Sparks die too

- the whole story is set in Pakistan-

I nervously strode through the crowd; sweat was plastered to my forehead and my heartbeat rising and falling in a quick rhythm. Crowd was not an ultimate definition of comfort for me; at least not at that moment. In the conscious and sub-conscious of my mind, there was something; an entity, which made my instincts fearful of experiencing fragrance, happiness, life and almost everything a sane man can count. But sane is always an exaggeration, isn't it? Everyone has that hidden insanity that snickers from the veil of your soul and peeks out when the time is right.

Walking up the stage, my nervousness eased down a bit to see my childhood friend standing at a distance, in a simple yet exquisite beige Kurta Shalwar. As soon as he noticed me approaching him, he smiled and then embraced me in a hug.

"Hashim," Adil's words held a distinct amusement. "I don't believe it! You have finally made it."

"It's not like you marry every day, mate," I said, getting surprised by the sense of humor that my own words delivered. "Of course, I've come to your wedding".

His attention got diverted as he was approached by other guests. He greeted them and then turned back towards me. "Make yourself comfortable here. You can sit with my colleagues over there." He pointed towards a round table at the front with four men sitting around it.

"They'll give you a good company. Let me know if you need anything." He patted my shoulder slightly. He whispered a thank you and then went back to greet other guests.

I walked down the stage but didn't sit with Adil's colleagues. Even if they had have been of my acquaintance, I would have avoided any sort of company that required talking and fake smiling, an act that is a waste of time and energy. So, I settled at the end of the hall, where things were more silent and words often amplified into echoes.

As the time passed on, my mind became more and more of a chaos; the laughter of people, their eyes that held falseness, the flood of bright lights, I was struck by a wave of reminiscence. It felt like, I was drowning deep inside myself; the shore of my pains colliding with the waves of past. It had been the delicacy of that precise moment due to which I realized that I had to leave. I mentioned it to Adil but without listening to my real problem, he insisted me on staying. He had been so supportive and it was his day, so I stayed for his sake. I wish you had called me somewhere else for a reunion, Adil. I thought to myself. Not here.

Adil's friends had managed some fireworks show outside the hall. Fireworks had become their family tradition; every Mehndi function came to an end with fireworks. I had heard Adil's young cousin talking about it and that was the second time I decided to leave for good. I had to leave; it was a must the moment the word firework was mentioned. But then again, Adil didn't hear me out. He did not understand. He was overwhelmed by happiness; happiness that hid the facet of my anecdote under it.

I stood outside, insisted into staring at the black sky that was soon to be colored. I was already frightened. Adil, who was standing to my right, shifted from my side towards his Uncle. I knew I had no other choice. So, I made up my mind; this was it, I was leaving without a word. But as I turned to leave, it was too late. What I had dreaded came alive. The fireworks stormed high in the sky and roared with a force. My gaze automatically shifted from the gloomy road to the source of the loud blast. My whole body shivered and went numb; breath was stuck in my throat.

Orange. Yellow. Red. Fire. Burn. Scream—Death. That was all that swirled around in my mind. My head was going to explode. I could hear screams, conversations and all those cries in my mind. Tears swelled in my eyes but they didn't dare to betray me by jumping out. Instead, I just stood there, staring at the colors that revealed to me the spectacular image of the wounds in my heart. It felt like ages had gone by, as my heart longed for some warmth, but it hadn't.

When I came back to senses, everyone was laughing and enjoying; standing far away from me. I didn't know when I had stumbled so far away from them; the humans. I couldn't understand how I could be that invisible? Was the black of night more powerful than that in my heart? Somewhere, then, a part of me that was barely surviving, died.

I tried to focus my blurry sight towards the murky road that lay behind me, and then all I did was run; run because I wanted to crumble into the darkness and vanish. My breath was heavy and my heart was aching with pain but I didn't stop. I had to run from all the deafening voices. So, I did and my muscles didn't halt until my surrounding became nothing but a deserted place.

I fell down hard on my knees, against the grimy road. My heart clenched at the pain and my blood started pumping expeditiously. I stared down at the dust on my hands as it slowly hallucinated itself into the color of blood. And then I couldn't hold any longer. I cried like a child does when crying to his mother.

"Baba will save you, Aima," I said as my tears soaked the sand on my hand. "I promise, my girl, this time Baba will come. Just call your Baba, Aima. Please. Just say it one more time," I kept screaming to the stillness of the air. I wailed and after not more than a minute, my body writhed in pain and I collapsed on the ground.

Small sparks flickered above my eyes. I was sitting in the driver's seat of a car. I observed the surrounding; street lights dominated the darkness of night, people roamed around with their families, huge shops stood bold and bright. Things seemed to be normal until I saw two figures standing at a distance; waiting for me.

With a swift gush of wind, the sparks became violent; falling hard on the bonnet of the car, like the heavy rain burning through vibrant skin. The sound of fire hitting against the metal was unbearable. In the hope of keeping all the sanity left inside me secured, I covered my ears and closed my eyes. And there I found my wife, my daughter and the peace I had been longing for so long in the memories of my mind. Their faces lit up with content just as they had been all those years ago. It was the joy of Eid's shopping. It was the relief of finally having enough in my hands to buy my daughter and wife everything they wished for. When I took the first step out of my house; my safe heaven, that day, I never imagined that the silence in the thin air was actually the invitation of death itself, to have a conversation with me. If only I had understood the language of death. If only I was not in the parking lot, but with the two leaves of my tree; standing by their sides, keeping them safe in every way possible. If only, I had not asked them to wait for me. If only, I had entrusted their lives in the hands of Allah. If only, what's and ifs did matter in the end. Only then. Only then our end wouldn't have been so blind.

When I slowly opened my eyes, it wasn't the car that burned with remorse. It was me. I had been burning, over and over, all this time with regret that couldn't be sufficed. Looking outside, my mind grasped at the reality in an instance. I knew where I was; in the reflection of past. Before I could hold on to the sensibility any stronger, I heard an explosion. The time slowed down. My car slid with force, rolled over and crashed down on the ground with force. My head hurt, my heartbeat was slow and my eyes were falling shut. However, I didn't care; I hadn't ever. Family. That was all that my mind could think of.

It took me a while to use my remaining strength to push outside the dangling door. I crawled out of it, my hands soar and my legs wobbling. I wiped away the dripping blood from my eyelashes and blindly struggled forward. When my legs no longer held the strength, I pushed my body with my arms, creeping over the detached faces, legs and blood of the dead. But I couldn't get far because my body gave in.

I was so tired and hopeless. It all made my insides burn with terror; the stench of human flesh getting crisper in the fire, the ashes lifting up in the near distance, the thought of people drenched in others blood; astaghfirullah. I recited the First Kalma and felt my eyes closing shut. I had almost gone; drifting far away into the darkness, when I heard my little angel's voice.

"Baba!" Aima's yelp was broken and distant. I wanted to get up but the strength inside me had died and I had almost thought that I had died too.

However, the ironic part was; I survived the blast. My family, other's family, the light; everything was gone but it was only I and some others who were left behind. The bomb blast may have caused the destruction six years ago but a survivor's guilt is not something you can put an end to with a therapy. It may help us live, it may help us survive but it doesn't hold the power to remove what has become our identity. I loved and still love my family; that's all I know.

We say that survivors are the luckiest ones. Maybe they are; maybe not. If one says, they aren't, you would ask why? Well, because they don't come back alone; they come with sights that are terrifying and with souls that are dead.

This is a tribute to all the survivors. Man never cries; he's strong. The world says that it's true but don't pierce a knife at his heart to test his strength because sparks die too. In your happiness, don't forget the pain of others. Let's not put them on a trial of pain again.

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Glossary:

Kurta: A long shirt which is normally sewn out of a clothe that looks stiff and upright when worn.

Shalwar: A kind of trouser which is wide at the top and becomes gradually thinner at the bottom.

Mehndi: A pre-wedding ceremony in which usually wedding songs are sung, dance performances are made and some traditional rituals are done (the traditions and celebrations sometimes differ according to families' beliefs).

Eid: An Islamic Holiday. There are two main Eid in Islam; Eid-ul-Fitar and Eid-ul-Adha.

Astaghfirulah: In Arabic, it means, "I seek for Allah's forgiveness".

First Kalma: The first pillar of Islam. It's a declaration of your faith in Islam.

Characters' Names: Adil, Hashim, Aima.
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Thank you to everyone who read this short story. I really really love all the feedback I get-votes, comments, sharing the story-everything. Let me know what you think of it.

This is one of those stories that I felt very much attached to. I see so much happening around me everyday and yet there's no way for me to stop it. The after-effects of bombing are as cruel as the bombing itself.