The stories they don't print.

She screamed. A high pitch tone which was so intense it would make you shut your ears and worry for the person it erupted from. The scream echoed until one more shot through. Then another, then another. 

No one was there to hear it. She kept screaming kept screaming kept screaming.

The young lady's heart burnt with anguish. She thought of all the years she had spent with him. Laughed with him, talked to him, cried with him and just slept on his lap in a wide garden's bench. She remembered thinking about her future, a day where they both see their young grandchildren playing in a field.

And through the next scream she conveyed her hopes and dreams shattering.

He was taken away from her. Struck by a car. He was just crossing the street and a drunk driver drove over him. 

A year in court. After the 10th assembly, she heard the verdict.

"We find the defendant not guilty."

She lost all hope. She lost faith in the judicial system. She lost faith in her deity. 

She was sucked of all her life. She felt no reason to live. Only one flame burned furiously.

The flame of revenge.

"Crazy woman shot son of rich businessman, then killed herself." said the front page of the newspaper.  

The First Love.

"Every time I'm around her, O doctor, my heart races. Her smile infects my dreams. Her presence seems to wipe away sadness. When I speak to her, I can't control my nerves, I tend to utter complete rubbish, and when she giggles and walks off, I stand there and just stare till she is out of sight. Not a moment passes when I don't think about her. I wish she was always around me. I try to look at her whenever I can. If she asks for something, I try to fulfill the request even if it's beyond my reach. Whenever I think about her, a smile comes to my face, a foolish one. What is this doctor? Am I going insane?" he asked

The psychologist smiled at the fourteen year old's account. She answered, "Oh don't worry! All you mentioned were the pleasures of first love." 

The child looked at the doctor's eyes. They were looking far away, dreamily.

'Perhaps, she's remembering her first love and smiling foolishly to herself' he thought, and quietly left the room, grinning.  

Disguises.

Whenever I talk to someone, I tend to change my tone. It's different for different people. I try to get onto the same level as the person I'm talking to, or rather, I try to become the person I'm talking to. If I talk to a person in English, and for them, English is a language hard to communicate in, I tend to communicate like them, to make similar mistakes, to copy the same tone. If someone speaks in a local dialect I try to speak with them in the same way. I tend to imitate the actions and behavioural patterns of the person I'm talking to. My sub-conscious just maneuvers my brain to behave like that. It feels weird. 

The thing I can't understand is why it happens. Do I wish everyone were equal? Yes, I do, however, I don't think a thought process like that would change subtleties of behaviour.  

Is it because I don't know who I am? Am I trying to fit into different shoes, hoping to find a pair which fit? To be honest, I have never been able to describe my personality in a way which sounds perfect to me, it just changes constantly. 

Does not knowing who you are eventually make you succumb to having no identity? Do you not have any characteristics which separate you from another person? Are you just one man who imitates twenty? Are you yourself or are you somebody else? How does one truly get to know you, when you don't understand who you are yourself?

Maybe someday, I'll find a disguise which fits properly. That day hopefully, the veil of the several other impersonations will come off.