Prompt: The day you realized that your parents aren’t superheroes.

 

The first thing my parents would do after waking up everyday
was to shut the vials of emotions with a cork.
And they would cross-check it,
equal to the number of times
they would have chai.

Thrice.

Sometimes more on bad days.

Little did they know that vials are made up of glass
and
glasses
break.

So, in anxiety one day when my mother pressed the cork
a little to hard;
The emotions came flooding out
like rays of light through rain cladded clouds.

My father?
No, his vials had a lining of patriarchy
that made it more durable.
His vials had oceans of emotions.
A river came pouring in with
every tear drop that never got out.
And on some nights the oceans would sway,
failing to keep a wreckage at bay.
But the most damage they could do,
was let out a thin stream rolling down his cheek
on cozy nights when no one was watching.

See, I was led to believe that my parents are superheroes.
And that they are right. Always.

See, my parents were led to believe that I am to be protected.
And that the vials are meant to be shut.

But they are wrong, sometimes.
I never needed saviours, ever.

They are just humans.
And that’s enough.