Then the world exploded in a great flash of light - no time to react - and just as suddenly, I was enveloped in darkness. But I didn’t hear the explosion - light travels faster than sound – simple physics. I must have died before the sound waves reached my ears.  

“Am I dead finally?”

I heard myself asking but I could neither feel my lips move nor have any recollection of framing the words in my head.
________________________

I can’t remember where I was born, or the exact date for that matter. Father isn’t around to tell me now, nor did the curiosity strike me when he was alive. And my mother had died right after I was born. They say I didn’t even cry when they cut me out of her belly. I guess I was the final blow that ended her wretched life.

Father did his best in preparing me for the world. Sometimes I thought he was trying to kill me. But the caning stopped hurting, eventually, as my skin hardened and my heart grew colder. I still imagine he did love me deep inside though; maybe the beatings were his way of showing that he cared. He rarely spoke about mom, and about his love for me - even lesser. But since my earliest memories I can’t remember a day his pockets didn’t have sweets when he returned from work. This continued even after I was too old for sweets or candies, and so did the violence.

Maybe he too blamed me for my mother’s death.

But bad times don’t always stay bad, sometimes they get worse, and my world was soon to turn real messy. A month earlier two of my father’s colleagues had died of tuberculosis, and one of the victims was his close friend. Lately, father had also begun losing a lot of weight and appeared fatigued almost every day. But he always claimed he was okay and I never doubted him – I never believed that he could catch the disease himself. Although some nights he’d shiver like mad and cough so much I thought his lungs would pop out, but he never agreed to see a doctor. But one evening when I saw blood on his shirt sleeves I couldn’t just sit and do nothing anymore, so I called the doctor without telling him, and braced myself. The doctor came and left, and the whipping that followed would warrant the doctor to at once come back for me, but unfortunately, he didn’t.

Father must have felt bad for beating me so much because later he took me to my favourite restaurant, and for the first time in my life, he hugged me. He assured me everything would be alright - and I believed him with all my heart. He asked me to sleep with him that night, it was a pleasant surprise when father told me stories about him and my mother, how they met, about their courtship, the stiff opposition they encountered from my mother’s family, and how they disowned her when she eloped with my father. Their love story sounded like a fairy tale - until I came along and burned their paradise. I was glad my father had finally started opening up to me. He was warm and I felt safe, and my heart ached to tell him that night how happy I was, how much I loved him. I just couldn’t say the words.

Father was a terrible singer but whenever he sang me the only lullaby he knew, it always worked, and before I knew it I was already in deep slumber. And then the next morning, he simply didn’t wake up. He looked serene and beautiful in a sad, peaceful way - the angels must have groomed him all night for his final journey. I knew he was free now and I was happy for him. TB, they told me. I couldn’t understand because he never smoked, and they tried to explain it with big words like ‘infectious disease’ and ‘contagious’ which confused me even more. What I was sure of, however, was that he was liberated from the woes of this world and would happily unite with my mother now, and I kept reminding myself of this whenever I felt grief creep up on me. I also hoped that they’d be watching over me now, now that they were together.

I must be in my teens then, my body had started sprouting hair everywhere and my voice had grown deeper. I was still too young to look for a job – people no longer engaged underage labour - even more so to live on my own, and all my father left me in the name of inheritance was barely enough to fill a suitcase. I was penniless and not at all prepared for the inevitable urchin life. Luckily my uncle showed up just in time and took me in before the landlord threw me out of his house. Father had mentioned him a couple of times but I had never met him before; he seemed kind enough, and in return for the shelter he offered, I’d be more than happy to wash his feet if required. Wishful thinking. There was hell waiting for me.

They had a daughter who was about five years older and a good foot taller than me. And she was ugly as one could be - sometimes I wonder if she was adopted or if one half of her parentage was a horse. To make things worse, she had a moustache at least an inch thicker than mine! And I guess it was her lack of admirers that made her notice me right away. Her parents were kind to me but I was terrified of her, her mere presence chilled me through the bones, and when she turned her attention to me and made me do all those unspeakable things to her, I knew my life was over. I don’t blame her, I might have enjoyed it too had it been with anyone but my own cousin. I can’t imagine why her parents named her Lucky. I called her Lucy – short for Lucifer.

Although I could never forget my shame, I tried to forgive Lucy in return for the kindness her parents showed me. She was an only child; they had no son and treated me like their own. But my cousin’s malice had left its mark and my soul was tainted forever. I lost my appetite for food, skipped meals every now and then. I also started drinking at a very young age. I sought solace in the bottle to drown my shame, but the intoxication only fuelled my resentment. Once drunk I felt more alone than ever and in solitude my thoughts sunk deeper into darkness. And as the months turned to years I grew older and stronger, and there finally came a day when I could break free of Lucy’s enslavement and become the master. I became the very reflection of her oppression, the abuses I did to her took an uglier turn each time while I felt my humanity shrink smaller and smaller inside me. I wasn’t yet completely devoid of compassion, but in my self proclaimed fight against evil, I had somewhere crossed the line and become a tyrant myself.

There is an old lamp post in the lawn which I suspect is a hundred years old, but my aunt claims it’s not very old and has been broken for just a couple of months. It isn’t uncommon for her to exaggerate sometimes because I have lived here seven years now and I haven’t seen it light up once. Anyway, I loved this spot because it was some distance away from the house and although I could still see them, their sounds couldn’t reach me here. This was the only place where I could relax and empty my head. So I would often come here to rest, or simply to collect my thoughts - and ultimately, my thoughts always turned to Lucy.

Soon resentment turned to anger and anger into hatred, and in my madness I began plotting her ruin. Although I wanted to murder her - in my day dreams I must have finished her off in a thousand different ways, the truth was, I lacked the nerve to actually do it. So I had to settle for an injury which I could get way with without raising any suspicion. Now this was easy, all I needed to do was short circuit the microwave and when she turned it on, it would blow up in her face. The damage would be substantial but not fatal, who knows she might even look better after that, I chuckled.

Christmas was only weeks away and I knew if I was patient enough the opportunity to execute my plan would soon present itself. And just as I expected, the family decided to go on a final shopping trip on 24th, the day before Christmas; I was thrilled because I knew my time had come while they thought my excitement was for the shopping trip. At the last moment I feigned a terrible attack of dysentery and they reluctantly left without me. Once alone, I began tearing the microwave oven apart. To my surprise, it was frustratingly harder than I had imagined, because it was nothing like the simple electric heaters that I was accustomed to. At one point of time I almost gave up, but I had to finish it because the whole thing was wide open now and I couldn’t put it back in working condition anyway. I somehow rigged the wires to criss-cross in the most obscure manner I could manage and re-assembled the unit - at least I could put the exterior together without any sign of tampering. Too bad I could not test it because this was a one shot do-or-damned kind of a setup. I was sure of one thing at least - Lucy did all the cooking so no one else would get hurt.

By the time they returned I was all set and greeted them in my best behaviour. My ‘dysentery’ was also gone and I lamented my inability to join them to the market. Lucy couldn’t stop talking about some guy she saw at the mall. This was ridiculous because by any count she could be in her late twenties already and was still desperate for her first boyfriend. I rolled my eyes and excused myself; it was almost time for Lucy to start her kitchen work. I’d love to see her moustache catch fire but I didn’t think I had the stomach to witness her bleed all over the place. I had to get away, I needed to place myself as far away from the crime scene as possible.

I reached my spot, it was cold – I could feel my balls starting to freeze already. I had hardly settled down that the world exploded in great flash of light - no time to react - and just as suddenly, I was enveloped in darkness. But I didn’t hear the explosion; light travels faster than sound – simple physics. I must have died before the sound waves reached my ears. But why did everything blow up? Oh Lord, I realized, the gas cylinder was placed just below the microwave! But then why am I still talking, or thinking?

 “Am I dead finally?”

I heard myself asking but I could neither feel my lips move nor have any recollection of framing the words in my head. The ground beneath felt solid yet I couldn’t touch it. But I was sure I wasn’t swimming or floating in some magical cloud. What intrigued me most was my vision. I could see miles and miles ahead but there was nothing - just one vast emptiness that somehow felt ‘occupied’. And there was light - white light that seemed to originate from nowhere in particular, very bright yet gentle, and soothing. Surprisingly, the only thing I could think of at that point of time was ‘The Matrix’ when Morpheus shows Neo his latest collection of firearms inside that white dressing room, and that Marilyn Manson music playing in the background. But it was utterly quiet here, not a sound at all, not even my breath. But I wasn’t deaf either. And the silence felt warm and calming. And then I saw HIM, or IT, before I heard HIM/IT. Okay, let’s just call HIM Him for now. He was white too, and the same very bright-soothing type which I’ve already told you about. It was impossible to make out his features but try imagining a white silhouette against a white background and perhaps you’ll get my point. Then He answered me, or maybe He just put the thoughts in my head because like I said before, it was totally quiet in here.

 “Am I dead?” I repeated.
“No.” The voice in my head replied.
“Is this heaven?”
“No, this is not heaven.”
“Am I in hell then?” I half anticipated Him to say yes because I knew my soul was damned and this was a much better proposition than the image of hell I grew up with.
“No, not hell either.” He replied almost to my dismay.
“Then who are you?” I went on.
“You know already.” I was starting to get annoyed with the elusive answers but I was determined not to lose my cool as long as He kept answering. An outburst at a time and place like this could be injurious to my health too, I mused.

“Okayyy. So if I’m not dead and if this isn’t heaven or hell, then where am I... Sir?”
I wasn’t ready to say ‘Lord’ yet, and I was sure I had Him cornered with my question. A straight answer was inevitable this time, I thought.

Then He answered, “You are neither here nor there.”
Now I was convinced He must have been a politician before He became this Light-being. I finally gave up and simply asked, “Why?”
Then He smiled, no, I felt Him smile, and He said, “I want you to see - and know yourself for what you really are.”

Now I was really, really running out of patience. “Are you fucking kidding me?” I wanted to scream but I kept my thoughts to myself. Come on, I have been living with MYSELF for almost twenty years now, what more is there to learn about ME that I don’t already know? I mentally clawed back to my earliest memories to find some new information about myself – nothing. This was crazy. I slowly brought the timeline closer, taking care not to time jump too far, back tracking year by year, still nothing. All I could remember was my father, the occasional laughs we shared, the unforgettable sweets I fished out of his pockets every day, his degrading health, and suddenly I realized I had been weeping the whole time. The tears felt warm but I didn’t feel sad because wherever they were, I knew my parents were together and happy.

Then I remembered the last day we spent together, the beating that nearly killed me - and I realized I had brought it upon myself because I already knew what he’d do to me if I called the doctor. But that didn’t stop me because I loved my father and I was ready to face whatever consequence my action would bring. Then I recalled how my uncle and aunt had sheltered me when I was homeless and had nothing; and Lucy, I realized I was the one that had started the hostilities between us – I shouldn’t have laughed at her when we first met. And instead of reasoning with her and setting things right, I had become vengeful and returned her mischief with more venom. But strangely, whenever I abused Lucy, I’d always feel remorseful afterwards and would often curse myself for my cruelty. It seemed like good and evil both dwelled within me; but in my resentment for Lucy, I had let evil overcome the good. And in my gravest act of treason, I had destroyed the house that sheltered me - and everyone in it. Where was the boy who had once defied his father’s rage for a good cause? Where had I lost all my gratitude for the countless blessings I received...?

_______________________

 “What happened to you? The whole time you looked like you were having a seizure or something!”

My aunt’s voice. Impossible. But the person in front of me was… Wait, as the mist cleared my vision slowly returned to normal and I realized it was indeed my aunt. I was lying in the common room sofa and my aunt was fretting all over me.

My first question was, “How’s Lucy, I mean Lucky? Is she alright? The oven, the house…” I left the question hanging to avoid sounding like I knew too much.

 “Lucky’s fine. Yes, the oven, it came apart when she put the cake inside and closed it. She’s cooking for you as we speak.”

That was unusual; she had never cooked for me before. I breathed a sigh of relief, happy that my plan was a total failure, and I quickly changed the subject because the mere thought of what could have happened made me feel very uncomfortable.

I asked her how long I had been lying on the sofa like this. About four hours, she answered. I wish she hadn’t added “and sobbing half the time.”

Then I asked where my uncle was, and she told me he had gone to drop the doctor who had come to see me. I had grown weak and undernourished due to my frequent meal skipping – which I was to discontinue immediately, the doctor had told her. And I was to stop stressing, the doctor also had said.

 “Okay, tell me what happened now, and I want to know everything.” My aunt asserted.

So I told her everything, right from the start - the flash of light followed by darkness, that white space, the warm light, Him, and all that transpired between us, my recollection of past events, how I slowly turned evil, and how I wanted to sincerely apologise to Lucky for the wrongs I might – long pause at ‘might’ – have done to her. I wasn’t sure whether she believed me or not but I was hoping she wouldn’t think I was making this all up.

 “And?” She pressed.

 “Well, then He asked me if I wanted to change it all, make everything alright again. He told me He could give me anything I wished for, that He could even make my parents live again, we could be rich if I wanted, or be famous like anyone I wished. He told me that I could become the perfect son and never have to see sorrow again for as long as I lived. He said He could do all that and more.”

Now my aunt was very excited, I had her full attention and her next question was obvious, “So what did you wish for?”

 “I said to him,” I told her, “I thank you for the offer, I love my parents a lot and I do miss them sometimes. And I sometimes wish they’d never left me but now I understand why God took them away. They are free from all their miseries, and I am now exactly where I was supposed to be. I believe I was destined to take care of my uncle and his family when they grow old and weak, and for the evil I did in the past I shall gladly pay the penance, but I also understand now why they were necessary. Indeed, I see myself now for what I truly am, and with that, the realization for the need to mend my ways. Many bridges I have burned and countless pain I have caused which I must amend now. The trust of others I have squandered but most of all it is my own that I must restore before I seek to remedy others’. Now I see that whatever happened happened for a reason, and everything is the way it is meant to be. So if I alter the past, it won’t be for the better. The only real change that can happen is within me, and if I succeed in doing so, I will have served my purpose. So my wish to you is that you let everything remain as it was, as it is and as it will be, because God trusted us enough to leave our fate in our own hands, and I can’t let you tamper with that freedom.”

She gave me a strange confused look, maybe because she wasn’t sure whether to be happy or be dismayed by my reply. Her throat had gone dry and as I handed her a glass of water, it was almost in a whisper that she asked me, “Why didn’t you ask for all the good things that he said he could give you?”

 “Aunt, he was the Devil.”

CRASH! She had dropped the glass. She sat frozen in shock - her face had turned white and I could see the blood drain from her face while her hand remained suspended in air as if she was still holding the glass. I took her hand and gently massaged her fingers, slowly the colour returned in her cheek and she started breathing again.

When I was certain she was normal again I said to her,

“One last question. What was the bright light that almost killed me?”

 “Oh, that was the street lamp. We didn’t know you were sitting there. Your uncle and I at last decided to brighten up your favourite spot, so we had it fixed yesterday morning. And please, for the love of God start eating like a normal human being – we don’t want you fainting every time we turn on the lights!”

The clock chimed midnight.

“And by the way, Merry Christmas, son.”