'IN COLD BLOOD'..... and some gibberish

3 years back, during the may-june vacations of college, when the days were spent staring at the rain or hooking up with a new book, I somehow ended up with this book called 'Unsolved crime stories'. Real life ones.I had randomly picked it up to kill time at a boring function, but by the time I had finished the story of Marie Roget, I was addicted to it like a drug.The effect that these real life crime stories had on me was totally unexpected. Of course, I had been a huge fan of Nancy Drew in my childhood and of late had loved Agatha Cristie and Mary Higgins Clarke books. But somehow, the fact that what I fed my mind now werent fictional but something that had actually happened, to living people, at another time and another place, had a denser impact on me. What I read here was crueler, gorier, than any fiction I had come across. What I went through was disbilief, and then an unsinkable distrust, and then disgust. A part of me had frozen, and I know it would never see warmth or melt.
I so vividly remember the evening I had finished the last letter of the last story. I found myself floating like a zombie as I got ready to leave for music class, hardly feeling my own feet. As it happens with every book or even every line I read, my imagination very innocently opened up unseen doors and i was drifting among a milloin voices, a million places, a million screams, and a million white silences.
It was a cloudy, dense evening and as I walked towards the main road, the sun began to set and a fuzzy orange light enveloped everything. And strangely, the road that is almost always filled with a few passerbys, was totally empty. I somehow expected to be swallowed any minute by the strange light around me. What was I feeling? stronger? Wary? Harder? Courageous? Disinterested? Spiritual? What was it ?
And recently ( 2 or 3 hours back), I finished this book called 'In cold blood' by Truman Capote. It is also a true life story that had happened some 50 years back.
And, just as I had done 3 years back, I googled in on the people and saw how they looked like.
Just as it had happened 3 years, I am going to sleep with the light on in my room. And just as I had done 3 years back, I am going to keep checking the door every time I get up ( which is often, when the wound is still raw on my mind's skin).
Maybe I am over reacting. After all, what I experienced was through a book. The people in it, living breathing people like you and me, had actually gone through it... In real life...
At such moments, when I feel unsteady, one thought keeps humming itself in my head. The whole Universe is your Home, you dont have to be scared of anything. Very comforting. But is being at home the same as being treated at home?
Am I wantingly steering myself towards distrust and isolation? But isnt everyone doing that in one way or the other?
Seriously, where is our Home headed to ?
????????? :(:(:(