Dawood Ibrahim
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THE fourteen year old boy and sister by his side looked questioningly at their parents who were pulling the curtains of all the windows. The father then pulled a gun and pointed it at his son’s head. “What are you doing father?” asked the teenaged boy.
“I am going to kill you my son, after which I will kill your sister then your mother, then take my own life!” “No..!” screamed the little girl as she clung onto her brother. “Father put down your gun,” said the fourteen year old calmly. “I can’t my son. We all go together.” “Why dad?”
“Because our money is over, poverty is now a step away and we are heavily in debt. If only I commit suicide, then your mother and both of you will live worse than dogs the rest of your lives. If we go together, nobody can touch us.”
The fourteen year old boy, looked at his weeping mother and his trembling sister. He walked over to the window and pulled open the drapes. “Dad come over her, do you see that handcart puller over there?” “He struggles my son. Poor man.” “Our teacher told us that his hand cart doesn’t belong to him. His whole aim is to make enough money to feed his hungry family and also own the hand cart one day.” “Poor man.” “Brave man!” said the son. “Last week I saw him limping. He had got hurt pulling his cart. I think he went to the hospital and got his wounds attended to and next day he was back on the road, pulling his cat. Can you see his bandages dad?” “Yes son, I can,” said the father, “but why are you wasting time son?”
“Because I cannot see any bandages on you father. I see no wounds, no scars of battle, no scratches, no tears, no gashes..!” “There will be a hole soon on the side of my head, once I pull the trigger!” “Only the police will see it dad, and that too on a dead man.” “You want to see me broken, bruised and battered?” “Yes dad, and like that handcart puller, still pulling on and finally winning the battle of life!”
The fourteen year old, felt a stillness in the room as his father knelt beside him. He saw his mother do the same and he held his sister’s hand as her crying stopped. Outside a handcart puller smiled as he pulled his cart with bandaged leg. Inside a Father God put his hands round the little family, bandaged their wounds and gave them strength to fight again! “Son!” wept the father, “I pray for scars and wounds before I ever give up the fight of life again..!”
—Email: bobsbanter@gmail.com
http://pakobserver.net/scars-wounds-and-
suicide/
@GreenFalcon @Chauvinist @war&peace @Moonlight @Knight Rider
“I am going to kill you my son, after which I will kill your sister then your mother, then take my own life!” “No..!” screamed the little girl as she clung onto her brother. “Father put down your gun,” said the fourteen year old calmly. “I can’t my son. We all go together.” “Why dad?”
“Because our money is over, poverty is now a step away and we are heavily in debt. If only I commit suicide, then your mother and both of you will live worse than dogs the rest of your lives. If we go together, nobody can touch us.”
The fourteen year old boy, looked at his weeping mother and his trembling sister. He walked over to the window and pulled open the drapes. “Dad come over her, do you see that handcart puller over there?” “He struggles my son. Poor man.” “Our teacher told us that his hand cart doesn’t belong to him. His whole aim is to make enough money to feed his hungry family and also own the hand cart one day.” “Poor man.” “Brave man!” said the son. “Last week I saw him limping. He had got hurt pulling his cart. I think he went to the hospital and got his wounds attended to and next day he was back on the road, pulling his cat. Can you see his bandages dad?” “Yes son, I can,” said the father, “but why are you wasting time son?”
“Because I cannot see any bandages on you father. I see no wounds, no scars of battle, no scratches, no tears, no gashes..!” “There will be a hole soon on the side of my head, once I pull the trigger!” “Only the police will see it dad, and that too on a dead man.” “You want to see me broken, bruised and battered?” “Yes dad, and like that handcart puller, still pulling on and finally winning the battle of life!”
The fourteen year old, felt a stillness in the room as his father knelt beside him. He saw his mother do the same and he held his sister’s hand as her crying stopped. Outside a handcart puller smiled as he pulled his cart with bandaged leg. Inside a Father God put his hands round the little family, bandaged their wounds and gave them strength to fight again! “Son!” wept the father, “I pray for scars and wounds before I ever give up the fight of life again..!”
—Email: bobsbanter@gmail.com
http://pakobserver.net/scars-wounds-and-
suicide/
@GreenFalcon @Chauvinist @war&peace @Moonlight @Knight Rider
