Waiting for a son to return. Worth it?

The wait was killing her. The news didn’t seem to inform enough. They killed 15 people and abducted another dozen. Was he one of them?
Why is his phone switched off? What is keeping him out for so long? Is his breath still running? Is he alive? Will he ever return?

But then there was another side to it. He could be with his friends while his phone ran out of battery and must be returning home any moment.

The situation was aggravating. It was not a good time to be with friends while devoid of any communication.

If he is alive, why isn’t he calling me from somewhere?
If he is alright, why is he not helping me out of this worry?There was a never ending chain of horrendous thoughts.Flashback: In 1992, her uncle was abducted. There was no trace of him for days. they did not know what had happened. Every phone bell revived a part of them and then killed them all over again. No news had to mean good news until the last phone call deprived them of any life for months.
Her uncle’s children were too naive (for good). They did not know how brutally life was sucked out of him. They did not realize that what they thought of a car accident was worse than any accident they could ever imagine.

Their father had been slayed. For reasons unknown.

It was 1992 all over again. People were dying out on the road to serve a purpose that still remains a mystery. Was her son one of them? She liked to believe otherwise but times had made it difficult to even hope for good.

The phone bell took her breath away (or rather gave her life again). Hope as high as ever had built up in the 3 seconds it took for her to receive the call.
Those hopes were shattered with a female voice.

But it was a voice inquiring about her son.

Is he fine? Who are you? How do you know my son? Are you with him? Is he… alive?

She had asked if he was alive. She had asked a question for which she demanded no reply as a ‘yes’ was more probable than any other word.

The female asked if she was the mother. Before she could give whereabouts of her son, she took her time to investigate as much as she could.

Once her queries were answered, there was a sudden hesitation in her voice. A hesitation which couldn’t mean good. But how bad can the news be?

Was he killed? Was he found dead on the roadside? Was he abducted from in front of the woman? Will he ever come back? Will he ever talk again? What about the plan  he had made for school? Were they going to materialize, ever? 
She was informed that her son had been shifted to a hospital where he was being treated after getting shot in the leg.

Life seemed better. Shot in the leg is the least worst news that could be delivered. A mother did not cry over the death of her son. She made her way to the hospital to find him recovering.

But what if the caller told otherwise? How different would it be for the family to see their son as one of the fifteen people that died for no reason?

Life would have changed for them but would it change for others also?
How would his death serve a purpose of the haters?
Will he be buried and forgotten?
Was life so valueless?

And if yes, then why is it just life of the common man which matters least? Does value of life decrease with the income bracket or vary with ethnicity?
Why is barbarism allowed to predominantly exist in our society?
The answers are unknown. And may be, they’re unknown for good.

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