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The undefined pain

"What is the point of living?" He mumbled to himself, as he slowly positioned his head down. Tears rolled down his bony cheeks and landed on his knees as he sighed. "Would one person in the world be competent to reasonably explain to me that I should continue to live, when life only brings emptiness and worthlessness?"

These are the usual thoughts that occupy Mirza's head. These rhetorical questions are endless in Mirza's life. They are gradually haunting him and persist to fill his life with despair and sorrow. Mirza as a teenager, like thousands others, lived through the catastrophic and disastrous war.

As an adult nowadays he can not carry on without the intrusion of the horrible past and the inescapable memories. He lives his life with no set goals. His dreams were stolen from him. His plans ruined and most importantly his life interrupted and bound to never recover completely.

"No my dear, his mother heard him, no one else can sense the grief deep down inside you more than I can, but that's not the answer. You can not overcome you unhappiness by negativity, which is not the solution."

An older woman with wrinkles on her face attempts to hide the unbearable pain and encourage her only one valuable, her son, to somehow move on with his life and find belief that will contribute to his mental replenishment.

"You are only young my dear, why would you treat your life as insignificant, open a new chapter and start from the beginning?'

She spoke but her voice trembled. She too was aware it was much easier being said than being done. Before the aggression on their country they had all the things that made their life complete. All the people that they life revolved around. They had a home. Today they can not speak of these things without bursting into tears.

"Mother, there is no inspiration for me. There is not even one positive thing that can motivate me. The things I use to look upon don't exist anymore. People that taught me and from who I learned from are long gone. Our house that was once a home for the entire family is not even standing, only debris and ashes is what's left from it."

Mirza scratches his right shoulder with his right hand. That's only because his left arm is not attached to his body anymore. He hesitates to mention his lost arm but obviously it has overtaken his consciousness.

He has lost his arm while waiting in queue for water. Mirza was wounded on few other places at the time. He survived only by a hair's breadth. The arm was amputated

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