Two days back in class, I started to work on my story a bit. The class was thoroughly dull and I had promised myself that if I don’t pay attention in class or bunk; I will do something equally good in its place. Hence, I started to write. And then I came upon a point where I had to decide where my character dies. So, I did what I always do. I thought about the age when I would want to die. And this is where I got stuck. Damn. How is anyone supposed to know what time will be the right time to go away? Apart from people who take their own lives, others have no idea whatsoever. This is the worst kind of exam ever! And you can’t even prepare for it. And I hate being so stuck. Not so much about me dying but about my character. Yes, I love my story, thank you very much.
And then I thought, sadist that I am, that I will make my character indispensible to the people who love him/her/it before he/she/it goes. That way, it somehow becomes more tragic. But I am I making fun of death this way? Am I taking this fact very loosely, little realizing the magnitude of the situation? I don’t know. I am so confused. And now I am sad too. Damn it!