Nusrat Zaman

Fame is the fragrance of heroic deeds. I had fame too; not as an actor like my father but as a writer. Gradually, my popularity grew. 400 million copies of my books were sold. Right then, I was heading to an interview, but suddenly I fell off from my bed and a bottle was knocked off from my side table like a teardrop straight over my head. Some dreams can never be true. We always have to embrace the reality though it leaves a bitter taste on our tongue.

I grabbed the newspaper outside my room ignoring the two maids standing outside. As I skimmed through it in the yellowish morning sunlight, the letters squirmed like snakes. I turned the page and saw the picture of my father. The headline was “The Top Actor”. My father, Stephen Salvatore, being the top actor wanted me to follow in his footsteps. Acting was cancer to my dreams and aspirations. I still remember telling him, pleading him for not wanting me to be an actor but he had a heart of stone.

My soul tossed like a ship in a shore-less sea. Life was always so mean to me! It took everything from me. The reason for my existence faded away like a passing cloud. Things would have been different if my mother was here. As in the depths of many seas, my heart was drowned in the memories of my mother. She was a rose blooming in a concrete garden, beautiful and forlorn. Her eyes were like fireflies. Her hair was as soft as cotton. Reminiscing of the time I spent with her filled me with glee.

I was apprised of a party at our house, all the renowned celebrities would be attending. From the blue vases with roses of evening drops, to the guests filling the hall of our house buzzing like a beehive, I was lost in a sea of nameless faces in no time.

Meanwhile, I shook my hand and welcomed a lot of people in the hallway. What struck a stake to my heart was my father’s words. He was in a discussion to make me an actor with the directors. My heart shattered into pieces and I sank in an abyss of depression. An air of despondency touched my face. I went out of the house into the streets with a bottle of alcohol in my hand. Anger bottled up inside me and my eyes swelled with a sea of tears. As I walked by, I was reminded of the old happy times with my mother that have long folded their wings. All I could see was dark trees bending together as though whispering secrets. Suddenly, a blinding flash of light obscured my vision and after that, I couldn’t remember anything.

I woke up in a bed wearing an oxygen mask and saw my father sitting on a chair, crying, holding my hand. I was in a dilemma. I couldn’t figure out what was going on until I saw my journal in his delicate hands. He gave me a smile of satisfaction when he saw I opened my eyes. Suddenly, I realized that my father had become old and tired as I could see his white hair and dark circles. It looked like he hadn’t slept in a few days and didn’t dye his hair. Later on, I got to know that my father was suffering from thanatophobia.

I was overjoyed when he said, “Life’s short and you should follow your dreams”. It felt as if a ladder came to me from heaven itself. My eyes of grief rained with the water of merriment. We are all shadows on the wall of time. After that, my dreams were flowers to which he was a bee. Then I realized that life works in mysterious ways.