There was blood. Dripping slow, steady .. He was petrified, as the stain grew, and the noise .. that deep trembling noise, like a thump on his heart, with each step, each moment .. it was deafening. He woke up with a startle .. sweating .. and tearful. There was a scream, but it was not his voice. He wanted to scream. The pain .. the throbbing pain in his head.
He saw the persian rug, growing red-reddish brown by the minute. But that stain, that was a dream. Was it? He touched his forehead, and it was wet.
Thud.
Thud.
The rug was stained.
His rug.
His blood.
His bullet.
His people.
There was a shatter. And another stone .. the pelting had begun. He looked around for her.
“There is no price that can’t be paid, no sacrifice that can’t be made .. Freedom.”
“Freedom” Hailed the crowd.
“But, I need rice .. bread and salt.”
“Your needs matter not .. for the greater good .. you will have food .. you will have a job .. you will have money .. you will have a life. If you have freedom.”
“Freedom” Hailed the crowd.
“I don’t need freedom.”
“Freedom” Hailed the crowd.
He ran .. ran for his life. Could not recollect what happened after that .. until the persian rug. The rug was stained. His blood. His bullet. His … his daughter. Where is she?
He looked down the shattered glass .. it was an uprising ..
“There is no sacrifice that won’t be made, no price that won’t be paid.”
“Freedom” Hailed the crowd.
Her book was lying on the ground .. outside the window .. covered in foot steps .. red blood stained .. she was shot. She was dead. He could bear it no longer. And he pulled the trigger. The blood dripped down the window .. and the book read
“Who is the president of our country?”
“Ga…i” And blood dripped from his window .. his blood .. her blood .. and the name could be read no further.
The name was erased, but the blood remained.
The rug was stained.
“Freedom” Hailed the crowd.
