The task was to run for three hours and it took me six hours to complete. I completed the task and lay there on the ground. The lemon I carried was squeezed dry. The glucose bottle was rolling around somewhere and my towel that was supposed to wipe my sweat was dripping sweat like a leaking faucet.

I had vomited, cried, screamed, and scared many people during my time at the tracks. The girl who had helped me up even tried to stop me twice before giving up. She soon completed her run and left the site. I didn’t see her afterward. I learned that even goodwill had its limits. I stayed at the tracks for another half an hour, which I passed motionlessly sprawled on the ground. When I got up to walk my legs shook as if I had seen a ghost. Or like a nervous boy confessing to his crush. Or like a tong. A little faster and I could have resonated with the earth and caused an earthquake.

I somehow got to the parking lot and thanked myself for bringing the bike. Not because I could drive it home. I was right about that. And about using it as a crutch to lean on, on my way back. There were times I stumbled and fell on the road, causing the passersby to stare at me. A few even told me to drink less next time. An older woman even pointed her greasy fingers at me and pointed out that the police should lock up day drinkers like me who disturb society. I just found it funny.

I wanted to stand up to her and fight back. Tell that bitch to shut up and be humble. If only I had any strength left in my body.

This was not a joke or an excuse.

I could barely walk. I didn’t even know if I was gonna get home. There were times when the world turned black and grey to my eyes. Thankfully, I didn’t faint. I was on the highway and could have caused an accident or two.

Some energy arose from the uncharted depths of my soul when I saw my home. I pushed through the last few steps of the way, parked the bike by the gate, and went inside. I don’t remember the rest.

I woke up to the familiar smell of home of something freshly cooked, incense smoke and spices. Underneath all of that was the faint odor of the countless roses blooming in our garden. I woke on a folding bed in the front yard. The sky was above my head, floating clouds distant and dreamy. I was still in the same clothes. Once soaking wet, they had dried up and created quite a stink. Even mosquitoes didn’t dare come near me.

I got from the bed groaning and moaning, my head groggy and legs like wet noodles, and staggered my way toward the bathroom. Unaware that I wasn’t wearing any footwear.

I met my mother on the way. She looked at me with concern. I opened my mouth to explain but only a groan escaped. My throat hurt. It was drier than the Thar desert. My rumbling stomach saved me from whatever was coming. Because my mother just sighed and told me to wash up and come inside for lunch.

Only then did I remember that she was mad at me? At least something good came out of me going out of home and coming back looking half-dead. She was probably still mad at me, but it was a start. I believed a few more days of washing dishes and cleaning the floor would fill the crack between us.

Maybe I can give her a foot massage. That will definitely curb her anger like nothing else. I thought.

It was almost three o'clock when I came inside the house after washing up. I saw the clothes sprawled in the lobby and knew that Abhey was back from school. I felt somewhat different, to be honest. A difference that was hard to explain. I was calm, and more down to earth. There were very little to no thoughts passing through my mind. My mind was a deep dark ocean full of self-defeating thoughts. It had never been so calm. The silence was scary.

I looked for a sense of familiarity in my surroundings, and I found it in the whistling sound of the pressure cooker. It was loud and barbaric, insensitive and penetrating. And it reminded me of all the good times. Then I saw my mother coming to pick up the clothes and hurried to help her.

“I’ll do it,” I told her which earned me a stare. So I added a please at the end to appease her. That seemed to have worked because she stood back and went back into the kitchen.

I finished cleaning, turned back, and saw Abhey leaning against the door.

“Are you trying to butter her up?” He said while I was passing him. I ignored him and he didn’t bother me again.

I went to the kitchen next and served myself a plate of mashed brinjal, some red kidney beans, and curd. I also filled a plate for Abhey so my mother wouldn’t have to. My hands shook while I poured the curd and the container almost slipped from my hands. Thankfully I caught it just in time otherwise all my work would have gone down the drain along with the curd.

Then the next second I misjudged the distance between me and the kitchen counter and the container ended up on the floor anyway. I screamed inside. Outside I stood stunned with my hand stretched and trembling. I looked over and saw my mother’s face warp into something hideous and frightening. Obviously, she got angry.

“What did you do? Can’t even do one job properly! I don’t know what he’s thinking all day. I shouldn’t have let you help! It’s all my mistake.” She finished yelling and picked up the floor wiper to clean up my mess.

“I’ll do it ma. Don’t do it.” I said with a shaking voice. I really felt bad about this. She was right. I was a mess.

“Go away!” She pushed me when I tried to take the wiper from her. That was when I knew I had reached the limit of her patience and it would be better for me to leave her alone.

Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

I went out only to remember I forgot to pick up my plate. I entered the kitchen under the scrutinizing glare of my mother, took all the chapattis from the container along with my plate, and ran out of the kitchen with my mother screaming behind me. I knew I was guilty and everything; I was also very hungry. With the Furnace improving my digestion, it was gonna be even more difficult to curb my hunger.

Now I had another problem on my head. One was diabetes and the other was fat. My mother was very generous in her use of oils in the food. With my increasing diet, my calorie intake had increased but so had my fat intake. A day or two of binge eating might not show any difference. Over a long time, I was gonna turn from a healthy boy to an overweight ball with a sagging chin and short stubby legs. The image made me fearful.

Fat also burns slowly. It was more a source of survival than everyday energy generation.

Now I also needed to find a way to solve my upcoming fat issues. I also needed another source of energy and a way to make money. My family didn’t have the financial conditions for my 10K calorie diet. The list was getting longer and so were my troubles.

Perhaps I can move to higher-energy foods. I thought while eating. It shouldn’t come as a surprise that I had lunch in my bedroom. Enlightened by the idea, I picked up my phone and started browsing with one hand while showing food in my mouth with the other.

Took me a while but I finally had some sources of extra cheap and high-quality energy. Butter was the runner up and potato was the winner. The richest source of carbohydrates and starch, who knew one hundred grams of potatoes could provide 75 calories or 319 kJ of energy? Yes, pure saturated fat could provide more energy at 83 cal/ 100 grams and was also cheaper compared to potatoes. But who can eat ten kilos of butter every day? That was not humanly possible without clogging all arteries and blocking all the other vessels in the body. One was a source of fat and the other of glucose.

Potatoes only won because they were cheap and easy to prepare. In terms of pure calories, a chapatti provided double the amount compared to a potato. A chapatti is not only rich in carbohydrates; it also contains proteins and fibers. A 100-gram chapatti can prove 136 calories. 100 grams of potatoes give 73 calories. Cost-wise, a 10 kg bag of wheat costs 300, while the same weight of potatoes would only cost me half the price.

Besides baking chapatti was not an easy task for the inexperienced. Perhaps if one day I got a skill that would make it easier for me to learn tasks I would involve chapatti in my favored future food. Until then, my attention would be solely on boiled potatoes. Though it was not going to be an easy task to eat let alone digest ten thousand calories every day.

Some energy was back in my bones, I didn’t want to waste any more time and pulled up my mathematics book to study. I didn’t turn on photographic memory or my super brain. I first went through two chapters and wrote down all the formulas on a page before memorizing them with photographic memory. So I will never forget them. Understanding the logic had never been a problem for me; I just always forget the formulae. That problem was rectified, and I started solving the math problems. Taking my time with them if I had to.

I studied like a normal person for three hours and only stopped when my father returned home from work. He was late today, something to do with a flood in a neighboring city. He worked in the canal division of the irrigation department. It was a well-paying government job. At least we always had food on our table. Everyone said government employees were lazy, but I had only seen my father stressed with work all day. As if, he was doing the work of all the staff. He’d just returned and he was already on the phone with someone, telling them how to do their job.

The call ended but not the murmurs. I heard the anguished voice of my mother talking to my father. Sometimes their tempers rose during the conversation. It took a while for the house to grow calm again. Half an hour later my dad came to my room. He had changed into comfier clothes and held a glass of steaming tea in his hand. He coughed to get my attention and I was surprised to see him standing at my doorstep as he probably was seeing me studying.

“Dad,” I said with some uncertainty. With a faint, worry whirling in my stomach.

“You are studying.” He stated.

I could guess his thoughts when he asked for my notebook. I complied and he looked through it slowly before returning it to me.

“You have a test or?”

“No, just practicing,”

“Oh,” He uttered in jubilation.

“You wanted something, dad?”

“There was something,”

“Want me to go to market? I was closing up anyways.” I said heaving to the side of the bed to get up.

My father lightly grabbed my shoulder and told me to sit down. Then he sat on the side of the bed and asked me with some hesitation, “Is there something wrong, son?”

“What do you mean?” I hoped my dear mother hadn’t shared her delusion with my dad.

My fears came true when my dad asked, “Your mother thinks you have been acting strangely lately. She thinks,”

“What? That I’m doing drugs?”

“Well, are you?” The look in his eyes wasn’t questioning.

I withered some under his stare, melted like ice in the sun, blown away like a leaf in the wind. He was scrutinizing, not announcing my wrongs. However, it felt wrong.

“No, Dad. There are no drugs.” I said somehow. My chest grew heavier and my eyes grew mistier. I dropped my head to hide the flaws. Perhaps that was how I cemented myself as a junkie in his mind.

“I know the other kids are doing stuff and they say it’s good and it feels good at first, right.” He said. “But it’s really poison son. Don’t, ”

“Why can’t you listen to me for once.” I whimpered like a puppy. How could I raise my voice against my father? “I’m not doing drugs. I’m just hungry and tired and scared. Now finally something goods happening to me and I don’t know what to do. I don’t think I can handle it.”

I felt his hands grow tighter on my shoulders. “You can tell me. Maybe I can help.”

“I… can’t.” I saw the helplessness in his eyes and the worry. “I’m sorry Dad. I need to see this one through myself.”

He repeated his words. “You can talk to us son. If it’s a problem maybe we can help.”

I shook my head. “I don’t have a problem. It’s just complicated.” I was sorry, but how could I tell him about the system? He’d just think it was my delusional and I couldn’t have proved anything to him. He would have attributed my ramblings to drugs. Perhaps it would have only further cemented his suspicions and brought them closer to his beliefs.

My father sighed in defeat like all the parents who want to help their children but they don’t know where to start.

“All right, buddy.” He said standing up. He had something on his mind, but he didn’t say it. “I’ll leave you to it.” He said instead and then walked out of the room with slow and heavy strides, carrying a burden that every parent carries.

I was left sighing too. I had no mood for studying any more. I closed the books and fell back on the bed. My eyes stared at the ticking clock while my mind kept wondering– Did I do the right thing?