• Misplaced

Misplaced

 

"IT TAKES THAT LONG TO FETCH A GLUE-STICK?!"

 

Came the stern, deep roar from the other room. It was about time too. I had taken quite enough time to search for something so minute. Worse still, it was nowhere in sight even now.

The shout sent another tremor down my spine. It was the umpteenth time I was rummaging through the drawers and scanning the shelves. It should've been in the drawer. That's where I remember keeping it the last time I used it. Maybe. 

"WHERE IS IT?!"

I swallowed. It was common for me to not be able to find things when asked for them. I could not remember where I last placed a thing, when asked all of a sudden. Not only things, I often forgot the poem I learnt the day before, the speech I was to deliver... Making notes for my things didn't help because I didn't expect myself to remember where I made them. To add to that, with each incident, the scoldings and punishments grew harsher.

I was supposed to keep it carefully, they'd say. I know I was supposed to. I did. What do I do if you do not remember just where exactly? I didn't do it on purpose. I just forgot. With cold, shaking hands, I pulled open the drawer again, praying to find it there this time. It wasn't there.

I was in for it. Yet again I'd managed to lose my things. No, I hadn't lost it. I had just misplaced it. I was sure that while sulking in my room after the cold, bare shouting, probably followed by a beating, I would find it lying with a sadistic smile in some corner.