An unwaged individual

Maira Khan

I was on my way back home as I was late while returning from office. The sky was dull and full of thunderous, dark and rough clouds. And soon the thunder roared, the lightning flashed the sky. The dark clouds grew ominous covering the sky, releasing a sudden shower. As I was walking down to the parking, the rain sharpened the smells of smoke and earth. The howling wind and the darkness of night frightened me. I switched on the flashlight of my mobile phone as the street lamps couldn’t cast their sulphurous glow. Before I could switch on the flashlight, a notification popped up on my phone, “37 missed calls”. I wondered who it might be, it turned out to be Mr Jack Cole, a young, tall handsome man with a husky body and fair complexion living in our neighbourhood. I ringed him back, made several attempts but all my calls remained unanswered. I rushed my car to my apartment and immediately went to check upon him. I rang the bell, I continued to ring the bell for another 3 minutes, tried to search for another key, and finally found it under the doormat. I unlocked the door, made my way through the courtyard which had droplets of blood all over. While I was walking towards the living room, something pricked into my left foot, I stood there against the wall to see what was it, and all I could figure out was a piece of blue glass covered in my red blood. As I reached the living room hobbling and panting, I was aghast at the situation there. The clothes were strewn all over the floor, the red and white crumpled tissue paper were the second thing visible on the floor, followed by the pieces of a broken blue glass vase and some fallen books from the bookshelf. The thunder echoed and the rain splattered against the windows. The winds made the windows bang constantly. The banging windows, the fluctuating lights and the unkind sound of thunder and lightning petrified me. I gathered some courage and took a step ahead just then something rolled down my foot, it turned out to be an injection which had a pungent smell. Suddenly, a phone rang and it was Mr Jack’s mother ringing him up and this was the 56th missed call. I finally found Mr Jack lying on the couch soaked in sweat, his hand hunged with an injection on the left. I shook him, loosed his collar and belt. I shook him once again I continued shooking him till he was up. The fluctuation of lights suddenly stopped and it was all illuminated. His large and brown eyes were bloodshot. His pupils seemed smaller, and mouth dry. His bleeding left hand and the broken mirror on the wall told a story. His body language and the condition of his room said it all. The packets of cigarette, the empty wine bottles, the heroin injections, the sleeping pills and the ready to snort arranged cocaine clearly stated that he was high on drugs. The half hunged painting and the upside-down laptop expressed that he wasn’t in his senses. The questions that arose in my mind every now and then were, “Why would he do this?”, “Was he suffering from depression?”, “Was it all a result of something untoward?” Or “was he betrayed in love or friendship?”. I made him sit down, and gave him a glass of water to drink. I waited until he was stable enough to answer me, or face me. I then asked, “what made you do this?” But he sat numb. I shook him once again and repeated myself, his reaction was still the same. I fetched him the second glass of water, which made him spit up everything in his stomach. He seemed to be a little dizzy, I chose to remain silent for some time. I once again asked, “What made you do this Mr. Jack?”. He uttered nothing, I asked him, Were you taking some medication for fighting depression or anxiety?”. He said, “No”. I further questioned, ”Did any untoward happen?”. He said, “No”. After giving him a pause I put up my last question stating, ”Did something hurt you? Or has someone betrayed you? Your best friend? Or maybe your love?”. Frustrated he said, “No”. I made him believe that he could express himself in front of me. After a fraction of minutes, he spoke up. And the response I got from him made me shut for a while. He said, “I’m unemployed, and living on my parents. But now as I’ve my degrees they expect me to do a job and earn for myself. I wandered from place to place in search of a job but I surpassed. The only thing that kept running on my mind was that they didn’t even bother to see my capability or my degrees”. He then stood up and dragged himself to the cupboard picking up his merits inscripted on a piece of paper. He stood staring at them and faked a laugh, saying, ”these degrees are useless if they cannot provide a suitable job so as to live a normal healthy life”.
The only thing I could think of was, is this what we’ve paid over the years, running to get educated and left jobless, leading a person to overthink, get anxious and depressed losing hope, which as last leads to an attempt to suicide?