My father is breathing his last. 

He is the only support I’ve ever had in life. I lost my mother in infancy, and did not have any siblings. A relationship was initiated, but ended badly due to my insecurities. The girl found me too possessive and clinging.

I hold his hand, as his breathing gets laboured. He takes 2-3 minutes to inhale and exhale once.

“Let me call the doctor, Pop…”

He signals a No with his hand, and speaks in a feeble, broken voice.

“Your parents died in the terrorist blasts of 1994. I brought you up single-handedly after that.”

“Who were my parents?” I’m kind of numb, but my grip on his hand strengthens, proportionate to the urgency in my voice.

“I don’t know. I am the terrorist who planted the bomb. You clung to my trousers, wailing loudly, so I got you home, and never looked back at that life again.”

21 thoughts on “Confession

  1. This seemed so real that I was about to tell you that I was sorry for your loss of your father.
    My father died 10 years ago on the 28th of this month.
    ~cie from poetry of the netherworld~

    Liked by 1 person

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