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- Story Listed as: Fiction For Adults
- Theme: Inspirational
- Subject: Personal Growth / Achievement
- Published: 03/04/2011
"Possible Is Next To Belief"
Born 1990, M, from Pune, IndiaHe could hear the encouraging words from the crowd. His heart is pounding very fast. He could sense it, but still he is firm in his grip. He has heard of the incredible performances made by his competitors. And that makes him stronger in his heart. The more the competition is going tough, the stronger he feels. The more he tries to concentrate, the more he hears the whispers of his well-wishers, wanting him to emerge with victory. He is touching his bow of victory with the prayer in his heart. As he passes his hand over a sharp tip, it pierces him. It pierces inside his index finger, flaunting the blood to drip out and purifying his intuition and confidence in climbing over the big mountain that lay in-front of him.
At the first drop of his blood, touching his shoes, it sends him a cold feeling. For the first time in his life, he is scared. He is scared of the trust and belief his well wishers are keeping for him. “Will I be able to reach their expectations? Will I be able to do it?”
The whistle blows, for him to take the position. He gets up, the blood still flaunts. His helper hands him a band-aid, he doesn’t notice it and he passes with nothing on his injured hand. “It doesn’t hurt me as much as the scare of losing faith.” And he goes on walking. As he reaches the place he is called to, the whistle blows for him as a warning. He gets ten more seconds to regain his conciseness and belief. He closes his eyes, still scared of the unseen future, and tries stopping his heart and breath to take the position.
He recalls his days, when his father was alive. He was small but was strong in his intuition. He always knew what to do and what not. His father had taught him the value of life, the value of destiny. “Son, believe in destiny. This life is all a part of mythology, the act we play and the thrashings we receive are all due to our past karmas.” And as he recalls it, he speaks to himself, “I have inculcated this from all my past life. This is my destiny. This is me and my life.”
He takes his position; his eyes still closed, hearing the shouts of the crowds. The blood stops flaunting, he no longer feels it. He engages his powers within his arm and hand, and takes his aim. 5…4….3…2….1, the final whistle blows, and there goes his first shoot.
The arrow flies and struck like lightning at the scoreboard. It hits the 6th ring. But the crowd keeps on cheering. The cheers’ volume increasing, the gathering of the crowds becoming uncontrollable, he takes aim for the second time, closing his eyes and praying to his belief. “This is me, my life and I’m destined to it.” He hears his father whispering in his ear, “Son, believe in yourself and answer to your own instincts.” At the instant of his opening eyes, he shoots the second arrow. It emerges from his inner self, flies with the speed of belief and strikes at his destiny. There is a sudden change of cheering from the crowds. There is a hip-hip hurray cheer from the crowd. The crowd starts celebrating the first victory; there is a round of applause. They all start speaking his name in rhythm with more enthusiasm and encouragement.
“Andrew! Andrew!”
He hears his name, rushing inside his ear. He has expected the same from his fans. He smiles with his under-estimation. He increases his firmness and the grip over his bow and he takes aim for the final shoot. The thread of his bow trembles as he releases his last belief, and the next second he could hear nothing except his name and cheers.
He is happy; he is smiling with the broadness in his cheeks. He is thrown up in the air by the happy crowds. Everybody is cheering for him. “I have done it dad, I have done it.”
His mother is watching her son’s victory from far away. She is thrilled with happiness and she is happy her husband taught her son to believe in belief. She is happy over her son’s achievement and she walks to him. She holds him and kisses his cheeks, “you did it; you did it.”
With the soft touch of his mother’s hand, he takes off his goggles and looks very dearly at his mother and to the cheering crowds. As he hears them cheering for him, tears roll down. He looks everywhere to see the support he has gained, but in vain. He desperately wants to see their faces, but he can’t. He is helpless this time, because he is blind.
“POSSIBLE IS NEXT TO BELIEF”
"Possible Is Next To Belief"(Rex Raman Rajkumar)
He could hear the encouraging words from the crowd. His heart is pounding very fast. He could sense it, but still he is firm in his grip. He has heard of the incredible performances made by his competitors. And that makes him stronger in his heart. The more the competition is going tough, the stronger he feels. The more he tries to concentrate, the more he hears the whispers of his well-wishers, wanting him to emerge with victory. He is touching his bow of victory with the prayer in his heart. As he passes his hand over a sharp tip, it pierces him. It pierces inside his index finger, flaunting the blood to drip out and purifying his intuition and confidence in climbing over the big mountain that lay in-front of him.
At the first drop of his blood, touching his shoes, it sends him a cold feeling. For the first time in his life, he is scared. He is scared of the trust and belief his well wishers are keeping for him. “Will I be able to reach their expectations? Will I be able to do it?”
The whistle blows, for him to take the position. He gets up, the blood still flaunts. His helper hands him a band-aid, he doesn’t notice it and he passes with nothing on his injured hand. “It doesn’t hurt me as much as the scare of losing faith.” And he goes on walking. As he reaches the place he is called to, the whistle blows for him as a warning. He gets ten more seconds to regain his conciseness and belief. He closes his eyes, still scared of the unseen future, and tries stopping his heart and breath to take the position.
He recalls his days, when his father was alive. He was small but was strong in his intuition. He always knew what to do and what not. His father had taught him the value of life, the value of destiny. “Son, believe in destiny. This life is all a part of mythology, the act we play and the thrashings we receive are all due to our past karmas.” And as he recalls it, he speaks to himself, “I have inculcated this from all my past life. This is my destiny. This is me and my life.”
He takes his position; his eyes still closed, hearing the shouts of the crowds. The blood stops flaunting, he no longer feels it. He engages his powers within his arm and hand, and takes his aim. 5…4….3…2….1, the final whistle blows, and there goes his first shoot.
The arrow flies and struck like lightning at the scoreboard. It hits the 6th ring. But the crowd keeps on cheering. The cheers’ volume increasing, the gathering of the crowds becoming uncontrollable, he takes aim for the second time, closing his eyes and praying to his belief. “This is me, my life and I’m destined to it.” He hears his father whispering in his ear, “Son, believe in yourself and answer to your own instincts.” At the instant of his opening eyes, he shoots the second arrow. It emerges from his inner self, flies with the speed of belief and strikes at his destiny. There is a sudden change of cheering from the crowds. There is a hip-hip hurray cheer from the crowd. The crowd starts celebrating the first victory; there is a round of applause. They all start speaking his name in rhythm with more enthusiasm and encouragement.
“Andrew! Andrew!”
He hears his name, rushing inside his ear. He has expected the same from his fans. He smiles with his under-estimation. He increases his firmness and the grip over his bow and he takes aim for the final shoot. The thread of his bow trembles as he releases his last belief, and the next second he could hear nothing except his name and cheers.
He is happy; he is smiling with the broadness in his cheeks. He is thrown up in the air by the happy crowds. Everybody is cheering for him. “I have done it dad, I have done it.”
His mother is watching her son’s victory from far away. She is thrilled with happiness and she is happy her husband taught her son to believe in belief. She is happy over her son’s achievement and she walks to him. She holds him and kisses his cheeks, “you did it; you did it.”
With the soft touch of his mother’s hand, he takes off his goggles and looks very dearly at his mother and to the cheering crowds. As he hears them cheering for him, tears roll down. He looks everywhere to see the support he has gained, but in vain. He desperately wants to see their faces, but he can’t. He is helpless this time, because he is blind.
“POSSIBLE IS NEXT TO BELIEF”
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