could someone please check my grammar, btw its a short story

He came into my office, skinny in figure. So thin and deathly pale, he slowly and painfully dumped out his contents. What a specimen! He possessed a worthless body, jutting shoulders and a painfully protruding spine. However with a smile, warm, pliable and soft he displayed a tinge of hope.

Abhay had asked me if he had a chance at living.

I retorted in angst, “This thing consumed you during your solitary days, slayed the hips and lungs and caused suffering. The weak walk of your eyes away from mine, this thing is the coyote, the trickster. Come out, you son of a dog! I will wrestle that thing to the ground for you; I want to take its neck between my hands. But in this world I don't know how settle the bastard, so we sit. We shall talk about the pain.”

It was then that Abhay retold his story, very gravely.

He was toiling away at the tough soil, pumping through the vast oil fields of the Arabs. Abhay was disaffected when the hot oil splattered on his hard-hat. The hot oil slithered down his collar and down beyond his neck. His sole job was to twist, connect and pull cables, chains and thongs around the “rig” platform. The man would slack it all day, endlessly for a decent wage for his ailing wife. He was a courageous fighter, working forcefully high up in his derrick. The winds are prevalent, the climate is tortuous. Very few men are willing to work towering in the hazardous skylines.

Abhay seized a gulp of water, successfully battling through swarm of Indian migrant workers. He sighed and looked towards the sky, and from behind him he heard the shrill sound of a whistle. Then came a painful gasp and the shuffling of hands, Abhay lied unconscious. In the stifling heat he awoke in a medical examination and passed through a series of doctors. Bizarrely and regrettably he was deported back to India.





Abhay was perplexed, who was this trickster? He felt a sense of guilt filtering through his frail body. It was he who had tricked his family. His initial response to their incessant ranting had been to fool them into believing that he not been accustomed to the harsh sun and piercing winds. He had tricked his wife and subsequently had given birth to two children.

His chest was heaving irregularly, and he replied softly, gasping for air “I have Tuberculosis”

I was suspecting something more, with just a culmination of Tuberculosis could not single-handedly bring about such a sickly complexion and a greatly fluctuating body. It was as if Abhay was living in his own corpse.

He had worn a small blue knitted glove with a ribbon at the wrist; I removed it slowly and smoothly, soothing Abhay of his pains. I took hold of Abhay’s wilted, worthless hands.

“There must be something else. I added emphatically, “Given how frail you are and how much you are suffering.”

“I also have HIV. Your here to take me away, aren’t you? Another filthy man to take me away from

My family and lock me up in the jail.” He added, in a state of panic and confusion. “I have tried my finest to be of assistance to my very sick family, but now I am sick too and you are the only one to have exposed my lies. You must not reveal my secret to my wife or I shall take my life.” He concluded, choking with every word.

I hastily attempted to relieve him, I replied

“You must be misconceived, Mr. Abhay, but I am neither trying to frame you nor accuse you. You must not worry; I will take care of you. No one under this examination is a trickster. “





It was then that Abhay, revealed the rest of his story. He grasped my arm and began sobbing in extreme suffering.

Utterly clueless to the reason for his deportation, he approached a local doctor in a rural town, HASANGARH. A panel of blood tests was done. He was found to be HIV positive. A second confirmatory test gave the same result. The doctor referred him to a Govt facility. Fearing stigma and expenses he never went there.

That had happened several years ago. Abhay had never told anybody about this.

Recently His health had deteriorated rapidly, he had had recurring bouts of fever, severe weight loss and he was spewing bloody sputum. His doctor had referred him to me.

“It was you who was mis-treated, I am merely one of the few who know of your HIV condition. “ I clasped around his shoulder and clarified “It was common practise for the rich oil businessmen to deport you as criminals without reason and that is why it implicated to you poor health. You were tricked, it is not you fault. They were the criminals.”

I was about to explain the procedures when Mr. Abhay shot downwards, his eyes widened and his chests began to heave violently.

“What’s wrong, Mr. Abhay?”

He shook his head, unable to speak, desperately taking in breaths.

I tried to think but I couldn’t, my feet were almost stuck to the ground. I spun around and grabbed a chest reliever. My palms became moist and instantly thrust the reliever to Abhay. He refused. Through a channel of graciousness, he began to worshipping me. I couldn’t move and also began sobbing.

I heaved him into a patient bed and held the bell of the stethoscope up upon his chest. It sounded like a spigot opened full blast, the pattern repeated over and over. I told him there is nothing to worry; I would take care of him. First we would treat and cure the Tuberculosis. Then we would attack the HIV virus. I emphasised the importance of compliance with treatment. I asked him to come back after few more lab tests, so that we can start anti-TB treatment. He proceeded to tell me how grateful he was to have helpful people in his life and how blessed he was and insisted that he should leave immediately.

I was absolutely stunned. This man seemingly had nothing. But Abhay didn’t feel as though he didn’t have anything.

He seemed relieved and hopeful of the future when he left my consulting room.