A Life Without Love

A Life Without Love By Bissme S


Is it possible everyone loves you and you love no one back?

My mother posed me this question when I was hardly 20. I was too stunned to reply her question. I just stared her, blankly and she did the same. Then, slowly, she gazed down on the table and start eating her dinner.
And I did the same. Throughout the dinner, there was an awkward silence between us. Our eyes were fixated on the food that was on our plates. We were afraid to look at each other’s eyes. Only, the sound of our spoons and forks hitting our plates can be heard.
Deep in my heart, I was glad she didn’t pursue the answer to her question … I was glad we didn’t have an intense discussion on this topic. I was afraid of the conclusion of our discussions. I was not ready to face the truth. Till the day she died, she never brought up this question again.
To a certain degree, I could felt my mother was afraid as I was. Like me, she was not ready to face the truth, too. She didn’t want to rock the boat. She preferred to let sleeping dogs lie. I shared her similar feelings.
Both of us knew the answers in our hearts but we were not brave enough to bring the answers from our hearts to our mouths. Perhaps, some questions are not to be answered.
But if truth to be told, my mother had mastered the art of getting everyone to love her and she love no one back. My mother had one of those charming personalities where she doesn’t have to do anything and people just loved her. What they failed to see is my mother feels nothing for them.
My mother never demanded to be loved. She was one of those individuals who could live a life without love. Some people have to walked miles and miles to find love. But with my mother, love came knocking at her door, easily and she can never appreciated this fact. I, truly, believed my mother was born handicap. But her handicap is the rare kind. She simply doesn’t have a heart to love.
She can’t even bring herself to love the man she called husband and the man I called father. She lost her husband at the young age of 30. When the police informed her about my father’s terrible a car accident, my mother had no emotion all. If anything I noticed there was a sigh of relief, as she does not have to pretend to be a caring wife anymore.
She was happier to be in a widow’s shoes. At my father’s funeral she stood there like a lifeless statue. Everyone at the funeral thought she too grief stricken to show any emotions. They pitted for her. They felt the God was unkind to make her a widow at the young age. They never stopped hugging her. They never stopped consoling her.
In reality she just can’t wait for the funeral service to be over. She was eager to go back to the comfort of her home and perhaps reading one of her favorite novels. She was wanted so desperately to go as far away as she can from the overly dramatic emotions that my father’s friends were showering at her husband’s funeral. If only his friends had known the truth, they would have probably spat my mother’s face, called her unkind names and dragged her out of my father’s funeral.
Even her own mother could feel she didn’t have a heart to love. On her dying bed, her mother said to me “ Please forgive your grandmother! I have raised a monster.” Looking back now I can never blamed her parents. My mother didn’t have a tragic childhood. If anything her childhood was a blissful one and a dream that every orphan looks forward too. Her parents never stopped showering my mother with love and more love
Perhaps God had just forgotten to put a functional heart in my mother. Therefore, she can’t bring herself to love anyone. I remembered years ago, asking her why she married my dad. I was expecting the usual answers – “It was love at first sight”… “He was handsome and had the kindest heart”… “He was so romantic and never stopped pursuing me.”
With my mother, you can never expect the usual answer. “Jason, I married your father so that I can know the meaning of love,” she said.
Sadly, marriage failed her miserably. My mother never learned to love my father even though he worshipped the ground she walked on. He never stopped loving her even though he knows she has a cold heart that can never love him back. He believed he can changed her.
He had high hopes that one day his wife will love him as much as her loved her. I believed, sometimes, my father had convinced himself that he was Rhett Butler from the movie Gone With The Wind who will in the end win the love of heartless and beautiful Scarlett O’Hara which was my mom. Of course my father will make sure his Gone With The Wind will have a happy ending. He will learn to forgive his Scarlett O’Hara and together they will walk into the sunset, holding each other’s hand and gazing at each other eyes, lovingly. But my father failed to understand life is not movies.
There are some people who simply don’t change. My father should have learned there are possibilities for leopards to change their spots but not my mother. Sometimes I felt my home was like an asylum where I had a father cannot accept reality, a mother cannot love any one and I was this lousy psychologist who cannot find cures for my parents. Of course my father died of broken heart and my mother never learned to love him till his last breath.
But my mother wanted to learn the meaning of love, so badly. She desperately wanted to be so normal. She wanted so badly to fit into the society where love is a normal expression. When she found marriage failed cure her handicap, she resorted to motherhood. She read somewhere mothers are angels in disguise and they have natural instincts to love their flesh and blood. And that was her reason to have me.
But like marriage, motherhood failed her miserably, too. She began to accept it was fated she is never meant to love anyone but herself. She began to believe not all mothers are angels in disguises… not all mothers are meant to love their children.
When I was young, I must confessed that I hard time accepting my mother didn’t love me. All children want their mothers to love them and I was no different. I did everything in my power to make her love me. I was hopping that I can change her…I could make her love me.
But unlike my father, over the years, l learned winning her love was an impossible task. There are possibilities for leopards to change their spots but not my mother. Perhaps my mother was right that not all mothers are meant to love their children.
When I was old enough, I made a point to accept a job where I will be far away from her. I wanted to give her freedom where she doesn’t have to be my mother anymore. Most mothers will be sad when their only child will be so far away from them. But my mother was different. I could see joy was dancing in her face. Finally she can be alone. A lot people are afraid to be alone. But she cherished the companion of loneliness than people. I can fully understand her motivation wanting to be alone.
When she was alone, she can truly be herself…she doesn’t have to conform to the society norm where love is supposed to be natural expression. She can lead a life without love, with some peace and without have any guilt. She was most comfortable when she was alone.
I only visited her during Christmas Holidays. I do not want to intrude her new life with loneliness. I could feel there certain amount of tension whenever I returned home. She can’t wait for the Christmas Holidays to be over, so she can be alone again.
When she was on her dying bed, I went to see her. I hoped she become a changed person and developed a heart to love. When you are near death, people become different… people become less heartless. But my mother never changed. She never talked about love. It is possible for leopards to change their spots but not my mother.
At her funeral, I promised that I would not cry for her. After all, she never loved me. But I never kept to my promise. Tears never stopped streaming down my eyes. She can’t bring herself to love me and I can’t bring myself to hate her. Not all children are meant to hate their mothers.

Ghost

Ghost By Bissme S

I tried to convince him that there is no such thing as ghost. But he refused to listen to anything I have said. He let fear destroyed his life. He let fear robbed his sanity.
“What we have done is a sin,” he said.
“She is going to punish us. God is going to punish us. We will be burned in hell.”
He was so afraid of sleeping. He would go any length to stay awake including taking all kinds of drugs and countless cups of coffee.
Whenever he slept, he would have terrible nightmares where she was chasing us and making our lives a living hell.
“I do not want to sleep any more,” he said.
“I want the nightmares to stop. I want her to stop haunting us.”
Of course it was impossible to stay awake forever. Each time he woke up from his sleep, he would shout his lungs out. He sounded as if he was a war prisoner that was being tortured, mercilessly.
Sometimes he would hit his head on the wall till it bleed, as a punishment for sleeping. I had no choice but to admit him in a mental asylum. I had high hopes the doctors will find a cure for his madness. But I was wrong.
In the mental asylum, his madness got worse and his fear reached to the highest peak. He lived in his own world and refused to speak to anyone except me. His doctors lost any hopes of curing him.
He spends his days and night drawing the woman that we had killed … the woman that was haunting him…the woman he claimed is making his life a living hell. His room was full of her portraits.
“I think God will forgive me,” he said to me, out of the blue.
Those lines were enough to bring smiles to my face. For once I had hopes that he would recover. But his next sentence was enough to tell me his madness will not end and fear has become his new companion.
“But I do not think she can ever forgive me,” he added.
“She is not that forgiving.”

****
A year after his arrival at the asylum, he ended his fear for once and all. He found a way to escape from the mental asylum. He ran towards a moving train, totally naked. He left a suicide note, addressed to me.

Dear Jennifer

Death is the only thing that could give me the peace I desperately want. Sometimes death is not bad thing. Death is ending of all misery.

From your loving
Jack.

Those were his last words. In some ways, he was right. His death was the ending of his misery. He was no longer a tortured soul any more. He can’t forgive himself for the murder we had committed.
I, other hand, was totally different.. Oddly enough it was him who first suggested of killing her.
“Life will be better for us if she was not in our lives any more,” he said to me.
I had reservation of killing her. But he can be very persuasive.
“Do you want to spend the rest of your life looking after her,” he said.
“We are young. We are supposed to enjoy life. Not to be trapped in this house and looking after her. Sometimes death is not a bad thing. Death is ending of all misery. Her death will be the end of her misery … and ours too.”
Like him, I was tired of looking after her. The first time she broke the news of her illness, he was shocked. So was I. We have never seen her sick in all our lives.
All of us had tears in our eyes and we hugged each other tightly. We promised her that we look after her till her last breath and, we will be compassionate, caring and loving to her.
She believed every word we told her. But we never kept to our promise. We never expected looking after a sick woman could be a real burden.
We underestimated her illness and overestimated our capabilities. Just waiting to see her doctors can be a tiring affair and can really test your patient.
Constantly, dealing with her vomiting, her wetting her bed and her wailing in pain was enough to drive us crazy. Managing a full time job and looking after a sick person can be tremendously stressful. And when the stress was too much for us to bear, he came up with the plan of killing her and dragged me into this diabolical plan.
Both of us put our head together and came up with a perfect plan. We pushed her out from our apartment’s window. Naturally the police arrived at the scene. The police ruled out murder. The police came to a conclusion that she had jumped out from the window at her own will.
After all, her suicide letter was lying on the table. Her suicide note was simple and said:

My dear children,

I am in so much pain. I have stayed alive just for you. Please do not cry over my death. Sometimes death is not a bad thing. Death is ending of all misery.

From your loving mom
Jacqueline.

Of course my mother never wrote the suicide note. It was my brother who did it. The moment my mother’s funeral was over, my brother madness began.
His guilt haunted him. He was convinced our mother has returned from her grave to punish us for being the ungrateful children. It was guilt that drove him to his death.
As for me I have not seen my mother’s ghost. I never had nightmares where she was making our lives miserable.
My conscious didn’t bother me at all. I have convinced myself that killing her was a necessary. My mother was in pain all the time and we just ended her misery.
Of course it was a different story with my brother. I keep seeing him everywhere. He keeps begging me to end his misery.
I have no peace. I am anxious and nervous all the time. My friends tried to convince me that there is no such thing as a ghost…..

He & She

He &She By Bissme S

He told her, a secret of his that was buried in his heart for ages. She was shocked. She was speechless. She went into her room and cried her hearts out. She refused to discuss the matter any further.
But a few hours later, she was standing in front of him, looking calm and composed. The first thing she did was to hug him. Both of them had tears in their eyes. Wiping away his tears, she said to him: “Do not worry, I will find a cure for you. Once you are cured, God will forgive your sins. God is very forgiving.”
He did not protest. Like always, he let her run his life. She wanted him to change. She wanted him to be a better man. She sought the church’s help. He was send to a religious rehabilitation program where he can repent his sin and finally walked the road the Jesus wanted him to walk.
Every day of the 100 days in the rehabilitation program he was subjected to lectures where a world of hell awaits for sinners like him. The only way out was to repent and never to repeat his sins again. He felt like he was in a torture chamber. Fear dance in his bones each time the lecture was over.
He had nightmares where the fire of hell was burning him, alive. He was shouting in terrible pain and nobody shown mercy, not even God. He learned the hard way that God may not be as forgiving as she had painted him to be. God can be a merciless punisher.

***
When he returned home, he lied. He pretended that he was cured. He had embraced God and all his teaching with an open heart. He was a better man.
He didn’t want to go back to the rehabilitation program at any cost. He was tired of listening to sermons about hell and punishment. He just wanted the nightmares to stop.
She believed every word he said. No question asked. She really believed God has saved him and showed him the right path. Sometimes lies are easier to believe than the truth.
In front of her, he learn to wear a mask of lies Sometimes he asked himself If God wanted him to be straight why did God make him have this feelings. He never found the answers. Perhaps some questions are never meant to have answers.
He had more room to breath when he got a job in a city where there is less discrimination against people like him. Slowly he learned to throw his mask away. He learned to love himself more. He felt like a slave who finally gets to enjoy his freedom.
But whenever he goes back to his hometown to see her, the mask of lies will be on his face again. He will enter in a world where he will be a stranger to himself. She suspects nothing. Out of blue, came a day, he was tired of living a life of lies. It was a time to end the charade. He felt the time has come for her to know the truth and learned to accept him for what he is.
But the truth didn’t go well with her. She was furious. She wanted to send him to the rehabilitation program again where he will repent, reform and be a better man. Boldly he refused her request. She threw him out of the house.
“Do not come back till you have repented,” she said.
He really believed he would never see her again. But he was wrong. Six months later, on his birthday, she was standing at his front door. He was speechless. She wanted to mend their broken relationship. She wanted to be his mother again.
She even brought some of her famous porridge that he likes as a peace offering. It didn’t take him long to hug her and welcomed her into his apartment. All was forgiven and forgotten.
Only after eating the porridge he had realized that he had invited his own death instead of the woman he called his mother. The porridge was poison. She came to his house with only one aim… the aim of killing him.
She has given him time to change but he did not change. So she took matters in her hand. By raising a gay son, she felt she had sin. From what she understood, there is no heaven for sinners like her.
She wanted forgiveness. She wanted redemption. She wanted heaven. By killing him was her way of getting forgiveness from God …was her way getting redemption…was her way getting a place in heaven
After he had taken his last breath, she left his apartment and took bus to her house at their hometown. There was no remorse. There was no sadness. There were no tears. She had convinced herself that she did not kill her son but a devil in disguise.

Dirty Desire

Dirty Desire By Bissme S



I wanted a man to fall madly in love with me and then, I will betray him in the worst possible manner. This desire has been playing in my mind since I was young. I cannot give any rational reasons for this desire.
But I am sure that many psychologists would jump to conclusion that a man had betrayed me and now I have become a heartless monster who wants revenge at any price, and my revenge is I want to betray an innocent man. The psychologists would scream that what is happening is a vicious cycle.
But believe me, I was not betrayed. And no unspeakable tragedies have taken place in my life that turned me into a heartless monster. If any thing I had a wonderful life. I cannot ask for a better life.
The problem with many psychologists is that they like to give justification to every dirty desire the human race has. But sometimes a desire is just a desire and there is not justification for some desires, and life is not just about vicious cycle.
For many years I have suppressed this desire of mine. I have tried to be a normal human being with normal desires. But I was miserable. Outside I was smiling but inside I was a restless tortured soul. Silently, I was screaming in pain. Slowly, I was losing my mind. Desperately I want my misery to end. Desperately I want my pain to end. Desperately I want my sanity back.
I learned the only way I can be happy and have some peace of mind if my desire becomes a reality. My desire cannot be suppressed, any more. My desire must be fulfilled at any price.

*****
The first thing I did was to sell off everything I owned and move to a smaller town where no one recognized me. I lied everything about me from my name to my hair colour.
I pretended to be a copywriter, attached to a well-known advertising agency. I was tired of the city and was looking for a quiet life, far from madding crowd.
My neighbours did not suspect anything suspicious. It didn’t take me long to win their hearts. I have the kind of face that people will trust and love easily. Now come the hardest part. I had to pick a man whose heart I would break …whose trust I would betray.
After many month of searching, I found my perfect victim. His name is David Smith and he is a widower with four teenage daughters. His wife died in a terrible car accident. It was my close neighbour Mrs Jenkinson, who pointed him out while we were shopping.
Mrs Jenkinson told me the story of his life and the story of everyone who stays in this town. She is a walking encyclopedia of this town. She knows everything that takes place here
David has been a widower for five years. He and his late wife Carole was a perfect couple. They loved each other deeply. David believed no one could take Carole’s place in his heart. Of course I was determined to change that. I was determined to prove him wrong. I was determined to make him love me.
I learned that every Saturday, David and his four children would visit the library. The love for reading is one habit that father and daughters shared in common. So I got a job as a librarian. I wanted our first meeting to be spontaneous. The first time we talked, I complimented him on his beautiful and well- behaved daughters. The compliment was enough to win any father’s heart.
On their subsequent visits to the library, David and I began talking more and more .It didn’t take him long to ask me out for a date. Slowly David was falling in love with me. I didn’t only win David’s heart but also the heart of his four teenage daughters. His children were jumping with joy when I agreed to marry David.
I really believed love can make a fool out of you and David was the perfect example. He really believed ours would be a love story with a happy ending. But I was determined that our love story can have everything except a happy ending.

*****
Six months after our marriage I decided to put my plan into action. It was time for my desire to become a reality. David’s happiness was at the highest point and this was the best time to betray him.
Besides, I was getting a little too tired playing the perfect wife, the perfect mother and the perfect lover, and staying in this small town. I desperately wanted a change of scenery.
It was time for me to throw away my disguises and be what I am, a betrayer. Some people are just born to be a betrayer.
David was looking for a second chance at happiness, love and marriage. But all he would get is misery.

*****
It was like any ordinary day in our household. David left for his work. Like always I would drive his daughters to their schools. We got into the car but we didn’t head to their schools.
Instead I took them to the airport. We entered a plane that took us far away from where we came from. Surprisingly, his daughters didn’t show any signs of fears. If anything they were excited about the trip that we were taking. Children are easily pleased and are less suspicious.
I can understand their excitement. It is their first time to be inside a plane. It is their first time to be so far away from their hometown. I had convinced them that their father would be meeting us as soon as we booked into our hotel rooms.
His daughters didn’t suspect that I had an ulterior motive. Once we arrived at our destination, I took his daughters to a brothel that specialized in child prostitution.
I left them there to suffer. My hand was full of cash. They have paid me for bringing his children there. As I walked away from the brothel, I was pleased with myself. A big smile formed on my face.
I can imagine the scenario that is taking place in David’s house right now. He would reach home and he would be extremely worried when he cannot find us anywhere. Police would be called. Missing report would be made.
A few hours later, the police would tell him the terrible truth – that everything I have told him was a lie including my name being Patricia Cook. He would felt betrayed.
Indeed my desire had become a reality. I had betrayed a man who loved me with all his heart. I was no longer a tortured soul. Tonight, I can finally sleep, peacefully.


*****
Footnote: Five years has gone by, there is still no news on David’s daughters. The police have given up any hope that David will see his daughters again. But not David .
He told to a reporter with The Sun newspaper: “I believe God is great. God will listen to my prayers and return my daughters into my arms some day. God will not rob me of my children. God is not that cruel. God is not that heartless. God is great.”

The Unfaithful Wife

The Unfaithful Wife By Bissme S

I have been married for the past seven years. And in all those years I have not been faithful to my husband. I had slept with countless dashing man that had shown any slight interest in me and the worst thing is, I feel no guilt. If anything, I am proud of my affairs. I regard them as an achievement, as an accomplishment - some kind of trophies that I won.
Being born beautiful, I was never lacking with admirers. When you are beautiful, it doesn't take much to seduce men into your bed. Men are so easily seduced and I am simply baffled on why they are known as the stronger sex.
"Jhanvi, your beauty is so breath taking - it is like watching a peacock spreading it beautiful feathers."
That was what one of my many admirers said. He was a poet and naturally, he was more creative in his words in describing my beauty compared to my other admirers. Of course his aim is no different from my other admirers - his hands touching every part of my beautiful naked body.
Interestingly, I have no fear of my husband catching me with my skirt down. I am confident that my husband will not throw me out; he will never divorce me. He can't live without me. He needs me more that I need him.
Initially I went to single bars, waiting for men to pick me up. Then internet enters the picture, and things became easy. I found one of those websites where people are looking for purely sex and no strings attached. I learned that most men are like dogs - they will never refuse a bitch in a heat. The men I choose are rather rugged looking, manly, sexy and most of all can be trusted to keep a secret.
I bought a luxury condominium and I turned it into a love nest... where I will take my lovers for passionate and lustful lovemaking sessions. Most of my lovers loved the way I decorate the apartment - with mirrors almost every corner of the house including my bathrooms.
"I am vain and I loved to look at myself." I justified my decoration taste, wittily.
Besides the mirrors help to spice up the sex acts and that keep the men happy. Of course I have my own manipulative reasons for the countless mirrors around my condominium. Behind every mirror there is a camera that records all my lovemaking sessions. Of course my lovers are ignorant of this fact.
Oddly enough, I have never seen any of these visuals. Pornography has never been my cup of tea. It baffles me that men find pornography so fascinating. With my husband, it is a totally different story. My husband is always eager to see what the camera has captured.
In fact my husband is the one who coaxed me to be unfaithful.... to satisfy his lust. He gets a big turn on when he sees strangers making love to me. The only time he will touch me is after a stranger has made love to me. He wants to smell other men's lust on me. I loved my husband too much to disappoint him... to break his heart.... to turn down his request. For my husband's sake, I became the unfaithful wife

To Be His Lover

TO BE HIS LOVER By Bissme S
It was said that we can never be lovers. But I was determined to change this. I was obsessed to be his lover. I really believed I was destined to love him and no one else.
I have tried to love other men, but all the relationships failed to work out. The more I dissected my failed relationships, the clearer the picture became - at any circumstances and at any price, I had to be his lover. There was no two ways about it.
As long as I was not his lover, I would never find any peace. Sadness will always hang over my life like dark clouds. I am tired of dark clouds. I yearn for a rainbow. Only he can give me the rainbow that I want so desperately.
There are many nights when I cry myself to sleep, knowing the fact that we can never share a bed together. I am tired of crying. I want so badly to be happy. Only he can give me the happiness I search for.
Interestingly, I barely recall our first meeting. But as I got older, I developed an insane fascination for him. At first, I thought it was just a crush. With time, I thought it will melt away and I will find someone nearer to my age.
But I never got over him. As the years passed by, the fascination for him just grew. He had loved me. That I cannot deny. But he never loved me like a lover... like Romeo would love his Juliet.
I wanted him to love me as passionately and intensely as he had loved his dead wife. I wanted him to take me in his arms and utter sweet loving words into my ears.
I never met his wife. I had only seen at her photos. She died when I was born. At certain angles, I do resemble her. But still he didn't love me the way he had loved her.
Sometimes I can't help feeling jealous of his late wife. Her fingers had gone through all his intimate places. She had felt his warmth, tasted his lust and carried his child. I wanted badly to be in her shoes.But then, if his wife were alive, most likely, there would be some detachment between him and me. Perhaps I would not feel for him the way I do now. I believe I would have been more concerned about her feelings.
With my old face and given name, there is no way he would take me as his lover. So I changed everything about me; my face, my name and myself. I adopted a total different identity.
I still remember what the plastic surgeon told me when I wanted him to alter every single feature on my face.
"I never had a beautiful woman walk into my office and ask me to change her entire face," said the surgeon.
The surgeon did a perfect job. I barely recognized myself when I looked into the mirror. I felt like a stranger was staring back.Prior to my surgery, I staged my own death. To the world, I died when my car skidded
and plunged into the river. My body was never found.
A year after my "presumed" funeral, I returned to my hometown with a new name and a new face. From Phallavi, I became Pooja. No one recognized me, not even him.They all believed me when I said I was a copywriter attached to a well-known advertising agency, who was tired of the city and looking for a quiet life, far from the madding crowd.
I expressed a keen interest to learn piano. Naturally I was introduced to him. He was a well- known pianist.I pretended to know nothing about an instrument that I had played since I was five years old. Ironically, he was my piano tutor then. The piano lessons were just a charade to be reintroduced to him and slowly win his heart. I knew him so well; the right subjects to be bring up during our conversation.
We got along famously. We laughed a lot. I knew exactly the right things to say to make him laugh.Soon enough, love was blossoming between us. A dream came true for me. For once, I had his love the way I dreamt of.
Initially he was not comfortable with the difference in our age. I was 25 while he was 50. It took sometime to convince him that love breaks through barriers of race, religion and age.
In less than two years since we met, he proposed and I accepted with joy. Finally I was becoming more than his lover. I was becoming his wife.

******
This year marks four years we have been together as husband and wife. Truly, it had been the happiest years of my life. Finally happiness has entered my life and sadness has disappeared into the thin air.
He is still in the dark about my true identity. He has no clue that we have met long before our first piano lessons. He really believes that fate had brought us together.
But in reality, I had manipulated my way into his heart. It was a manipulation at the highest degree.I hope he never finds out the truth. He will have a hard time digesting the facts. He will have regrets over what transpired between us.
Like many, he would regard what we had done was not right. As for me, I am not bothered about what is right and what is wrong. I have no regrets at all. I was tired of living a life of misery. I was tired at not getting what my heart desired. I was tired of living by the law that was written centuries ago.
So I did what my heart craved for without bothering about the consequences. When the time comes, I will be ready to face God's wrath, his punishment and his hell.
Looking back now, I feel it was not entirely my fault. I never asked to be born as his daughter. More than his daughter, I wanted to be his lover.