There was only one thing going through his mind. Pain.
Unending, torturous, ravaging pain. He had been hopeful till now of his life
and future, but now, everything seemed dark.
He was lying on the floor, the broken pieces of glass were small, but
big enough to tear through his black shirt and cut into his back, he had
dropped on the floor in distress, and the glass hadn't hit his back
immediately, no, it had cut in when he had risen off the floor and banged back
onto it, now blood was oozing onto the floor, making his back red and wet. His
hands flat on the floor, the back didn't pain anymore, to him it was quite
numb. He had loved his mother, now she was gone.
As if this wasn't enough, she didn't die a natural death,
she had been killed, by her brother. Her brother was a maniac, a psychopath, he
wasn't fit to be among the sane. He had been sent to a psychiatric ward for
rehabilitation. His mother, was the only one in his life he had. He had never
seen his father, he had left them when he was 5, to die, maybe, what sort of
person does that to a wife with a child, who had been trained to be housewife
all her life by her family, due to the orthodox values put into them by their
ancestors. She had brought him up single-handedly, no help from anyone in this
world, she vowed to herself that she would make her son an IAS officer, now she
was gone and he was alone.