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© Ananya Dubey


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In the midst of the modest looking room, Destiny sat with strings all around her. Some she pulled, some she tugged, others she cut off. The usual way that she controlled the world- her theatre. And the people, her puppets. She had almost loved it when Shakespeare had unknowingly described the world quoting that, “All the world’s a play, and men and women merely players.” But she felt that it would have been better, had he compared them to puppets- her puppets.

She looked down into her world. Something was new, not something but someone, rebel. She almost smirked at her. The other girl. It was a teenager. Aakhya sat in her house, looking at her mother who was making tea. Sad thoughts were encircling her mind. Destiny knew that all had not been well with her. ‘When will it all be over?’ ‘I’m sick and tired of this’

Her mother just looked on as she hung an old tune. Destiny liked peeping into their lives, even though, she literally knew everything about them. The girl was depressed, and she had known about it all along. But her mother was acutely unaware. And the girl wanted to change, changed what was fated, change what was meant to be.

She did not like people who meddled in her business- her world, but, somehow, this girl was different. She wasn’t like everyone else. She was different. There was an aura that emanated from her, easily missed by others but, astutely noticed by her. And she knew that the day was today- today that she’d have to end it. It was, after all, her last day on board. It was the last day, that this girl was supposed to play in her theatre.

She saw the girl who was going to her room. Where, she was supposed to be gulping down some pills. She held the strings and led her forward. Each movement timed properly. But she saw her resisting. She knew that there was a rebellious streak to her. She saw her arm not wanting to grip the bottle that would end her life forever. She saw her protesting against her own body- the body that wasn’t in her control.

And for the first time, Destiny gave up. She too was tired of sending and killing people. She too had all along wanted someone to stand up. The girl’s eyes were filled with tears as she looked up and cried, ‘Why?’

And for once destiny let go of her strings. For once, the puppet danced on its own tune, not caring about the puppeteer. For once, Destiny smiled a real smile, a smile that resembled the one on the girl’s face, a smile of a fighter who has survived.

Destiny thoughts mind puppets

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