The fear behind their eyes

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So at one point I gave a little page of the novel I am working on. Since then, progress has been a bit slow and I have also decided I want to participate in short stories competition. Here’s a little piece I’m working on. I want to share more. Also comments are welcome. I also thank Rosie for being patient with all my madness 🙂


The pavement burns hot under the lazy English sun. Busy, noisy, lost in the hustle of the city. A silent smirk grows in the shadows of the Bank. Humans, they had always amused him. Eternal in their dedication for books on love and movies on courage, yet driven only by fear. That doesn’t make good material for poems, it seems.

Fear. That’s what they all smell of. Weak, powerless, controlled by invisible strings instead of being free and pursuing their true desires. There he sees a man, much too afraid to accept that he loves other men, pretending to enjoy the soft touch of a breast as his coworkers inquire on his latest catch. Little do they know his latest “catch” had been a poorly paid rent boy. The internet had provided this man with so much help to hide his true identity.

Others take refuge in superficial lives – they club, they drink and fuck, then come and work their menial jobs. There is no shame in being a vendor. But there is shame in refusing to break away and follow your dreams. In complaining and moaning about how much you dislike it, yet do it again and again every day. Then comes the nights out, and the drinks, and the sex, and sometimes even the drugs. Life spirals out of controls, but it is such a blissful chaos in which you have no time to see how miserable you are.

This day and age, the sex comes cheap and easy. In a world where feelings hurt, such sweet tastes the one encounter. So empowering is one’s ability to enslave a different man every night. There is power in beauty, no question. There is power in sex, and lust can itself be empowering. Yet when it is a way to escape, a way to run away from the fact that you desire more but are afraid to pursue it, it kills the man from within.

To know love is to know pain. But pain grows into wisdom. It nurtures our strength. At times, not always, love also proves to be worth the agony.

At first, this smell of fear disgusted him. Disgust turned to pity, and pity turned to amusement. Now, he just sits there, in the shadow of the Bank of England, passing time. As the pages turned, slowly but constantly, the air filled with the scent of lilac. He stopped for a while, raised his head and tried to figure out where it was coming from. It was strong yet subtle, refreshing amidst the smell of angst and suffering.

The book closed – a rare thing to ever happen, even when people would be talking to him. His concentration needed to be all on discovering the intruder in his dark, damned world.


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