I FEEL PITY

Creative Writing Short Stories

With the growing age, there are the symptoms of fragility which requires care and healing. So, I am a persistent patient who is now permanently shifted to hospital wards.

It was a regular day in hospital and I was expecting my morning meal. A ward boy barges in my room without a knock, picks up his stuff and moves out. I wonder that where are the basic etiquettes lost? This was the most unappealing mannerism that I had always avoided. But here it’s impossible. There’s no existence of privacy for the person who stays even in their specific private rooms.

I feel that I am a rock whose presence doesn’t matter. Yes, I have lived my life, but doesn’t my rest of life deserve peace and respect in terms of individuality? After laying myself to the hospital bed, it’s not justified that I can’t be live or think the way I wish to. I simply wish for some respect in terms of privacy, courtesy and basically as an individual.

Though I can’t voice up my feelings as prominently as you do, neither I can joke or loiter around but it doesn’t point out that I am not aware about your behaviour and frequency of voice towards me. The after-effects of aging aren’t my fault. I am aware that my bones are stiff and consequently achy. Henceforth, my body demands observation but it doesn’t mean that you can have all sorts of chit-chat about me. It’s something inevitable that God had bestowed on each person. Kindly, treat the people with aging traits as humans and not as mere objects who possess no emotions.

I was also a person who was full of life and perk, the way you people presently are. I had friends, I too partied, I had married and experienced the blossoms of love, I travelled and explored the mouth-astounding beauty, then worked for long hours for the survival of my family and then gradually had a decline in my health. I realize that I am no more a part of your category but this doesn’t points to that I have no more desire for the company of other individuals and shouldn’t be equally treated as other humans.

I can make sense that why am I the topic of discussion, whether in my presence or in my absence, because I make a mess on your bed and then expects it to be cleaned. I am also not able to walk and my hands are feeble to carry a weight of tiny spoon. So, I’ve to be completely dependent upon the nurses to feed me. I pity myself. I wish I had a way to communicate and express my feelings about how and what I feel. But sadly, neither I can speak up nor could I express. I can just feel miserable about my situation. I wish I can soon take a step forward towards Lord’s house as I neither want to be treated as an object nor want to feel pity myself.

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