The Blanket by Muskan Sharma
Tired of sleepless nights, I went in search for a blanket which would bring sweet sleep to my swollen eyes. The market was painted with the beautiful colours of the fluffy fabrics. Folded in rings, some hanging from projecting beams, some laid in dusty piles, others were unravelled for the customers, while my eyes glided to the brightest shop of the market.
It relieved me to see the radiance of the rugs because it is the infinite darkness of my shabby blanket that haunts my nights. The shopkeeper displayed exactly the blanket I wanted, the brightest, thinnest and yet the warmest.
Nothing but the cage of my own fears tricked me into buying that rug without even giving me a chance to demonstrate if it could shove away the evils I was afraid of. Inevitably the night came, and it left me to conquer the darkness.
As a routine, I switched on all the lights and used my brand new blanket to insulate my body from the cold. My brain exploded with fear and disappointment to encounter darkness again. Helpless and anxious, I began walking to and fro on my bedroom floor, pondering and in the quest for the reason of this engraved fear. The banal cycle of day and night, my daily routine, the people I meet, my workplace and every trifling transaction I make were all vividly displayed in front of my eyes.
We pretend to be tigers, free and wild in the jungle of life but are beaten and filthy, trapped in human viles. Polished faces and branded clothes are lavish veils to obscure guilt and remorse.
The next day, when I met people, I knew their fears. I could penetrate through the sparkle in their eyes and could see the filth beneath it. If this is how we live, then my fear was nothing but just another expense of life.
Now, I sleep in peace with my lights off, cuddling in my blanket, knowing that at least the darkness underneath it is much more honest than the darkness outside.
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