The Haunting by Farah Idrees

Samina stared on the falling orange-red leaves falling downthe trees. The crest-fallen sunset; dried leaves all over the ground; and thetime for her husband’s return was as depressing as the thought of dying but toher the thought of dying soon was more soothing than this. She stood up fromthe grey dead bench of her dried garden; cursing her fate she made her way toher luxurious kitchen that was beyond her dreams but now gave her no smiles.The meal was ready and she lurched to a wall. Her body was aching due to theharsh thrashing by Zia, her husband. Samina’s parents had accepted the proposalfrom the family of Zia just because Zia was rich and they thought that theirdaughter will be happy with all the luxuries of this world but little did theyknow how terrible Samina’s life will be. Zia had a horrendous childhood withher step-mother who used to beat him on every mistake he commenced. Suchtreatment turned him into a ruthless man. Samina had always thought of immenseopulence and richness but now she just wanted a shoulder to cry on; a calm andcaring hand; a pleasant and happy life. Now she understood how wealth is noteverything? How wealth cannot buy her smiles?
“Tringgggg ….” Went the door bell and her heart sank. Shebarged towards the door in no time to avoid the fury of Zia. She hauled thedoor and managed to greet Zia properly. Her heart was in her mouth. Everythingwas ready for Zia. The dinner was ready on the dining table; the towel was inthe bathroom with her clean ironed clothes. Samina waited at the bathroom doorwith a jug of water and a glass. She started pouring water into the glass assoon as Zia came out of the bathroom while visualizing what mistake will makehim enraged….Ooopps…the glass had overflowed… Zia slapped Samina and the glassbroke to pieces that scattered over the beautiful floor. Samina started sobbingand Zia screamed at the top of his voice and a stab of fear fit Samina hard. Hestood still as a stone for a minute; his clenched fist; his diamond hard glareat Samina making her pulse rate faster.
She moved back until the walls of the room became prisoncage that was impossible to escape. She wailed in despaired and Zia startedwhipping her.  She screamed, shouted butnobody came to help…Then  Zia, as usualsat in the corner of the room in sheer confusion laughing and crying. He shriekedloudly petrifying Samina. He felt on the wrong side of the law but somewhere inhis heart he felt satisfied. This was this revenge..
He thought of his dreadful childhood that filled his with panic.He was muddled  and grasped in horror.How his step-mother used to beat him on every minute mistake and then howdreary he went and called it a day by killing her. How he went so pitiless…heyelled at the peak of his voice…”…noooo don’t beat me nooo!!!...”  he felt blameworthy about doing the samething that have encountered him and sobbed his heart out…and he fell unconscious..

The Haunting by Daredevil

As the good days of summer had started, school had come to an end. Young Aaron was out with his mother for grocery shopping and a walk n play at the park. Eager to take a leak (pee), Aaron constantly annoyed his mother and pulled on to her tracks while she was busy taking her walk.

“Scoot away Aaron, let me get done with my round and I’ll take you home!” was the mother’s response. 

“But mommy, I want to go! I’ll leak in my pants otherwise.”

Extremely frustrated, not taking any steps further, hesitant, Aaron’s mothers only response was, “just go and leak under the tree, and let me do my rounds now!”

After doing his “business” Aaron continued playing with his friends, until he was called by his mom, as it was time to go home.

At reaching home, Aaron ran to his dad and told him that he leaked under a tree as if it was his greatest achievement.

Poor Aaron had no idea as to what troubles were coming his way.

It was past mid night when Aaron’s mother demanded him to sleep that minute. Gazing at the look in his mothers eyes, Aaron with his head down, obediently walked to his room, and tucked himself in bed.

Aaron hadn’t slept long, all of a sudden he ran out of the room, banging on his parents room door so that they could take him in. The eerie look on his face had said it all. He was bombarded with a number of questions, “WHAT? WHERE? WHO?” but he was aphonic.

Even after constantly being jerked, there was no difference in his mesmerized state.

The petrified parents did all that they could to get Aaron to speak. After a number of trials all he said was “It’s there, I can see it. I want to sleep with you.”

With annoyed expression on her face Aaron’s mother lets him sleep in her room for the rest of the holidays, under the condition that he will stop watching violent movies that scares him in the night and which is why he wishes to sleep with his parents.

Aaron nearly dozed off when... from the floor where he lay, he saw the door slightly opened and there was a black shadow which flashed right to left.

The petrified feeling got the child to the urge that he leaked in his pants, and remained soundless. Not a word was uttered by him, nor did he tell his parents he leaked. 

A series of events, such as noises, shadows being seen, hearing things breaking continued for three months. Aaron did not go to his parents about any of this, assuming he’ll be made fun off, and will be prohibited from watching all sorts of movies. It was not until…

Summer holidays came to an end. Aaron, early to rise, woke his mother up so she could dress him up for school. As normal as he looked, he was extremely excited to go to school so that he could get a break from the past events. Spending couple of hours away from home and being around with his friends, Aaron’s mother was hoping that Aaron would have overcome his fear by now. But, according to Aaron he hadn’t.

After completing his homework and dinner, Aaron’s mother demanded him to sleep. The slow walk towards his room, after a couple of minutes was a mysterious rush back out.

He runs to his mother in the kitchen, and before he could utter a word, his mum screamed at him “what the hell is your problem Aaron? Are you a baby?”

Terrified, trembling, shaking and sweating, he mumbled. Finally having the courage to say he was seeing things, objects and people. The mother solidified for a minute or two, and then called the father. The only decision that came to their mind at that point was to get in the car and leave, and so they did.

The father had a few of his contacts who dealt with such incidents. He called one of them, and took him to the house and stayed there for a couple of days. It had only been a night that Aaron started sleeping normally, and the following morning, the father’s friend left without informing anyone.

On calling the friend and asking as to why he left so early, his reply was, “there are Jinn’s in your house, and they told me you interfered with them therefore they will spare no one, and will kill you, your wife and your son. I shall come tomorrow and solve this matter for you.” With a “thank you” in reply the father ended the call. 

The following day, the father’s friend revisited, and did a few readings and recitations. He asks for a black string, captured the jinn’s in the string, tied a knot, put it on the stove and left it to burn.

Eager to know, the friend questioned Aaron’s parents as to what had happened to why Aaron had such a response to sleep.  On remembering the mother told him that Aaron and her were at a park, she was busy doing her rounds and Aaron kept on irritating her as he wanted to make a leak. She told him to go and do it under a tree.

With a strange look on his face, leaving the mother startled, the father’s friend continued, “Your son leaked on the jinn’s, and that is why they came behind him furiously in revenge. They wanted to play with his mind, until he lost his senses and died of a mental disease.”

On hearing this, the mother broke down into tears. The guilt inside her arose. She couldn’t believe how harsh she was to her son when he tried approaching her for comfort.   

The mother went up to Aaron, her eyes bleeding with tears, the guilt tearing her apart, with an apologetic look on her face, held him tight, squeezing him, hoping she is forgiven…

The Haunting by Wajiha Ashraf

Night had fallen; the sky was velvety, as black as my heart at the moment. Cars drove past, flashing lights everywhere, and pedestrians walking swiftly to their destinations. I felt cold and numb despite the weather being temperate. This was the busiest road of Karachi. Me and my three children, two sons and a daughter, stood on the roadside, as helpless as birds in a cage.

“Maa, why are we here? Please let’s go home?” said the eldest of the three.

I had no answer to his question. I couldn’t tell them anything. Our house, the last thing we had, was now taken over by its proprietor. They pushed us out because we hadn’t paid the rent since my husband died five months ago. My husband had left us almost empty-handed; the little that was left had been already spent on feeding our stomachs during the past five months. I had even sold out all my possessions. My kids were too young for me to leave them alone and go looking for work. Yet I had stood on traffic signals and begged people. The little I got from there wasn’t at all enough for even one meal a day for the four of us. All relatives went cold-hearted. I went to my only brother and begged him to let me and my children live at his place until I found a shelter for my kids, but he himself being jobless could not afford to do so, however, he could keep only me for a few days, which meant that I had to leave my children elsewhere. I had no choice left. We had already spent two nights sleeping on roads; my children had not eaten anything since then. My youngest son, less than three years old, had started crying out of hunger. His face looked anemic, and eyes lifeless. I grabbed him and hugged him tightly, crying uncontrollably, for this was maybe the last time I ever saw him. I had already made my decision. I could no longer feed my kids. And I could just not see them dying like this.

I circled them around me. “Listen to me carefully now all three of you, I have to go on some really important duty now, and I can’t take you all there with me, you guys have to wait here, and if anyone comes to you and tells you to go with them then…just go, okay?”

“But maa, you always told us not to go anywhere with any strangers!”

“Sara, just do what you are told to.”

“Maa, why can’t we come with you? Why are you leaving us like this?”

“No Ahmed, I will be back dear, just take care of your sister and brother, you are the eldest and I’m leaving them on your responsibility, do not let Sara or Ali go anywhere without you, you get that?” Ahmed nodded uncertainly. “Here, keep this money safely in your pockets and use it only when you really need it.” I put a 10 rupee bill in their pockets each, clutched the three pieces of my heart one last time, and started walking away from them, hoping someone would take them and feed them for the rest of their lives. I could hear all three of them calling me with wavering voices. I kept walking rapidly, until the horns of the cars drowned their voices…

The next thing I knew was guilt and terror. I couldn’t sleep at nights. I would wake up in the middle of the night with horrible dreams of my little Ali crying for me hysterically, of Sara hungry, of Ahmed’s bloodstained face. I screamed and screamed, the remorse of throwing away my own kids eating me from the inside, my heart aching for them, my lips endlessly praying for their safety. The room would suddenly become claustrophobic, as if the air was being sucked out of my body and then everything would go black… I would then again wake up sweating and shivering from head to toe, yell for them, and try to shut down all the terrifying images that haunted me every single second of my life. I went back to where I had left them countless times, but they were never there. I yearned to die but the guilt wouldn’t let me. How was I supposed to face Allah? What would I say to my husband? He would never forgive me for being callous to my children. He loved them more than me!

But I knew it was over, the hope in me soon faded, left with only the chirpy memories. I could do nothing. I had lost them.

The Haunting by Shameen Irfan

 “It’s inevitable now,” I told myself as I stepped out of the military bus. I was delighted by the crunching sound my feet made when I took each step on the snow covered ground of my home country, though, I was still afraid. This time I was not here to spend quality time with my family or friends but I was here to protect them and the rest of my countrymen. The straight postured men standing by my side; neatly dressed in their khaki uniform and holding tightly onto their AK-47s,had the same objective.

   Even though, I was mentally and physically prepared, I was unaware of what could happen. I wondered whether I would survive to see my countrymen celebrate victory against the Russians.

My thought process was interrupted by a loud, horrifying sound which was perhaps, a sign of Russian attack that had, indeed, triggered the war. I was surprised at how, over the centuries, technology has developed to such an extent that from sticks and stones: bows and arrows, weapons have taken the shape of handguns, bombs and missiles, etc. but I could not waste time being a coward. I got into my position as I saw panic-stricken soldiers do the same.

   Smoke filled up around me as everything darkened making it seem like the sun was non-existent. The only thing I could see clearly was the snow under my feet which was gradually turning as red as saffron. Besides that, the only thing I could hear was the patterned clicking of guns and the footsteps of soldiers struggling to protect themselves from being crushed under the large military tanks of the Russians. I could see the city being destroyed as easily as a toddler would tear apart the pages of a book. Black clouds travelled across the sky; glowing fires consumed everything with no remorse; death and destruction came from above. In the blink of an eye, the tall, magnificently constructed skyscrapers collapsed and I took as much pain as possible, to protect my fellow soldiers, along with capturing some of the Russians. I shot whoever came in my way and then dragged them, through corpses, towards the place where the rest of the prisoners were held captive. In my struggle to do so, I suddenly saw a familiar face. He looked deep into my eyes as if he had found someone he had been looking for, since a long time. I took advantage of his condition and shot his foot with my gun after which I did what I was supposed to.

 The chaos and panic did not give me a chance to think about who he was and where I had seen him before since we had strict orders to ensure that the prisoners do not escape and were given the authority to treat them as we felt like. Terror and grief was slowly taking over me as I was traumatized by everything I had witnessed, from the corpses laying all around me to the buildings tumbling down in front of me. I started to realize I would not be able to bare it for too long now and the man constantly gazing at me, added to my agitation. I loaded my pistol and was all set to shoot him until it occurred to me.

  Flashbacks of the two years I spent with this man came to me. As I placed my finger on the trigger, a dull picture of him holding me in his arms, was created in my mind. I looked at his wrist and then mine, noticing he wore the same black bracelet that I did. Memories ran back and forth through my head which began to hurt to an extent that it had become unbearable just like my actions had become uncontrollable. I knew, for a fact, that everyone had a breaking point; weak or strong; courageous or cowardly-war frightened everyone witless and I could strongly feel that my 'breaking point' had come as I slowly pulled the trigger. His shrill cries of pain hurt my ears just like the howling of a wolf does. Within this landscape of horror, he collapsed.

  I fell to the bloody ground as I realized what I had done and remembered my mother's words,"He was taken away by Russian officials and I do not know when he will be returned to us." She had waited for my father for too long, quite unaware of what had happened to him and whether he was still alive or not. After having to deal with so much, my mother passed away leaving behind just a few photographs of my father. My mother was the only connection between us but I had killed the man who had, perhaps, been looking for me for years. I killed the man who was supposed to answer the numerous questions that were in my mind. I killed my father.

  A surge of severe guilt and pain rushed through me. I knew I would not be able to see the clear, blue skies anymore as the light became too bright for my eyes and the air, too rough for my burnt skin. It seemed like the world was falling apart as I slowly closed my eyes, lying next to my dead father. I was alive, yet, mentally dead. I could feel that I was being dragged away but had no clue, of where I was being taken and had no energy to open my eyes.

  The next time I opened my eyes, I was in a hospital bed with one of my soldier friends sitting next to me. I had lost the ability to speak. The only thing I last remembered, was killing my father. It was hard to resist the urge to somehow kill myself, either by stabbing my wrist or shooting myself because I trully, deeply and madly wanted to be where my parents were, now. I wanted to apologize to my father for what I had done and all I needed was once chance. I questioned myself as to why I had ever even wanted to be a soldier. I did want to protect my country but not in a manner as uncivilised as this. I supposed, war had ceased, though, I was, unaware of the outcome.

  People came to visit me and from what I heard, I had suffered 'psychological trauma'. Clearly, they were unaware of the fact that I had killed my own father. It made my head jump to think about it. The next few days, I suffered from uncontrollable diarrhea to unrelenting anxiety as I was left wondering how much longer I would survive. Stomach cramps seized me and everytime I closed my eyes, terrifying nightmares about slaughtering not only my father but also, many others, destroyed my sleep. Often, I cracked up and found myself unable to eat, deliriously re-living my experiences of combat.

  Even though, I was sure I could not handle the strain of warfare and no longer wished to return to a battlefield, a small part of me was proud of himself for being courageous enough to step out onto the field and fight the efficient, well-equipped Russians. I wanted to forget those haunted nights and dreams that dripped with murder of my father. I was guilty and glad as my body began to sink into the crisp, white sheets of the bed with my mind and body, finally, succumbing to the inevitability of death.

 

The Haunting by SBK

Gasping for air, I woke up from a bad sleep. Beads of sweat gathering on my forehead, I reached across the bed, my hands frantically searching for him. I really needed his arms wrapped tightly around me. That was the worst nightmare ever. I felt as though I was drowning; being thrown in the ocean from a great height. The feeling was so intense, so real. I could not figure out how I had survived through that.

I sat up and walked towards the bathroom, dragging my feet along the cold marble. Why was it so impossible to seek comfort? Why couldn’t I be at peace once and for all? Nightmares like these really befuddled me, and it was impossible to go back to sleep. My mind had started to act oddly yet again. I could feel the thoughts inside my head swinging like a dagger over a prisoner’s head. They went left and right, left and right, till I could take it no more. My agonizing screams had caused a stir in the building and the young couple from next door eyed me suspiciously from their balcony window, whenever I stepped outside for a puff.

I hated this, or maybe that’s what I wanted to portray. Maybe I was too afraid to move on. I knew for a fact that I was not trying hard enough. My doctor always said, either you try or you don’t. There is no middle road. Well someone should tell him to sock it. He drove me insane.

Three months and fourteen days ago, my life had changed in a split second. Ali and I had been driving happily after a long day of Christmas celebrations. Festivity and zeal had been bursting all around us and the cool, winter breeze kissed our faces lovingly as we steered towards home – our home. We had just finished a hearty meal of roasted, succulent turkey and mashed garlic potatoes at his parents’ house. His mom then served up large portions of her infamous cherry pie and rounded it up with heavenly cups of coffee. It had been absolutely wonderful. Ali loved his parents very much and I had grown quite fond of them too. Such a lovely couple; they had kept their promise of growing grey together and the two of us wanted to do the same.
Parking outside our well lit building, he turned towards me with a mischievous glint in his eye. His boyish acts always made me chuckle. I wondered what he had up his sleeve this time. He slid his hand inside his leather jacket and pulled out a small, velvet box. My eyes widened. It couldn’t be! There was no way this could be happening. And then, he spoke those four words I had been dying to hear.
“How about it then? Will you marry me? “
And that was that; a perfect moment in our perfect relationship. We could have really pulled this ‘happily ever after’ stunt off. It had sounded queer when I had said it out loud, but this man really was my soul mate. We were made for each other, and he had known it as well as I did.
We had gotten out of the car, my newly ringed finger in his big, warm hands and started towards the building entrance. This would be the start of our new beginning.

Little had I known that a week following our engagement, Ali’s dead body would be the only thing staring back at me. I still could not wrap my head around it. How could my man, the strongest in the pack, fall in the deadly hands of a car accident? He had always been so careful whenever on the wheel. It was impossible, and I was almost sure that my Ali was somewhere, safe and sound. That corpse had definitely been someone else’s.

I had been numb ever since Ali passed away. No feelings, no emotions; just a pool of tears surrounding me all the time. Death was a word that did not do justice to him. He was too perfect, too happy and too kind to have his body crushed like a pile of rubble. That sight of him, wrapped in a white shroud, being carried towards the graveyard was unreal. I wanted to beg him to wake up, pound on his chest so his heart would start beating again, but nothing happened. That day still haunts me and I can never, ever forgive myself for Ali’s demise.

I had killed him. I had been on the phone with him when the car lost control. I had distracted him. It was my fault – and nothing in the world would get me over the remorse and guilt of murdering my one and only. I could not stand being alone. The world felt like a strange and unknown place without Ali, where I was as lonely as a rusty leaf sprawled on the highway. I did not have the strength to face the next sunrise without him, but I had no choice. I had grown claustrophobic over time and the fear of spending the rest of my life without my love was just too intense. I had trusted him; depended on him; expected him to be there through thick and thin but he was gone. How could he be so cruel? Why would he leave me alone, when he knew I was nothing without him?

Sometimes I felt as though I was being too selfish; caring too much about my own feelings, but I felt hollow from the inside. I could sense a huge, gaping hole in my heart where feelings for Ali had once resided, and there had been times when memories of our past seemed to fade away. That scared me the most. It was the only thing I could latch on to, and I cursed my psyche for being so vicious to me. There had been instances where I would panic and black out, lying on the bare floor for hours; no one coming to my rescue. I did not expect anyone to care; even though my eldest sister, Sabin used to drop by a few times a week with food, groceries and occasionally, a new pair of shoes. We used to sit in exposed silence and her big, round eyes used to stare at me with sympathy. If only she had the slightest clue of what I was going through.
 
I knew I had brought this suffering upon myself, not letting my guard down for anyone. I used to lie in bed for hours, staring at the ceiling, wondering how happy I would be if Ali was still with me. I was in so much pain, but it was all in my head; completely intangible. I could not see it, nor could I cure it.

 I had grown greatly terrified of that odd little thing called love. When I passed by the park on my way to the doctor’s every Thursday at three, couples would be sitting happily, speaking their own dialect of love and compassion; not giving a dime about the world. Why me? Why not them? I was not a saint, but I did not deserve this brutal act of mercilessness either. God had given up on me. It was a feeling which made me twitch with shame.

Everything around me had grown black. I saw no light; neither did I see a way out. All I did was ponder over the past, and remain lost in my wishful thinking. If only things were different. If only.

One odd day, as I sat near the television, I started to reminisce on the haunting memory of killing my Ali with my own hands. It was extremely painful. I had photographed my years with him; a photograph shot by the heart, to make it last forever, but it seemed like a mind game all over again. I got up, tightened the robe around my waist, and started towards the kitchen. Behind my jar of coffee sat an old bottle of sleeping pills. Suddenly, I felt as though a curtain had been drawn from my eyes, to let the bright light pour in. The haze and fog from my mind started to disappear and I knew exactly what to do. My answer was right in front of me, and very soon, Ali and I would be reunited again. Why hadn’t I thought of this earlier? I emptied the contents of the bottle in my left hand – Tonight, I would finally sleep peacefully and wake up with my companion beside me.

The Haunting by Mustafa Shafi Khan

Matt woke up from his sleep like a dead man coming back to life. He is short of breath, his body shivering and sweaty. He reaches for his inhaler haphazardly. The short burst of air from the inhaler seems to give Matt a new life. It is not his asthma attack that woke him from sleep. It is that child and his mother, they appeared in his sleep again. “What was my sin?” the child questioned Matt. His mother stood there without saying anything. The mere thought of their visuals sends shivers across his body. These visuals are becoming more frequent and terrifying each day. With the hope of not waking up to such sights, Matt goes back to sleep once again.

Retired Major General Matt Houston was once a part of the fifth battalion of the United States Army. He served for over twenty five years in the army. Initially admitted as a cadet, Matt rose to higher ranks rather quickly, due to his passion and commitment to serve his country. But when he didn’t wear the uniform he was a different man altogether. Alcohol was his best friend, and he was famous for creating havoc when he was intoxicated in parties and gatherings. This even led him to some edgy situations in the Army with his uniform at stake, but he was let go considering his passion and commitment to work. When the US army was fighting a war in Vietnam, Matt was serving as a Captain.

The next day, Matt woke up early morning. Last Night’s events were still fresh in his mind. His eyes were sore and his face was weak. He hadn’t been able to sleep much since these terrifying visions began to appear in his dreams and his conscious state. His wife had passed last year and since then he had been living alone. He sat in his rocking chair, his eyes closed and his mind dated back to the night that changed his entire life.

It was the night before Matt and his brigade were to leave Vietnam, the war was over and their brigade was the last to leave. The troops were having a small bonfire, having alcohol and listening music on the radio. As the night went on the troops were heavily intoxicated and lost control of their senses, they began acting like a bunch of teenagers on the street at night with no one to stop them. They danced, broke glass bottles and damaged some public property. But this was not it; a few of them including Matt entered a compound where Vietnamese families lived. They barged into an apartment which belonged to a man, his wife and their eight year old son. The soldiers seemed like barbarians, dreadful and inconvincible by anything. They put a knife next to the man and raped his wife in front of him. She pleaded for mercy and her husband panicked like a bird being slaughtered, shouting and trying to break free. Matt stood there with the bottle of whisky in his hand, laughing like a dead soul. When the soldiers were leaving, the husband of the woman pounced on them from behind and got hold of Matt’s gun. In an attempt to free the gun Matt wrestled with the man grabbing his forearm. Suddenly, a shot was fired. There was utter silence in the room and their ears were deafened by the loud bang of the gun. As Matt looked down he saw the bodies of both the man and his eight year old son with a small puddle of blood beside them. 

This incident has been haunting Matt ever since. He retired from army soon after returning back from Vietnam.

He opened his eyes. He saw the child sitting at the edge of his chair by his feet and looking up in Matt’s eyes. Matt was struck with terror he got up from his chair and ran towards the bathroom. His chest was moving up and down from the heavy breathing. He opened the tap to wash his face, instead of water; he saw blood running from it. Matt pulled back from the sink almost falling towards the door. These visuals were frequent with each day gone by; it was becoming difficult for him to cope.

The following night Matt had been up all night in his bed. The face of the woman couldn’t let her sleep. She looked at Matt and shouted for mercy. Her scream, her pain and her face all echoed in his mind, he then remembered the child. The way he was looking at his mother with his eyes still trying to figure out what was going on and then his body as it lay on the ground with blood spilling out from his chest. Matt couldn’t deal with it anymore, he thought to himself. All these years of enduring this guilt and terror. Death was his real medication; he slowly put his feet on the ground as he stood up from the bed, dragged himself towards the cupboard and took out his revolver.

The Haunting by Faraz Kamal

Today is my son’s 25^th birthday and it’s a day to be extremely happy, but hidden under all the happiness and merriment is guilt. This guilt is what I will carry till my last breath and it boosts up every time I see my son.

This darkness in my life is the result of the night of 12^th October 1991 which was the most depressing night I have ever spent. It was about midnight and my duty hours at the hospital had ended. All senior doctors had left the place and I was at the exit door. As I was walking towards my car I felt some sharp instinct that I must go back to the hospital, I could not figure out why, I said to myself, “Maybe I forgot something inside.” I walked back and entered the hospital; I was walking towards my cabin when I heard some nurses shouting, “Emergency! Emergency! Doc, there is an emergency!”

I realized it was because of this that I had come back into the hospital. As I turned towards the nurses, I saw two people lying on stretchers. There was a middle aged man all covered with blood and I ordered the nurse to take him to the operation room immediately, but as I turned towards the other stretcher I saw my son 10 year old son lying fainted and with bruises on his dead. The people who brought them said that my son was with this man, my son’s friend’s father, who was driving the car to drop him home. I decided I had to take care of my son first.

He was taken to the operation room where we treated him, the bruises on his dead were cleaned and I myself put stitches on my son’s forehead. I could feel tears coming to my eyes. Even though I knew it was not a life threatening situation, I was extremely tensed. In the next few minutes my mind starting working again and I realized about the other man on the stretcher.

“Doctor, he is dead”, said the nurse. I could feel something dying inside of me. I had forgotten that I am a doctor first and then a father. Delaying my son’s treatment would not have threatened his life, but this man I left lying on the stretcher and to the responsibility of nurses, lost his life. He was my son’s friend’s father, who had three other siblings. They were already facing a lot of difficulties financially and this man was the only earning member of the family. His four sons and his wife were left alone to battle these problems, and all of this happened because of me.

I decided I was no more capable of being a doctor and from that day onwards I did not return to that hospital. The memories associated to that place are such that I have lost all confidence I had in myself and my profession. While becoming a doctor I had taken the oath that my first duty will always be to save lives, and I could not return to my profession now that I had violated the responsibilities associated with my profession, because I chose to a father and not a doctor.

Today, even after 15 years have passed by, those haunting memories are stored in the corner of my heart. Every time I see a doctor, every time I go to a hospital, every time I see that little irremovable scratch on my son’s head and every time he gets a year older than before, I realize I am the reason someone died. This guilt will be with me forever, and I have never even had the courage to go see what that man’s family is like without him, another guilt which makes my life more depressing than ever.