Every step he took made him delve deeper into his memories. The house that he once lived in with his family was now completely abandoned. He remembered that he had never wanted to leave it. But the way things had taken a toll when he was fourteen- there was no other choice he had.
He entered the house to find it reeking with the smell of mould; going further inside he found the kitchen. The once strong cabinets and shelves were now broken and it looked as though a storm had taken place inside the house. “No wonder no one wants to live here”, he thought. He couldn't help but stare out the window. “There it is, the apple tree that I had planted.” He smiled at the memory. He went out through the backdoor and looked proudly at the tree. Even though there was nothing growing on it, and it looked dead, he couldn’t help but feel happy. The garden, which had once been his favourite place in the house, was now dry and pleaded for water. He walked around for some more time, to finally meet a brick wall. “Ah, the good old brick wall; the place where all my carvings made their way”, he thought. Touching the wall, he felt a rush of nostalgia drive up to his brain.
Going inside, he made his way to the lounge room. He could still imagine the sofas and the blazing fire in the fireplace; all his toys scattered around when he was eight, his mother laughing and cooking- something which he adored. How his father made him read the newspaper when he was more interested in reading The Adventures of Tintin. A tear trickled down his cheek, as he remembered all his memories.
He quietly made his way upstairs, knowing what was about to come next. Two bedrooms were situated opposite each other, with termite-eaten wooden doors. He entered the first one, which was his old room. The bed was just the way he had left it, with pale covers spread out. He opened the curtains to let the blistering sunlight in. Lifting the sheet covering his table, he found the AC/DC posters that once were his greatest possessions. He smiled and started humming Highway to Hell. His room was not very huge, but he liked it the way it was- white chipped paint with golden patterns painted on it, grey curtains falling down the windows and his cupboard filled with boxes full of old trophies and toys. Sighing, he entered his parents’ room. He let his gaze fall onto everything placed in it. From the broken bed to the shattered windows, to the old vine growing outside it- he felt as though someone had shot him in the chest. His emotions were sprawled all over the place; it was as though he was being eaten by them. He had gone everywhere in the world to find his peace and nirvana. And now he had found it. He was not a lost soul anymore…
Author: Mahira Pathania
Editor: Charu Sabharwal