They use me, even I have a "Use me" written all over me. And now here you're hearing my lamentations.
I have the privilege of reading the first love letters people write as they always come to me anyways. I have a pride for that.
But then, along with it, I get all what the humans considered not worthy anymore, but still I am scrounged by the people below poverty line. One man's worthless thing can be another man's priceless thing and a much cherished asset.
One fine day, I was going through the routine. In the morning four men came and cleaned me up only for me to get dirtier and filthier the next day. I thought it was just going to be another normal day.
But then, there were noises of five men running, four chasing and one being pursued, all four armed. All these were witnessed by another common man who sprang into action and made sincere efforts to stop the disaster.
When he had stopped and incapacitated three of them, it was too late before he could look for the fourth, for the damage had already been done. A knife was stabbed at the pursued on the left of his chest and his blood was spilled all over the road and also I bore a slight tinge of red on my face. The common man was making sincere efforts to pull the knife back from the boy’s chest and that’s when the wailing of the sirens were heard.
After that hustle-bustle was done with and everything returned back to normal, a rich brat threw that day's newspaper and it fell inside me. After giving a strong look of disapproval to the boy, which was not returned, of course, I gazed at the newspaper. A sheer and pulverizing pain seeped all over me when I read the headlines which said "Murder at Ayanavaram. Merciless and brutal killing of a total stranger by Ashok Menon for no apparent reasons" and besides it was the photo of the common man who tried to help save the boy from being killed.
When I read the whole news, I found out that there were no witnesses to confirm what Ashok Menon had claimed and that all the evidences were against him. He seemed to have claimed the truth, for which he wasn't given justice, for the pursuers disappeared the moment they had stabbed the knife on to the boy. There were many people who witnessed the scene. But I guess, they wouldn't go as they're so self-centered. They don't want to be in trouble making their entries into courts for their lives would be doomed, or so the chicken-brained people think.
Am I accepted as a witness? I know the whole story. I'm here lamenting for a good man branded bad. But who would want to listen to me? I'm just a garbage bin, living in a world of inhuman humans.
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