Madhu Smriti is a 16 years old high school student from Patna, India. She was in middle school when she started being praised by her teachers for the essays she wrote and then developed a passion for writing.
Latest posts by Madhu Smriti (see all)
- I Am Stuck: A Poem By Madhu Smriti - 14/01/2018
- Is This What They Call Love? A Short Story By Madhu Smriti. - 05/10/2017
- Words and Actions: A Poem by Madhu Smriti - 21/07/2017
Is This What They Call Love? A Short Story By Madhu Smriti.
(Happens at Most Unthinkable Time and Situation)
A Madhu Smriti Creation on Love
It was just like other winter days. I was sitting in my classroom.
My physics teacher was saying “A bullet having mass M leaves the rifle with velocity V..”.
“Everyone, hands up and don’t try to move” interrupted a man entering our classroom loaded with rifles having bullets of mass M able to hit us with velocity V.
It took us some time to understand that we were surrounded by terrorists. They wanted one of their members to be released from jail. Capturing high school was a good idea for this purpose.
The whole school was made to gather in the auditorium. Five people with the help of some dangerous tools were enough to control and fear about thousand people there.
“It seems like you don’t love students of…” one of the terrorists was shouting on phone. His voice was cut by a gunshot. The next moment he lied on the floor. There stood a young army man. He was accompanied by one more army man.
They were so quick to shoot all the terrorists without any of us being harmed. All the students rushed toward the door. The two were ensuring that they exited safely.
Meanwhile, I still sat there numb.
The time I connected myself to the surrounding, I saw one of the terrorists alive, half lying and half sitting. He was about to shoot the back of the army man (who entered first).
I ran and picked a gun from the floor. One, two, three and more, I emptied the revolver into his body.
Wait! Did I just kill someone? Am I murder? He was a terrorist but I was not.
I sat on the ground with a thump, crying as loud as I can. The army man came near me and wiped my face, my hands and my neck with his handkerchief. I guess it was blood stains.
I turned my face towards his, my eyes still teary. He took off my blazer and puts his jacket on me. I start weeping even louder and hug him. He started rubbing my back and my head. He kissed my forehead.
As he tried to console me, It appeared like he understood everything going inside me. “Bring her out, her parents must be waiting,” says the another military guy. Most probably everyone was already out. I was still in his arms.
I don’t know why but it felt the safest place in the world just like my dad’s arms.
The guy not more than 6 years older than me felt equal caring and protective as my father. My gaze was at his face.
“Beta, are you alright?” I hear. I was outside my campus and mom was there. He put me down and started moving. My eyes still on him.
He saved us. Maybe that was his duty but consoling me? A stranger helped me to be over from the guilt of a murder without even saying a single word.
I was not much in condition to sense anything but I didn’t want him to go. I wanted him to stay with me until the end of the earth. Is this what they call love?
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