The Untold Story

The limit to which a man may go for the ones he loves

“The man in the mask gets his second victim in two days.”

Screamed the headline from the front page of the newspaper that was lying on the table. The middle-aged man sat on a chair, clasping a notebook . The page was empty except for some bold letters that spelt “The Untold Story”. The man, extremely fragile wore a faint beard. He looked faint and tired, as if he hadn’t slept or eaten for days. It seemed as if he had emerged from his grave. One could even count the bones that were jutting out of his face. He opened one of the drawers of the table and picked a pen.

The subtle carvings on the pen gave it a strange beauty. He turned on the table lamp. The blank page was daring the man to start writing something, yet he couldn’t. He sat there for a while. It was a deathly silence. It seemed as he was trying to grasp the details of an event he would like to forget. Like he was trying to figure out the words he was going to encrypt on the notebook . Finally the man started writing on the starch white paper. After he wrote a line, he tore the paper out of the notebook, wrapped it and threw it away in frustration. He couldn’t find the words to depict his story. Finally after thinking for what seemed like eternity, he started writing diligently. And this time he didn’t stop. The words were flowing from his pen in a beautiful solid stroke, never stopping, never resting. He had finally found the words and sorted out his thoughts. This is all that he wrote:

“ I was standing in a large, empty hall. There was no one, or nothing .Well that’s what I thought. I screamed loudly but the only thing I could hear was my own voice echoing back into my ears. I couldn’t even recall how I reached here rather or what was happening before I ended up in here. Then I saw at the far end of the hall a huge mirror standing on its own. As I frantically approached the mirror, I saw my reflection in the huge mirror. For a while I stood there looking at myself in my hopeless state. The reflection in the mirror dissolved, and out of nowhere a figure appeared in its place. Every inch of its body radiated light. It was the most beautiful being I have ever seen in my life. Now the figure was right in front of me and was trying to say something when I suddenly cut him off and began first

“Where am I?”

“This is more like a waiting room for you.” The figure in the mirror whispered, in a slow and strangely comforting voice.

“What do you mean by that?” I exclaimed.

“Back where you came from, you are on your death bed. When you will breath your last then you will be allowed to go wherever fate takes you along with me . Until then you have stay here with me.”

“And who exactly are you?”

“I am you” the figure answered.

The figure was so lively, so beautiful, so happy. Yet couldn’t be real .He was in a mirror.

“He is lying” I thought to myself but before I could ask him another question the person in the mirror started the conversation .

“Indeed I am very beautiful. And no I am not lying.”

At the astonished look on my face, the figure answered.

“Yes, I can read your thoughts. Because I am a part of you. The part that is still good and happy. Not tormented by the evils of what you have done. You see, I am your soul. When I entered this world with you so long ago, you were whole and complete. You were innocent and happy. It was your sins that turned me ugly. Now you are filled with regret and remorse of your past life. You wish it never even happened. You made yourself weak, and with it destroyed yourself.”

Before I could say another word he gave me the answer that I was looking for.

“I am the part of your soul that has left you.”

It all started coming back. At first I couldn’t remember much. Then slowly, bit by bit I remembered. The little girl, calling out for her dad. And a beautiful woman sitting in the car next to me. I remembered her. She was my beautiful wife, Rizwana. The little girl was my very own daughter. We were on a highway on a cliff. I took a sharp turn to avoid something, I couldn’t recall what exactly. There was a horribly loud screeching sound. My wife and daughter were screaming. The car was falling. Then it went blank. I couldn’t remember anything. The only thing after that was the sound of rushing footsteps, and a felling of firm hands on my shoulders and legs. I felt my body on a soft surface, probably a hospital bed I thought, and then nothing.

“What happened? Where is my daughter? And my wife?” I yelled.

“Calm down, they are fine.” The figure proclaimed calmly.

“How do you know?” I was starting to panic.

“ Their souls are not down here. It is only you.”

“ Wait, so am I- I am I “ I couldn’t get the words out of my mouth.

“ Yes. You are dead”

How could it be so calm? Didn’t he, or it, realize what this meant?

“ What about my family, what are they gonna do without me? I must go back!”

“That’s impossible.” Why was he so calm?

“Actually there is.” A hoarse voice was emitting from nowhere. It was high and cold. It sounded hoarse and painful to listen to.

“But you will not be able to do it. You are much too weak.”

“ No please, I beg you. Tell me.”

The voice spoke again and this time it had a sense of humor in it, as if he was trying to contain laughter.

“I do not pity you. I am great. I am eternal. I am ever-living. I do not need to help you. But I shall. I shall test you. The task I assign to you know is to murder three people. If you shall succeed, I shall return you to your family.”

“No I can’t. I won’t. I’ll never take a life.”

This time the voice took no shame. It laughed. It was a crude and evil laugh. Something was wrong. It was not natural.

“You are so weak. Pathetic. There is no wonder you were the one to come down here. Once again I tell you mortal, I do not pity you. I have given you my offer. Is your family important enough for you to commit the greatest sin. You will be joining me anyways. I give you three days.”

The unnatural laugh started again, but this time slowly dissolved into a painful silence. Who was it? What was wrong with it? Why was it so cold and painful? What was wrong with the figure in the mirror? Why was he so scared? Who would I be joining?

A horrible feeling crept up inside him. It was the devil. He had just spoken to the devil.

The morning sun blazed its light in the room which the middle-aged man had occupied the night before and written his story. Suddenly there was a knocking on the door. For quite some time no one replied from inside. The woman quietly entered the room and saw a most gruesome sight. Her husband sat there, lifeless. There was a cold, blank look in his eyes. His fingers were still wrapped around the pen. He was clutching it so hard, that his hands had turned white in his last moments. The notebook still sat in his lap, daring her to take a look. The wife picked it up and started reading. Bye the time she finished, she was in tears. For this is the last thing her husband wrote:

I’M SORRY RIZWANA. I WON’T TAKE THE THIRD.

__END__