The End (of Wordful Soul)

His laptop is broken and he needs to drop an urgent e-mail. He picks up her laptop and starts it. Password! He calls her up , tells her that he really needs to use a computer and she tells him the password. He is in the habit of using Internet Explorer. He types 'Internet Explorer' in the search bar and runs the browser. He types the url to his office mail and hits enter. IE crashes. Damn! Now what? He notices Chrome and runs it. He types the url and the site opens. He sends the urgent mail. Sent! He feels relieved. Now, he might as well, check out the notifications on his FB and browse the net a little. He runs Chrome again. "Most visited", it shows, and colourful thumbnails below it. He clicks on the first link it shows. He hasn't seen many websites with such colour scheme. (That's because he has only visited professional websites till date. He is not too much of an explorer.) He is not so interested to know about the website, as he is to know about what kind of websites his wife visits. (Plain curiosity. He trusts her more than anything in the World!) There is some kind of a story on the first page. He starts reading. Wow! That's a cute little story. Fiction! He smiles. He has a lot of time to kill, so, he might go through other stories as well. He starts reading the next. It is a sad story. Could it be real, or has the writer published it for the sake of getting popularity? Well, who knows? He goes onto the next post. Why is there some strangeness in these words? Why does he feel uncomfortable reading some of them? It is because these are those very things that he blatantly disagrees to discuss with his wife when she comes to talk to him about them. Is this where she is learning all this from? These so called "broad minded" philosophies, and silly aspirations! Who is this person who writes all this crap? Who is this person who thinks it is okay for 50 year olds to marry if they are in 'love' and being a homosexual is not a sin? He goes through another post. And yet another. Another, and another. She has fell for uncountable men at unrealistic situations, has been tried to be raped, has tasted vodka, wine, whiskey. She has been to discos, pubs and bars, danced with strangers. God! She has had so many boyfriends and has a husband she claims to 'love' and 'respect'. Total crap! Her husband doesn't know that she writes all this (and pollutes the minds of thousand other wives). She writes stuff that she can't share with her husband. She writes because she doesn't want to simply die with the experiences of her life. She writes because she can't tell her husband that she still feels uncomfortable having intercourse with him because of the ugly past she has had. She writes as anonymous because she doesn't want to hurt him. She writes because "To let go, she has to let know". Who is this girl? He knows who. His face is wet with tears. He is so angry and so hurt, that he can't think of anything that would ever reduce this pain. He feels like ripping his skin apart by digging his nails deep into it because he has been living with a stranger for so long!

This little piece of fiction is dedicated to the unending war between a part of me that feels the unquenchable thirst to tell my story, and a part of me that is extremely scared to do it