I’ve heard that he’s now a madman with a theological bend; a disenchanted, raging lunatic who incessantly posts confessionals on Facebook. His black and white, borderline obsession with God crippled him, and now, he’s unstable, and clamors for a like just like a beggar harassing some passerby for change. And once one of his statuses gets one, he deletes his account, only to return months later.

His statuses are dark and twisted (or so I’ve heard). He’s apparently so far gone that even if God stretched some cherubic arm to wrench him out of the pit of depravity he’s stuck in, He wouldn’t succeed. It must be those shady pills he was on in college. Antispasmodics and antihistamines. Trust me, that shit screws you up! It baptizes you in some murky river of self-loathing, and soon, you lose all optimistic shades of consciousness. You become cryptic and self-indulgent; given to introspection about introspection; talking with a slur and eating with a drool.

He messaged me yesterday; said, “Hey man. I haven’t seen you since school. Let’s catch up.” Apprehension passed through me like a dagger making its way slowly up the intestines, rib-cage, and throat. Painful fucking fear. It’s only natural, isn’t it? The guy’s bloody Bipolar or something. He might just stab me in a fit of mania. I’ve heard stories of these loons picking up guns and thinking God’s appointed them to kill people. Crazy, deranged shit.

So, I did the right thing that any perfectly functioning, normal man would do and didn’t respond. I still wonder how he got my number though. Technology is frightening in this postmodern world, which is why, I’m not on Facebook. But I wrestle with my need for Instagram. I have a thousand followers there. I just can’t let go of them, can I?

© Nitin Lalit Murali (2020)

Photo by Jeremy Beadle on Unsplash

 

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