images fading. Lights blurring. Would I die? The same question on repeat.
I had seen Digimons die on TV, but I wouldn’t just spirit away like them, I knew that.
But I’m out. I’m out of the water. I’m finally breathing. A friend is dragging me out, pulling me away from them while I cough and spit out water. My mouth feels contaminated, but I’m out. I can see and hear them quite clear now. Laughter without any sense of remorse or regret. And it gets to me.
I suddenly realize my face is wet again. This time the tears at fault, though. They finally made me cry. But I’ve had enough of this now. The next time one of those idiots comes near me, I swear I’m going to hit them and hit them hard no matter what. There’s nothing they can do more to me now.
