Death Of The Innocent

It is not my hobby to be absolutely psychedelic at times, rather, it is more of a compulsion. Ever since I was a seven year old kid who saved an old man from being hit and absolutely overridden by a truck- I considered myself to be an unsung superhero underneath a more than vibrant camouflage of flesh and bones- patiently waiting for the time when I could walk out and douche the bohemian cannibalism existing in human beings that devour at the heart of the society. Whether it was due to the thrill of having saved a life or that dizzier aftermath that inoculated within my head (resulting out of the impact that it incepted, when it hid the ground during the course of action), I don't know- yet, i cherished myself wearing that red curtain, poising as superman who kicked at those four legged-furniture beasts in my house; then would momentarily pause for breath before letting out a vociferous roar (more like a pitchy shriek), yelling- "Yield Villain!"


But now that I sit and type, I notice that my limbs have grown fleshier and stronger ever since; but that solidarity to rescue the world from the direst of evils has long forgone. Neither are those villains the same- the wooden monsters have aged and withered... or succumbed to termites; and in their place have come indestructible plastic monsters- but my war is not with them any more. And suddenly I halt! and I wonder who my enemy is... I have long lost that ability to stand for truth, and now this void somewhere near the diaphragm has given way to deep resentment. Perhaps this is that attitude that makes a man a 'hero' and daunts 'fear' itself from intruding our purpose when we are righteous(or at the least believe ourselves to be so).

On a personal note- I would preferably be that 7-year old curtain clad, minute-limbed superhero than such a grown up mendacious nincompoop, frightened to the very groins; but I decide to save that for another day.


Now, I don't care a toss to what goes "around" as long as it does not concern my well being. The newspaper harks of genocides, murders, extortions and a plethora of such incumbent heinousness; and all that I oblige myself to do is turn over to the last page expecting spicier news about transfer speculations in football games. Indifferent are we... and we can't deny this indifference that stains each and every one of ours' nature. Perhaps that's the way it will always be; or maybe there will be an anticlimax to it one day- honesty; at this point- I don't know. But for the time-being, I pay my respects to that hero; that innocence that died in me.

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