Seventh Hell
The district attorney argued an excellent case. She enthused emotion among the jurors.Her oratory skills were explemplary.She made up for all the lack of physical evidence with her captivating closing statement. One could see that the jury was with her. They swayed with her, they felt her passion for justice, justice for all the six victims. Victims of the brutal ,heinous crime the defendant was charged with.
“Ladies and Gentleman, I implore you, to go back to that jury box and deliberate. Deliberate based on all the facts and evidence we have provided and come back with a verdict that will provide if not anything closure to the family of the victims. Those six beautiful and innocent girls.”
The jury came back within minutes.
“What say you” asked the judge
“We the jury find the defendant guilty of all the six murders”. The rest of thier ruling was engulfed by the commotion in the room.
“Seven”.. there was an interruption
“Seven and not guilty” I told myself as I tiptoed from the room quietly.
By Nivethitha Kumar
Masks
Countless meetings and calls later, Nina got back to her office to handle the daily vagaries of her ever important job. It wasn’t easy, handling the pressures of work and a family.
Minutes masqueraded as hours and hours as days.
She looked up to the picture at her desk and wondered how her heart still skipped a beat when she saw his smile.
The girl in her knew why.
-Nivethitha Kumar
Picture Credit: http://www.flickr.com/photos/pagedooley/
Downcast
Asha was on her way home when the November rain decided to play peek-a-boo with her. It would drizzle for a while and then change its mind and fizzle away. Asha ignored the rain’s mind games and continued walking. She was just a few blocks away from home when the rain decided to go rogue and transform in to a heavy downpour. Asha had to take refuge under the sunshade of a store on the pavement.She twisted her stole which had become wet due to its brief contact with the rain As she finished dripping off the droplets of water, she noticed the items displayed in the shop through the window. A particular piggy bank caught her attention.
“Here you go darling. For this birthday, you can have this piggy bank. It is like your own little bank!” said her dad as he handed her a brand new pink and white piggy bank.
If Asha was upset, she did a good job of displaying it. She had wanted the new princess doll that everyone in her neighborhood had. She was looking forward to her birthday so that she could have the doll as her gift. This piggy bank was nowhere close to the beautiful doll. The princess had a big flowing dress and even her own crown.
“But Daddy, why can’t I have the princess doll like everyone else in school does?” asked Asha half hoping that her Dad would replace the piggy bank with the princess doll.
“Why don’t you take the piggy bank, save a lot of money and then by the end of this month, we will have enough money to buy the princess doll. What say huh?” asked her Dad trying to get Asha excited about the gift.
Just like any other eight year old kid, Asha thought dolls were the best things in the world, only second to candy, and having a piggy bank as a birthday gift did not make any sense to her. Not having enough courage to throw tantrums in front of her dad, she just took the gift from his hand and walked towards her room.
Looking at the same pink and white piggy bank in the store brought back memories to Asha. Right next to them she saw what was a today’s version of her princess doll. The one that she would never have.
It was just another day; at least that is how it started out to be. Asha kissed her dad, waved to her mom and left for school. She returned home to a sobbing mother. The house seemed alien to her. There were people everywhere, voices all around, whispers, whimpering, sobs, screams, and in the middle of it all, her dad.
She knew then that there wasn’t going to be a princess doll.
She heard someone screaming for money to pay the icebox delivery service. She looked at her numb mother. She slowly walked towards her room and returned with her piggy bank, never to see it again.
Asha looked away from the store and started walking back home. The downpour did not matter; it could not cause more pain than the piggy bank, the dolls or worse, the memories. The memories we create only to feel the pain of not being able to relive them. As she reached home, she wondered when was it that the rain water had started to taste salty.
–Nivethitha Kumar
