Duty

Shikha didn't know what she was angry about. Just that she was seething. She deserved better, yet she knew it was as much her fault as anybody else's. Her life had become an endless wait - the yawning emptiness of waiting between each moment and the next was eating her up. And yet, on the outside, she was her perectly normal cheerful self going about her duties. Dutifully she'd keep calling up the children daily without complaining about the calls they never made and the bunchful from her they'd never take. Dutifully she'd stress about every modulation of their voise that hinted something was amiss, something hadn't gone well. Dutifully she'd go about her job nobody appreciated her for, at least it paid her bills and helped her kill some time. Dutifully she'd thank God everyday for the wonderful world he'd created without asking why did he not create anyone to help her loneliness. She was angry at herself, and the pointlessness of her existence.

But she didn't know that. She just felt like she would explode. Then, like everyday, she hid her weeping ace in the pillow and went off to sleep.