Punishment and Crime

PUNISHMENT AND CRIME

"What is hell?, I maintain that it is the suffering of being unable to love" 

-Fyodor Dostoevsky

 

"What are you reading nowadays?" she asked. She was always interested in the sort of books I read. Although we were in the same department, we rarely bumped into each other. We knew each other from our school days, but we never shared a serious friendship together. Today was a kind of college festival in which we both didn't took part, so we came to this park just in front of the college. Every time we met, she always had this beautiful question to ask, "What are you reading, or what are you watching or what are you listening to?" I feel that the world would be a better place if we changed "Hello, how are you?" to "Hello, What are you reading ?"

"Dostoevsky," I replied.

"Come on, last year also you were reading Dostoevsky," she said in an extremely jarring way.

"Because I've been reading it for the third time. Do you have a problem with that?" i said

She looked straight at my face with zero expression as if she wanted to say, "Why are you like this?" The park was empty, only squirrels, birds, dogs, and two humans were there. The park was actually closed. In summers, they shut down the park in the afternoon. I've never understood the logic behind it.

We sat sideways on one of the benches under a mango tree. We both were silent for a minute, listening to the sound of a really different summer afternoon which was warm and cozy at the same time. She broke the silence by actually uttering, "Why are you like this?"

I answered without any sort of interruption, "Like what?"

"Like this, a very irrational, ambiguous sort of a person," she said.

"Why do you think I am ambiguous and irrational?" I was having my sunglasses on, proper black sunglasses. I always used to carry those sunglasses wherever I go.

"I mean, just look at you. A girl is trying to have a conversation with you, and you are in your dreams only," she said.

She was quite a decent girl, or I can say a woman. She had dimples on both cheeks. Her eyes resembled a cat. Also, she had a really seductive voice. Like every other decent woman, she also had a boyfriend, a big, giant muscular dude, the captain of the college volleyball team. I've always felt that the boy is not an ideal match for her, but I couldn't do anything until once I saw him abusing her near the library. I don't know what he was angry for, but abusing could not be tolerated. I felt this sudden urge to walk up to him and kick his ass, but I took the other way. I went into the chemistry lab, which was right behind the library, got out with hydrofluoric, and threw it on his backpack. Obviously, I was trying to throw the acid on him. I wanted to see him burn, I wanted to see him begging for relief, but I missed the shot. I always believed that the THE WORLD WOULD BE A BETTER PLACE WITHOUT SOME PEOPLE, and he was one of them.

"I am not in any dream," I looked at her. "I am just thinking about Raskolnikov."

"What is your obsession with Dostoevsky? I can never understand," she sighed as she said.

"What are you reading nowadays?" I asked randomly without expecting any answer.

"Murakami, South of the Border, West of the Sun," she said proudly as if she herself wrote that book.

I smirked at her response. I could never understand people who read melancholy literature and feel proud of that. It's the same as petting a snake while giving lecture on loyalty.

“What are you smiling at?” she said “do you ever have read murakami” I nodded saying no

“Then you don’t have any right to judge people who read him” she said this as it was a quote from one of murakami books

As I am looking at her cat like eyes, i got to know that she has this indefinable charm that Dostoevsky literature have, you are aware that it is depressing and remoreseful yet you find repeatedly drawn toward it 

“Why are you with him?” I asked, she turns to look at other mango tree

“Because he is not like you, he has a life, he thinks about his future and not about ruskolnikov all the time,” she said this in a really low tone, I again got this sudden urge to splash acid on him or stab a knife in his stomach, unfortunately I couldn’t do any of that, so I asked her

“Then why are you with me here”

She looks all over me like she is scanning an old copy of a document “because you are so very tangled up and i find interesting to be with someone who is complicated” she just contradicted herself so she is the real complicated and tangled up person not me

“i think he is cheating on me” she looked down while saying as if she is talking to herself, i once again got the urge to bash his head with a cricket bat and make the world a better place, she rest her hand on mine, i don’t have any feelings for her but the image of her with someone else makes me paranoid, i kept listening

"I wish he's not cheating on me," she said, her head still down.

"You can't just wish it away and be happy, it doesn't work that way," I replied.

"You're so destructively brilliant, you know that?" she said, looking at me with her eyes full of moisture. "I could never figure out why I fell in love with him in the first place."

"You think you're in love with him, but actually you're in love with the romantic concept of loving a sports captain," I said.

"Anyway, I should be going. They'll be expecting me to write for the magazine," she said, turning away. She took a jacket out of her bag and put it on, as she started moving away i saw a weird blemish on her neck

"What is that mark?" I asked or shout 

"What?" she replied, turning back to me.

"That mark on your neck," I said.

"Do I really have to tell you that? You can understand Dostoevsky but not a blemish on a woman's neck?" she giggled and put her jacket on.

I was quiet as she waved goodbye to me. I kept looking at the mark on her neck as she dissolved into the crowd. I went to the college's chemistry lab and took hydrofluoric acid from the rack.

The world would be a better place without HER