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Tuesday, May 10, 2016

Revenge - Part 2

Thomas' room was dark. There wasn't any need for light. He was fast asleep in his bed, oblivious to the fate that awaited him. It had been a long day for him, and by the end of it, he was so very tired, that he had to be carried to bed. His last thoughts before going into the deep slumber were that of bliss, in the arms of the woman whom he loved the most. In his dreams, he was still with her, laughing, happy, and in her embrace.

It wasn't long before Eric was outside Thomas' room. No one had seen him yet, and he was quite sure that he could leave silently too, without being detected. His anger still had a firm grasp on him, but his confidence of committing the act was leaving. His love for Thomas was making him weak, unable to act upon his decision. Standing outside Thomas' room, Eric gave it one last thought. His hand was on the door knob to Thomas' room, trembling, uncertain. With a final air of determination, a deep breath, and clasping his fingers tightly around the gun, he gently pushed open the door, and silently slipped in Thomas' room.

There he was, sleeping peacefully in his bed. Eric took in a long deep breath, watching the face of his soon to be victim intently. Trying not to make the slightest of noise, he carefully lifted the fully loaded gun. He suddenly wasn't so sure about what he was going to do. Still, he took the gun, carefully placed it just inches from Thomas' face, and steeled his nerves. 'I'm sorry' he thought in his mind, and placed his finger on the trigger.

Just then, he heard footsteps shuffling up the staircase, coming right toward's Thomas' room! Eric froze. He wasn't sure what to do. Should he do what he had come to do? Should he hide? Or just leave? This was all happening so fast that he could not decide. In a matter of seconds, the footsteps came nearer, the door to the room swung open, and a woman entered.

'What are you doing Eric?!' yelled the woman. There was a hint of surprise and comical amusement in her voice. 'Leave him alone' she said, walking closer to Eric. Eric stopped dead in his tracks, the gun still pointing towards Thomas' face. 'You were going to squirt that thing all over his face, weren't you?' the woman demanded to know in a half serious, half sympathetic manner. Eric melted, and his anger left him. 'But Mom! He destroys my drawings! All the time!' Eric implored. His mother was smiling, bemused at how her eldest was so frustrated by his younger brother's behaviour, that he wanted to teach him a lesson. 'Now now Eric, he is just a baby. He doesn't know that your drawings are important to you. Just keep them away from his reach. That's all sweetheart' said his mother. Walking towards the crib, she lifted her youngest, Thomas. Just a few months old, Thomas had just learnt to crawl all over his 3 year old brother's drawings, making him furious in the process. However, Eric gave in. 'I love the little monkey' he thought. He dropped his water gun in the room, picked up a sheet of paper which was lying there with some scribblings on it, his 'drawings', which on many occasions were found to be 'masterpieces' by his family. Carefully placing it on the table nearby, he went out of the room with his mother and brother, into the kitchen. 'I think I will have a peanut butter sandwich' he thought, as he walked down the stairs.

~The End~

Saturday, April 02, 2016


Sitting under the old, crusty banyan tree, she was reading a book. As usual. She used to come here every Sunday without fail, away from the world, to be alone, and yet, to be with him. Her back against the trunk of the tree, she sifted through the pages, one after another, her mind wandering. Sometimes following the story in the book, and sometimes, her life.

It had been 3 years since the incident, and yet, it felt as if it was just yesterday. The time they had spent together in the very same spot, echoed in her memories, with the promise of never fading away. They used to come here every Sunday, just like she did now. They made this their own little world, away from the hustle of the real one. They watched the rose bushes every time, as the flowers bloomed, then wilted away with time, and then, bloomed again. It made them feel that no matter what happens, their love for each other will continue to bloom, year after year. And she felt so very sure of that every time she looked into his eyes. Eyes filled with the promise of a future together, filled with laughter and happiness.

He used to bring flowers for her every time they met. Either a rose from the nearby bush, or some from the florist across the street. That day, he arrived as usual, but without any. He had tried to get some on his way here, he said, but the florist had no change. She of course said that it did not matter at all. But he was adamant, not wanting to break their tradition. She waited for him while he went to another florist this time, a little further away. 'Will be back soon' he had said, his eyes full of life as usual, and his face radiant, she was sure, knowing that she was his. He did not return.

The driver of the car that had hit him, was drunk. He had a fight with his wife, he said later, and had been to the pub to 'forget his problems'. She waited for nearly an hour, trying to reach him on his phone constantly, without any luck. All she remembered is that she decided to walk to the shop where he said he would be going. She noticed the crowded street, her heart missing a beat instinctively. After that, all she remembered was a numbness. In her mind, and body. She vaguely remembers seeing him on the street, stretched out on the ground, blood everywhere.

A loud 'thud' jolted her out of her thoughts. She looked around. The book still in her hand, her finger toying to turn the page. A young man seemed to have tripped and fallen beside her. Very quickly, she wiped the single tear from her eye, lest he see it. He had now got up, and was collecting the fallen flowers which he evidently had, in the basket he was holding. 'Are you ok?' she asked, approaching to offer help. He looked up at her. The same radiance she was so used to seeing on the face of the one she loved the most, was on him too. He stared at her for what seemed to be an eternity. Then realizing that it was inappropriate, he looked down, beginning to collect the flowers again. She heard him vaguely mumble 'Yes, I am fine'. She began helping him the with flowers, and they began talking. And she couldn't seem to stop! After years of emptiness, there was suddenly a feeling of joy, of elation, that she felt every time she met him. And here was someone, who made her feel the same way, and by the look in his eyes, he felt it too.

Winter was almost over, and the rose bushes nearby were beginning to bloom, the scarlet red of the flowers barely beginning to show. She looked around at the bushes, while talking to him, laughing, smiling, wondering, was the winter over for her too?


~ The End ~

Sunday, December 13, 2015

The Pact

Read from the beginning                                             
Chapter 3

It had almost been half an hour that George had reached home. There wasn’t anybody else there. He had sent Edith with their son to her mother's house for a week. He knew that he had planned on doing this, and didn’t want them knowing about it or asking any questions. He was sitting in the bedroom, the money, laid down in front of him on the floor. He just kept looking at it. He wasn’t a bad man, he thought, he wasn't a thief. But there wasn't any other option left for him. Still looking at the money, his mind wandered. He thought about poor Molly.

Molly, his daughter, had been diagnosed with tuberculosis. They had no idea how it happened or from where she got the disease. What had seemed like all the happiness in the world, suddenly came down crashing right in front of their eyes. Edith was devastated; George, grief stricken. They both tried the best they could. They got the best doctors, all the medicines they had to. Edith looked after the child night and day. George put all his money and effort into saving their poor child. He even landed into a huge debt, trying to make sure that Molly could be cured. That, however, wasn't meant to be. Even after numerous doctors and medicines, one fateful evening, their Molly just gave up on life. Just like that, he thought. He remembered that day clearly, as if it was just yesterday. 

He had been sitting beside her at that time, holding her hand, caressing her forehead, trying to comfort her. Then she started coughing. It wasn't really uncommon, her having been sick for weeks by that time. This time, however, it didn't stop. She coughed and bled, and coughed and kept bleeding from her mouth and nose. George had panicked. He knew it was bad. He was alone at home with Molly that evening. Edith was out to get groceries. She didn't take very long, but that day even fifteen minutes were too late. She reached home and found George still sitting beside the child, holding her tiny hand between his palms, just looking at her face. Molly just laid there, quiet, still, her blue eyed face looking more angelic than ever, sharply contrasting with the red, blood soaked sheets. For a fraction of a second, Edith didn't understand. Her eyes darted back and forth from her motionless child to her sombre husband, and then she knew. A mother's instinct immediately realized what had happened, and on the very spot she was standing, Edith fainted. 

...To be Continued

Tuesday, December 08, 2015

The Pact

Chapter 2

The whole endeavour wasn’t very difficult to plan. Not technically anyway. Mr. Bennett, the septuagenarian, lived virtually alone, apart from the cleaning lady who came to his house every morning for laundry and housekeeping. Mr. Bennett had never married and didn’t have any children either. None that George could find out about anyway. For reasons known only to him, Mr. Bennett was always cautious in his demeanour, and at times, a bit jumpy. The tiny timber supply business that he had started when he was in his early twenties, had remained exactly that even after almost fifty years. Tiny. Maybe he didn’t really want to expand operations, or he didn’t know how to. In the seven years and three months that George had worked there as an accountant, he couldn’t really understand why. Neither did he care. The entire time that he had worked in that tiny office, his employer had always been apathetic towards him. The only times he did display any emotion towards George, was if the numbers in the books didn’t add up. At such times, Mr. Bennett, red in his face and visibly quivering, would display a sudden burst of energy, all anger, and make sure that not only George, but the entire office knew what was wrong with his calculations. George always thought that it was a bit excessive and uncalled for. There weren't many such instances; George was a good accountant. However, these heated, one sided interactions did take their toll on his frail nerves, and the quiet, timid accountant subsequently came to loath his meetings with his employer and developed a general feeling of hatred and disgust towards him.

This, however, wasn’t the reason for the aforementioned act of theft. Although it was true that George thoroughly disliked Mr. Bennett, he wasn’t the kind of person to steal from him. Or from anyone for that matter. George Wilkins was the kind of person who, as the saying goes, wouldn't hurt a fly. Definitely not steal from one. He had managed to convince himself that it wasn’t really a matter of choice anymore. He had tried other avenues to get the money. He tried borrowing money from some friends but couldn’t, approached his bank but failed. Even requesting some sort of an advance from his meagre salary didn’t work. Twenty thousand dollars wasn’t a small sum, and the fact that he was an accountant at a small time timber supply company didn’t help either. 

His full time job with a small yet steady salary, did mean that he had been able to save some money earlier, despite getting married really young. He had eventually realised that it was a mistake to do so. The hopes, dreams and enthusiasm of the young couple fizzled out soon after his wife, Edith, had a miscarriage within the first year of marriage. A mourning wife, the huge mortgage on the house and the salary of a junior accountant seemed to weigh the thin, shy, yet sprightly young lad down. Happiness, however, did return to the household. In their third year of marriage the young couple had a baby girl, and in the next, a boy. They were ecstatic! Somehow, despite all their financial woes, life seemed better and beautiful. Edith had to be a full time home maker of course, which meant that George was the only one earning. His salary wasn’t enough, but they still managed to have a happy and fulfilling life. He did have some debts; the kids had to be given the best care that they could, but nothing so big that he couldn’t manage. Between his regular salary and some overtime at work, the family did manage to live well and save. It seemed that the worse was indeed behind them.

All that changed when one morning, Molly, their daughter, coughed. Once at first, then again, and then again rather violently, and spit blood.

Monday, December 07, 2015

The Pact

Chapter 1

His hands were trembling. Quite violently so. Sitting in the subway train, speeding across the interconnected labyrinth of tunnels, all he could think about right now were his hands. He tried to control his breath, heaving his chest in and out in a controlled manner, trying to calm his nerves and in turn, his anxiety. He had read about it somewhere. Hands in his jacket pocket, clutching the huge wad of currency notes, he tried to breath in a controlled fashion. The cap he had worn helped to block the light of the passenger car out, which, strangely, seemed far brighter than usual. Eyes closed, fingers wrapped around the money tightly, he took slow and steady breaths. After several seconds, which seemed like an eternity to him, he was able to calm down and think clearly. 'I am ok now' he thought, feeling much relaxed and composed. He felt it was normal to have been unnerved by the whole experience of it. The train stopped at the next station. He got up slowly from his seat, calm and composed so as to not raise any suspicion, walked out of the sliding doors and onto the platform. Slowly at first, and then moving briskly through the crowd of daily commuters, George Wilkins, the accountant, walked out of the platform, onto the road, and then towards his house, with the twenty thousand dollars that he had just stolen from his boss's house.

Friday, December 04, 2015

Revenge - Part 1

Eric had given it a lot of thought. Almost five whole minutes. What needs to be done, has to be done. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Thomas. In fact, he loved him more that he would care to admit. After all,  they had been together for a long time. Under normal circumstances, he would have never thought of doing something so very monstrous to him. These, however, were not normal circumstances. ''Maybe I should think about it a bit more'', he said to himself, trying, somehow, to convince himself not to commit the deed. 

Eric failed. Thomas' digressions were far too many to go unpunished. He had to pay the price for the freedom he took with precious art. He had no appreciation for it whatsoever. The countless hours it took to collect the materials and painstakingly create the art, had no meaning for him at all. There had been so many instances where he would just scribble over the priceless creation, without giving it a second thought. Tearing up the canvases, destroying the palette that Eric used, stomping around all over the colours were a normal affair for Thomas. He had no regard for the fact that the beautiful paintings he was destroying, were generally regarded as masterpieces by everyone around them. In one astonishing and crude act of disrespect, he even puked on a painting that Eric had meticulously devoted hours to.

It was decided then. Thomas had to pay the price. Eric wasn’t happy that the situation had deteriorated to such an extent where he would have to teach Thomas a lesson, but it had been far too long. He looked around the room. Although he had already decided what he was going to use on Thomas, he still wanted it not to hurt as much. After all, he still did love him. Something, that would make it quick, clean and smooth. After a little deliberation, Eric steeled himself. He got up from the bed, picked up his gun and checked to make sure it was loaded. Keeping the gun behind him so as to not arouse any suspicion around him, he left the room and closed the door behind him. 

Thursday, December 03, 2015

The Death of Me.

“Wow, what a day” I thought, walking up the stairs of my building. It had been a really strange day, with everything that happened. Woke up late in the morning, had to rush to get ready to work. Almost slipped and fell when running down the flight of stairs, the elevator wasn’t working. Nearly got hit by the cab I was waving down to get to work. The man apologised, saying he braked late. He would have had a piece of my mind was I not in a hurry. Reached work late, obviously. Damn computer wouldn’t switch on. Apparently the plug was loose. When I reached under the desk trying to plug it in by feel, got an electric shock! After every little incident, I kept saying to myself, “This is it, its all going to be smooth sailing from here on”. Boy! Was I wrong!

To make things short, the day was terrible. After a series of such irritating but tiny incidents, got out of work in the evening. Not sure why, all throughout the day, I had a nagging feeling that somebody was behind me. I even thought a few times that I had seen a shadow. Turned around quickly but obviously it was nothing. The random irritating experience had left me a little shaken. But I was feeling better already. Got out of the cab in the front of my building, paid the guy. I had no other plans for tonight. “Just let this day be over, and will start afresh tomorrow. Time to watch some movies on the computer” I thought, as I unlocked the door to my apartment.

Turned on the lights. Nothing. “Damn! Seriously?” I thought. No worries. Let me just change and I will fix the light later on. It was dark, after 9 at night. Strangely enough, the usual noises from the neighbours, the talking, the television, were all missing. “Must have gone out” I told myself. Sat down, undressed, and changed. Just a quick shower before hitting the bed and I would be done.

Thankfully, the light in the bathroom was working. I had just washed my face, when suddenly, the feeling of being watched returned. I felt, again, as if somebody was behind me. I was standing right in front of the mirror so i obviously knew there was no one. I went back into thinking about the events of the day. What if I couldn’t stop any one of those events from fully happening? What if I couldn’t stop myself from falling down on the stairs? Or if I hadn’t jumped back onto the pavement when the taxi went right through the spot I was standing in? And what if I didn’t pull my hand back when I felt the electric shock? “Nah”, I told myself, “that wouldn’t be possible. Thats basic reflex. I won’t die today” and I smiled. I shrugged off those thoughts, bent over the basin again to wash my face before going to bed. Reached out for the towel with my face still wet and eyes clothes. Couldn’t feel it. So took a step away from the sink in the direction where the towel would be. My foot hit something cold, wet, and I slipped.

And everything stopped.

My eyes were still closed, but I could feel everything had slowed down. I was falling. But not fast. Slow. Very, very slow. The water still felt cold against my face. I could feel the air, as I moved through it. There was a chill. For a split second. I felt it riding up my back, my neck. And then, it spoke. “I have been waiting for you all day long”. I heard it! Clear as day! My mind raced. There was no one else in the bathroom. I knew it. I had looked right in front of the mirror. There was no one behind me! My head hit on something hard. I heard the ‘thud’. My neck cracked. I felt numb all over. I felt my chin burst open against the hard wash basin. My elbow hit the ground first, and immediately i felt a sharp pain in my shoulder. I lay there, face on the ground. My neck felt twisted. My eyes were still closed. I felt nothing of my body. I tried to open my eyes. It was going dark. A little bit at a time. Like sunset. Dimmer and dimmer. Everything seemed to move further and further away.

And then it did.

That is how, I died.

~ The End ~