The Curse of Being a Writer
It happened too soon! I never thought my enthusiasm, like a moth, was jesting with fire. My aspirations of being a writer were throttled by macabre stories that have left my heart aching. Only a callous heart could make merry at such painful experiences and treat them as material for some sensational writing. On hearing them, I felt I was punished for venturing into life with a writer's ambition. But, life was much more cruel to her who related her agony to me, a split fraction of which has taken away the chimerical peace of my heart. I would have happily suffered hundred whips on my back and would have been still be hopeful of the good times. But, not anymore. Why God did not appear on the scene and save her from that butcher! She was pricked, tortured and dragged through the mud. All this because she loved that inhuman wretch. The wretch used her, abused her, cajoled her and again abused her. And, love made light of it all and would have happily offered itself again for the worst