The Death of a Soul

He was 12.No where near a justifiable age to..die.Yet there he was,taking his last whiffs of air,his last views of this forsaken world full of hopelessly confused-yet-which their confident faces betrayed.They were feeling bad for him.I could see him almost felt like laughing on that thought;if he could laugh that is.
Maybe he was happy to go.

I've seen him happy,sad excited.. even depressed.But never like this.His bright and piercing eyes would reflect every damn emotion without a fault.His eyes would shine forth with all its honesty,with all the expressions which words would never do justice.His face was indeed an index of his mind.His face was a picture of innocence.How many of us can manage that?People would see him and envy their own lack of it.He was gifted.
Not this time.

His was expressionless.There was a hint of confusion,a hint of excitement on seeing me,but it was all buried under a cloak of indifference..as if it was not worth think about it.He was just lying there and waiting for all this to end,so that he can be normal again,play, eat, sleep.Did he know that things will never be the same again?at least not for him..and at least not for me.

I am not strong.I realized it the moment i saw his eyes.I felt terribly weak.All the emotions gathered(from not crying for 10yrs) and seemed ready to explode right through my eyes.It was hopeless to try and stop it.Hopeless to even think about control.For all this time i dreaded seeing this sight.Never saw anyone dying...until now.But he was not just anyone.He was my truest friend.

He felt happy to see me..at least i thought so.Trying desperately to control my outburst i came near him.
Hard to express what i felt.It was the saddest day of my "life".It was hopelessly unreal.It was draining me out.sapping my energy to the last bit.Breaking down right in front of him,i dint care what he would think.
I was loosing a pound of flesh of myself(comparison is all that i can muster) and it bloody hurt like a broken bone.

Then, he was just motionless.His innocent face was as if it was nailed to that expression.Something in him was missing which made him..alive.
Something.
Something i don't know,
Something, about which i dint care,
Something, which betrayed his body and left,
Something, which made him...Tubby.
It was not the Death of a person,It was the death of that something.
It was the Death of a Soul.

Does it matter now that i am now wishing that i were dead?
Does it matter now that i cant manage to forget his face?
Does it matter now that i want him back again?
Does one life values more than the other?
Does it matter that Tubby is...
a Dog?

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The above garbage product was brought to you by an under-gifted idle mind in collaboration with light work,company cab and Kaveri issue.