Ratna Prabha
She was devastated, beyond help. She stopped living the minute she laid eyes on her son’s dead, battered body!
No! No! She heard herself scream. This is a nightmare. I’m going to wake up soon and I will be able to see him alive and hug him. We’ll laugh together at our silly superstitious fear.
But no thought or dream was enough to wake her. Because the nightmare was real, a thing she wanted to desperately forget!
The last unquestioned reality was seeing her son crossing the road to buy food from the pavement on the other side.
This side of the pavement was filled with little tin homes, temporary structures to just about hide their dignity and have an almost mocking bit of privacy. These temporary structures were their homes till the law shoved them off and they went in search of another temporary home.
Strange there is a law to keep public places safe from the homeless but nothing that mandates safety for them! Or is there one? Kept hidden from the likes of her ilk? Not revealed as openly as the frequent taunts and berating that they are occupying public space illegally.
That fateful day, as her son crossed the road, from the corner of her eye, she saw a car coming faster than normal, screeching eerily. In an unstoppable instant, it swerved crazily and careened into him, sending him flying before he landed with a murderous thud.
She couldn’t look away from the bloodied body and contorted face of her handsome son, all of 18 years, gone in the blink of an eye. After that, she mostly lived in her nightmares.
There was an uproar screaming for justice for her son.
It was a case of drunk driving!
The rich, spoilt brat!
How dare he drink and drive!
He must be punished severely!
Are the lives of the poor so worthless?
Even in her utter desolation, she found a ray of hope in the umpteen protests across the country for justice.
This has to be done, she thought, until every person learns the devastating consequences of their irresponsible behaviour.
But for now, all she wanted was for that man to drink and drive down the same road one more time, so she could be the victim and follow her son!
Photo by Tim Mossholder on Unsplash
This post was created for the Blogaberry Creative (Monthly) Challenge.
Ratna Ji, altogether a different type of content from you on such prompt. I felt every bit of the story and cant stop appreciating your storytelling skill. Keep Inking.
Thank you,my dear Samata. The latest Pune case triggered this story in my head.
Sad, but true. We all know the perils of drinking and we all know the reality of death, but we never escape it.
It’s sad that such incidents become front page news only when someone rich and famous is involved. Common people’s lives are often lowest in value and easily forgettable. When will people take responsibility?
It’s absolutely unfair, and its frustrating for common people like us to know that such tragedies occur repeatedly when it doesn’t take too much to stop them.
Your story is incredibly powerful and moving. The raw emotion and vivid imagery paint a heart-wrenching picture of a mother’s grief and the injustice faced by the homeless. Your portrayal of her anguish and the stark contrast between the rich and the poor is striking. The narrative captures the reader’s attention and evokes a deep sense of empathy and outrage. You’ve effectively highlighted the tragic consequences of irresponsible actions and the broader social issues at play. It’s a poignant and thought-provoking piece that leaves a lasting impact. Well done!
Thank you so much for your apprecation, Monidipa
It’s important to educate kids about the consequences of drinking and driving. Data shows that young adults between the ages of 21-24 have the highest rates of drunk driving fatalities.
That was a disturbing story. Yet kind of a regular thing on the road. It’s high time we become responsible and start valuing human life.
Well said! Thank you for stopping by.
It is not that people are not aware of drunk driving but still, they go ahead and cause fatal accidents. Worse is that most of the rich ones get away with it.