(This is a 500-word story for the Artoons Inn contest.
Prompt: Write a story where the main character starts and ends in the same location.)
When Phoenix Rose…
The stairs felt rough to Arjun’s bare feet and sweat clung to his 8-year-old lithe body like second skin. Yet Summers at his Nani’s were fun.
He heard them before he pushed the door and stepped onto the terrace. His cousins had gathered at a corner. Amidst the cacophony of the honking motor-bikes fighting to co-exist along with the bipeds thronging the narrow gully, the vendors screaming their way competing to attract children and adults alike and the barking strays not wanting to be left behind, Arjun ran. His skinny legs pumped beneath, excitement surging through every stride.
A massive kite hung precariously from a tangle of electric wires above.
“It’s the costliest kite. Baba paid 600/- for it…” Ankit bhaiyya stated as a matter of fact.
“But what can be done? This ladder can’t take our weight…” Kirit bhaiyya, retorted.
“Let me do it…” Arjun declared as everyone glared at him in the sudden silence. He would finally get that chance at gully cricket, despite being the youngest among the cousins.
Ankit hoisted him up till his tiny feet placed themselves on the lowest rung of the ladder. Amma would throw a fit, but she didn’t have to know, did she? Arjun giggled, thinking about her reaction.
He climbed up to reach the wire cluster… it was a piece of cake. Being the youngest had its advantage, after all. He would probably get a chance at batting too…
Lost in his cricket-fuelled thoughts, Arjun reached the kite and, right then, touched the wire. There was a sudden jolt, a flash of searing heat… he froze in time momentarily and there were screams… before darkness engulfed him.
The antiseptic redolence stung, and his body writhed in pain. It was so hot all around. He couldn’t move at all. As he stirred in and out of consciousness, he could only hear pieces of conversation between Amma-Baba and some strangers.
“…Badly burnt legs and hand…gangrened… amputate…”
“Oh, Sarla… how will the child live with just one hand…?” Was that Krishna maasi? He couldn’t tell.
Wait… what…? A stray tear traced a silent path down his cheek as the reality began to sink in.
Arjun strained to climb up the stairs of the still single-storeyed home. Nothing had changed in the last 20 years. He had chosen not to visit this place etched in his nightmares. His prosthetics clunked and scrapped on the concrete as he made the gruelling ascent to the terrace.
There was no one there. The omnipotent, omniscient wires from his nightmare still hung dangerously above.
Arjun smiled, looking up towards the heavens and thanked his stars for being alive. He wasn’t agonised… he wasn’t just a survivor but an achiever.
Arjun had just scaled the Everest base camp, being the first triple amputee to achieve the feat. A stray tear rolled and meandered down his bearded face. He got his closure.
Life had traced an arc, altered yet strangely familiar. This place no longer had the power over him.
(Author note: This is based on a true story of an acquaintance who is my role model in fitness. He is the epitome of resilience, and this is a small ode to him.)
