Schrodinger stipulated the cat theory to explain uncertainty. Mayans did the whole world’s going to end thing because everything that is born must die. The old lad on the corner of the street shared his theory about how all pet dogs are increasing and are in almost every house as a part of a master plan to turn the furry barking balls against us to end humanity eventually. Everyone has theories. More than often reality is boring, monotonous and just not as exciting as info media feeds our brain to expect it to be and like we always mould things for our benefit, we come up theories. Conspiracy theories, anthropological theories, random hysterical theories , scientific theories and the like .
Even I had one.
My theory was that , if I think of a scenario or a possibility , the chances of it happening in real life substantially decrease. Maybe I came up with this because I never met my expectations in life . Or I never really got what I wanted.
I was pretty convinced this was legit.
I constantly played a game in my head, if something was to happen, be it a huge birthday party or a date or exam results, I used to think of the worst outcomes and convince myself that now that I had imagined of the worst , only better was to come.
I did this with him too.
I knew about all the skeletons in his closet – all his shady shenanigans .
I imagined the worst kind of man he could be, the worst things he could do , hoping they would never manifest into reality.
Every morning when I used to watch him drink water with breakfast I hoped he gulped in 3 parts poison with 2 parts hydrogen and 1 part oxygen .
I never felt guilty about all those thoughts .
Maybe because I’d grown to hate him.
Maybe because he was a sick man.
Maybe because I was tired of the constant threat he posed on me.
I always knew his testosterone ignited a need for a sense of domination, superiority in him. And I had seen virtual proof of him doing unimaginable things to girls .
I still heard their voices in my head whenever I stayed up for longer than I should have.
‘ what are you doing ‘ all of them frantically asked , as if customary, followed by a scream- or a cry.
It was like his sins haunted me every night. I didn’t know how he lived with himself.
What I can’t forget is that one afternoon.
‘ be a good girl and pour me some ‘ he said , looking at the half bottle of antiquity.
I always did what he asked me to, everyone in the house did too.
‘ where is everyone else ‘ he managed to slur with a breath reeking of spirit .
‘ gone out for the day ‘ I said as I got some ice for him.
He generally didn’t drink before it was dark outside , but Sundays are special , aren’t they.
He put his glass down on the table , slamming it down so hard it woke the dog up.
Walking towards me – whatever walking his hind limbs could manage at that moment – he looked right into my eyes, which were always wet and brimmingly teary, I looked back into his only to have death stare back at me. His face showed lust and slur and need but his eyes – nothing. I kept staring until he was close enough for me to only see the black of his iris. He grabbed the corner of my Tshirt which I knew was to rip it apart , I also knew resisting was pointless. As he worked his dirty hands upwards disgust choked me and I let out a scream ” STOP IT , DAD , STOP IT ”
My words were unheard and my body crippled.
He did worse things than the worst I’d imagined him to do .
My theory failed on him.