The Miracle Man

I want you to think for one tiny second. Just think. Not about you or you’re entire history. Simply think.

Giving hope to someone is like giving a part of you’re soul to someone when they are in need of it. Like any sick person i went to the doctor. The usual flu symptoms and i needed that immediate cure, that psychological satisfaction from that doctor’s face of “poor sod, spent his money only for a small flu”; that doesn’t matter, the end result is i’m happy; isn’t that everyone’s reason for existence? Making themselves happy. Debatable.

Well back to the sick person, i get out of the clinic and walk myself to the ground floor and go towards the pharmacy. I give the prescription, “the sad sick i want to get out of here as soon as i can to beat the crossroad traffic” look to the guy who gives me the look of “he’s a sad sick chap expecting me to give him his medicines so that he could get out of here as soon as he could so that he would beat the crossroad traffic, yeah right”. So i’m waiting for 15 minutes and he’s got my medicines but he’s making the bill. Out of all the patients beside me who keep changing like the joints where i eat, i’m the one with the stuffy nose, feeling cold and miserable waiting for the bill to come, it feels like the parliament where bills have more amendments and debates even before their introduced. So he finally gets it, i’m holding out my card to pay the man. He gives me the eye blink confirmation of “wait a minute dude i’m checking if you got the right medicines otherwise its my head in the noose”, so i wait, i’m patient. He finishes his checking and attends to another customer and i’m like “what the fuck, i thought he was checking and he suddenly gets distracted”, still patient. He comes back and looks at the bill, i have my card pointing towards him, edging from the counter, screaming in my heart for the love i have for this caring distracted weasel “take my money you motherfucker take it! Just swipe the freaking card!”. He looks at me with this disheartening face as if he’s going to tell me that my wife’s not going to make it through the operation or that i have to choose between my child and my wife. He says its a cash bill and not a card bill, “you did say card right sir?”. “Off course i said “card” you jackass! you good for nothing can’t do jack piece of shit! “Yes i did say card” i told him, aah if only we could speak our minds and not make a mess of things; now where would we be then? He makes the card bill this time.

Next to me comes this old man, with this rusty old wooden cane and a lot of credentials in his breast pocket. Holding up a ten rupee note in the air. My weasel comes and tells him that he can’t buy the biscuits for ten bucks. Looks like the poor chap got denied twice. Now i felt like punching the weasel on his face. But its not like he’s running a charity show. I can’t believe i sided with the weasel, god!

The old man walks away, he makes my card bill, i swipe it, put the pin and walk away from that dreaded pharmacy. While heading towards the exit. Something snaps, i’m in not control of myself; i go to the counter buy the biscuit packet and search for this little old man. I want to give it to him, i cannot walk out of this building without giving him the packet. Couldn’t find him. i returned it, got my money back.

As i left, while riding i just pondered upon the fact that i could have bought it for him,maybe he would hesitate maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe i should have seen where he would have gone. A lot of maybe’s. Was it a test of some kind, maybe.

The End

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