.......... Time heals all wounds, they say. But not mine.
The time may come and go, no matter how much I change on the inside or the outside--some things, some wounds are going to remain the same. The same electric pain will pierce through my heart as I look at those scars, just as it did when they appeared.
Time is a great healer, or is it? I remember, vividly, that night from ten years ago. A decade has passed but it still rings in my ears. All of it. The screams; my screams. The acid rain from my eyes which didn't seem to stop for hours. I remember all, and I still shiver when I recall that night.
So tell me, does time heal all wounds? Must I gouge my eyes out? So that I cannot have a glimpse of those scars to remember all of that again. But how do you mend the wounds on your soul? The bold gnashes that decorate the very being of you from inside out?
The eyes might become hollow, but the soul sees, still. The wounds still remain. The pain still exists. And time, time can't heal. Not me at least. ***********
The editor kept staring at the screen after she had finished reading. How painful must his life be, for even a decade passed cannot bring him solace? The knock on the door punctured her grey thought cloud. "Ma'am, Mr. Jones is here."
"Oh, good. I just finished reading what he had sent me. Are the other participants here yet?" "Only Ms. Kamal has arrived apart from Mr. Jones." "Great. Because I guess I'll take some time with him. His piece is one of the more gloomy ones on the topic. Let him in and ask Ms. Kamal to wait for a while."
"Yes ma'am". " And offer a drink to Ms. Kamal while she waits Stanley." Stanley nodded as he left the room to send the writer in the office. Sara was excited to meet the pain ridden writer. The peice he sent wasn't as detailed as many other entries but its grim hopelessness caught her attention.
"God knows what wounds he has. Seems that his accident was much tragic", she said under her breath. The short write-up reeked of trauma. "Hello. May I come in?", a young slender man poked his head into the room. "Oh yes, Mr. Jones. Welcome. Have a seat please."
Sara looked at him inquisitively. She was expecting a visibly scarred man but it wasn't the case. Richard was a fresh faced man, his brown hair gently swept in a right side part. He was wearing a rather sharp copper-ish suit with an even sharper crimson shirt which made him look quite pale.
Maybe some of his covered body was injured, she thought. She couldn't also see any limping while he actively walked towards the seat, making it more plausible to think that the wounds might be covered under his clothes. Mrs. Smith, who had visited the day before, also had her wounds in her covered part of the body from her car accident, she recalled.
But she was curious to know what might have hapened to him that he can't bear to see those scars again. Most of the writers who sent their works on the topic of 'Time heals' had mentioned their injuries and tragic incidents but not Mr. Jones among a couple other writers. Sara was all ears... and eyes to know about his wounds.
"Would you like some drink? Coffee, tea? Anything?'' she asked. ''No, thank you very much. I just had too much water. It's hot outside today'', he said with a sheepish chuckle. ''Very well then. I just finished reading your work. It was short but impactful. I am quite sorry to read that you had to go through such pain''.
''Thank you Miss. I appreciate it''. ''I haven't had met all of the writers who have sent their entries for the compilation yet, but I have a hunch that you might be the part of the final compilation, Mr. Jones!'', Sara exclaimed politely. ''Umn. So... may I ask what was that incident, that wound so painful? You haven't mentioned
that in your write-up. You will actually have to edit the work to include a little introduction to the incident''. ''Oh. I must have forgotten that. I will surely edit that. And well...'', he looked down as if recalling the bad event. ''... It is an old story. Not very painful now but I guess writing can give different forms to different happenings'' he said sharply
as he started removing his left shoe. He took the sock off and put the foot on the floor beside the table to show it to Sara. She coudln't figure it out initially and stared confusedly. '' I was 16 when this happened. It was a stormy night in my granny's place and the power went out. Me and my cousins were finding torches and
candles for the house as all her family was visiting her. We went into the store room to look for them. Me and my one elder cousin. He was a rough guy. Never took no for anything...'', he paused for a moment and looked at a confused and curious Sara. ''...It was too dark already and we kept knocking down stuff. I found the cupboard we were
looking for in one corner and told him about it. He rushed to me as I couldnt find anything in its drawers, knocking down some stuff in the way. I accidentally dropped something on him and became angry.. and he angrily started looking over the cupboard and.... it fell. On me. This missing toe is due to that. It took me an hour under it due to the fuss and dark in there.''
Sara looked at the writer in disbelief. Out of all the participants of the collaboration, he was the only 'real' writer. ''Oh. I see. Uh, it must have been quite traumatic for you as you were just a kid'', she said disappointingly. Seriously?! A toe severed by a cupboard? She thought. So amidst burn victims, crash survivors, rape and abuse
victims... Mr. Jones had a broken toe. ''The magazine will inform you if your part gets selected through e-mail. It was pleasent to meet you Mr. Jones'', she said faking a smile as he was leaving the office. ''God damn these writers'', she muttered with clenched teeth and called the next participant.