I am hoping to write a story as a monologue in this thread. I am hoping I am not the first person to do this. However, I will be happy to hear your thoughts on it. But keep it civil please. I welcome suggestions from everyone. So if you have any good things to say, or suggestions to give, please send it to my inbox.
--------
He felt his hand touch the falling drops of water.
"Rain!" he thought as the cold drops of water touched his bare hand. It was supposed to be spring, but he was not sure. Actually, he had no idea what season it was.
He reached up to the window ledge with his hands and pulled himself up as much as he can. The cold and rusted iron window grill felt painful as it touched his knuckles.
It didn't matter. He didn't want to miss this.
Straining hard he looked out of the tiny window into the bustling street outside. He could hear everything a bit more louder now.
The vendors, the sharp ring of the bicycle bells, the hawkers, the beggars and drenching all of them was the rain, now a steady downpour.
Straining to the left he could see some children on the streets - splashing at the small puddles that formed on the potholed road. To the right were grown ups running to find shelter from the now heavy stream of water dropping on their bodies.
He smiled, involuntarily. He pushed his hand out as far as it could go. The water from the heavens poured down on the now exposed hand and dripped down his fingers to the street below. He twisted his hand around to make sure every part of his exposed hand was wet.
His smile turned to a laughter and like a reflex, the laughter died back to a smile and then became a deep frown as tears welled up in his eyes.
He shuffled his legs, and that is when he heard it.
It was not the first, nor is it going to be the last - he knew that, but he heard it nevertheless - and then he wished he didn't.
He looked down and then he saw it too - those hard, iron chains. He shuffled his legs again and it followed loudly. Then, he remembered, like he has remembered a million times before - he was not free.
--------
He felt his hand touch the falling drops of water.
"Rain!" he thought as the cold drops of water touched his bare hand. It was supposed to be spring, but he was not sure. Actually, he had no idea what season it was.
He reached up to the window ledge with his hands and pulled himself up as much as he can. The cold and rusted iron window grill felt painful as it touched his knuckles.
It didn't matter. He didn't want to miss this.
Straining hard he looked out of the tiny window into the bustling street outside. He could hear everything a bit more louder now.
The vendors, the sharp ring of the bicycle bells, the hawkers, the beggars and drenching all of them was the rain, now a steady downpour.
Straining to the left he could see some children on the streets - splashing at the small puddles that formed on the potholed road. To the right were grown ups running to find shelter from the now heavy stream of water dropping on their bodies.
He smiled, involuntarily. He pushed his hand out as far as it could go. The water from the heavens poured down on the now exposed hand and dripped down his fingers to the street below. He twisted his hand around to make sure every part of his exposed hand was wet.
His smile turned to a laughter and like a reflex, the laughter died back to a smile and then became a deep frown as tears welled up in his eyes.
He shuffled his legs, and that is when he heard it.
It was not the first, nor is it going to be the last - he knew that, but he heard it nevertheless - and then he wished he didn't.
He looked down and then he saw it too - those hard, iron chains. He shuffled his legs again and it followed loudly. Then, he remembered, like he has remembered a million times before - he was not free.
