Story.

i wake up in the middle of a room to find that there is no window

it's dark but i know it's almost noon and there is light out there but none of it is coming inside

i am not chained

i do hear voices not muffled - real conversations
either unaware of me inside or maybe aware but didn't care

i smell fresh grass

rain - maybe

i get up, open the door, go outside, take a piss and come back inside and start sleeping again; but not before I lock the door shut

that's my story.

Statutory warning; or lack thereof.

There were kids playing on a high ground; much higher than the field beneath, higher than the level of the small restaurant I was sitting with my friends. There was a high stone wall rising from the field, towards the ground, a good 150-200 feet high. The restaurant was in a town alien to me, the menu strange and I was loving every moment of it. There were a few kids in the restaurant too, possibly from the same school.

The kids up there were playing with Table Tennis paddles, albeit with no table. And the paddle slipped from one of the kid's hand and flew down the wall, into the field down below. Another kid promptly started climbing down the wall, holding on to the line of jutting stones, which I think was made specifically for that. He looked deft enough in the beginning, but I was proven wrong soon enough. He slipped and fell down into the field, a good 100-150 feet and it was obvious that he's dead.

Kids started swarming around him, in the field. It was far enough from me to know the details. I saw one elder man thrashing a kid, though I don't know why.

And all I could think was of the guilt the kid whose hands had slipped, causing the paddle to fell off; he would live the rest of his life as one who caused another's death.

Splendide Mendax!

Man at home, no power. Thunderstorm. People start shouting outside his door, telling him that they knew he was inside; and a door wasn't good enough to keep them out for long.

He slowly gets up and wears his shoes which were in the room. Then he goes to the next room, where he knew that a broken glass is on the window sill. He picks it up and takes it near the door and scatters it there. And he waits. Pounding began. The door breaks soon.

They run into the living room and are immediately scathed by the glass pieces. He takes advantage of the chaos and knocks one down; though it wasn't good enough to keep him down. Then he sees the guns and that was when he knew that he was done. But still he runs into the next room and waits. He grabs the first guy's hand, takes his gun and shoots him down. He had his flashlight; he flashes it, shoots one. He lies down on the ground and flashes again; shoot another down. Only one now. He foolishly walks into the room, aims and shoots - only to find that he is out of bullets. He runs into the remaining thug and in the scuffle gets shot in the shoulder. Yet, he manages to overpower him. He gets out, locks the door from outside; padlocks it. He gets into his car and drives away. It was still raining.

Epilogue:

Later when he came back home he finds no trace of the shooting. Everything is clean. No corpses, no blood stains. He goes and complains to the police. They find nothing. Tells him he is hallucinating. He asks about the wound he has on his shoulder. They find an answer for that too - they find the gun which was used to shoot him, under his bed; and it was licensed under his name, for the last four years.

Bug.

A bug bit me in the morning and I squashed it; and I forgot about it. Now it's midnight and I remember my past. Back in those days, I was a bug. I was despised and then I was squashed by a man. I turned into a man and the man turned into a bug. Now I can feel myself turning into a bug!

Existential crisis.

Existential crisis.
Again!
I am a dog with existential crisis.
In a cage. Born into domestication.
Even my younger dreams had me in cages.
I hadn't met a wild born stray dog yet, then.
Now I see them a lot. Some of their visions have swept into my dreams.
I can now dream things I haven't experienced yet.
I am a caged dog with existential crisis.

The Crystal Sandal

Against all the odds, Cinderella won the prince's hand in the ball. The magic played tricks on her; stepmothers plotted against her; stepsisters hated her. In the end, she got the prince, for good.
She sat looking forward to the night and the consummation of their marriage. Prince came in, sat next to her and told her - "I love you more than anything. You are like a little sister to me. And yeah, I am gay."

Abracadabra.

Stuck inside a magician’s hat, once lived a little white bunny. All the kids loved him, but he hated it in there. IT was a clumsy place, but what he hated most was that he had to co-exist with a dozen doves, couple of thorny rose bushes and an egg or two among many other knick-knacks. He wanted to be surprised, like those kids were when they saw him. He wanted to run into those lovely looking bushes. He wanted to breathe fresh air.

He waited for his chance to escape. He was very patient and one day he escaped.

And off he ran and ran and ran. Then suddenly an even bigger hand picked him up - and he found himself slowly being raised out of an even bigger hat.

Merry-gone-around!

Round and round and round. It went on again and again. It was impossible to get out of it. Nevertheless, I tried again. Needless to say I failed.Nevertheless, I tried again. It was impossible to get out of it. It went on again and again. Round and round and round.

“Child is grown; The dream is gone!”

He had less than a day more to go but he has left a lot to do, to see. But, the colours have already started to dim. He knew that the end was near. But, he had to do one more thing for sure. He had to go to the first garden and check the fruit tree. He had to make sure that there was no second fruit. He reached out his hand up the canopy. At that very moment, everything started dissolving away. He grew up.

Breaking News.

It was getting late and tiresome, but he had pending work. He could see the dawn breaking already, but he was still at yesterday’s task. And, then it came - the 39^th vehicle of the night, a car. He hastened and turned to sit in place and opened the newspaper to the place he had stopped and started reading the paper from where he had stopped. By the time the car had gone, he finished another sentence. The car was gone now, so did the light too. He sat down and started waiting for the next vehicle to pass through the winding ghats.

Amnesia.

Nothing is forgotten. No one can ask me to forget something, can they? Even if they can ask, why would they think that I am gonna forget it? Even if I say Yes and meant it, would it be possible to forget something like that? Even if it is possible, wouldn’t it be going in circles since wouldn’t I have forgotten that I would have forgotten everything? Or would I have forgotten how to make things forgotten?

Madman.

Every town has a Madman. Every town I know has one and he had his privileges. He can enter any house, any time. He can grab that piece of meat from your plate. He can peep into the bathroom when the ladies are taking the shower.

Nobody cared. In fact everyone cared. They always reserve an extra piece for the Madman every time they made something special. Ladies took bath in such a way that the Madman could see more with less effort.

Our town too has a Madman; or should I say had a Madman? Our Madman died a week back. He just died. Nobody cared; some even said they were relieved.

But slowly they started missing him - not him; they were actually missing the ‘Madman’. The piece of meat lay uneaten. Ladies stopped taking bath in the morning. That’s when the town council decided to elect another Madman for the town.

There were many applicants. Why wouldn't there be? Free food everyday. You get to watch ladies naked and what more! I hope that they will select me this time.

Diaspora.

The sun, the sky and the occasional showers in the noon (which will help you cool off) - I was enjoying my time there. It was really good, but a rolling stone can’t be attached to any place. I am not a rolling stone, I don’t much roll in the conventional sense. But I don’t get attached to anything unless someone gets attached to me.

I don’t usually hate being forced to move, but this was different. Here I am one day enjoying my sweet time under the sun and suddenly I am being transported to nowhere. I was in some cold place, stuck and with no hope. Then I got used to the calmness; and as usual I started to adjust. I thought the worst was over, but I was wrong. Darkness, silence, blasting thunders and claustrophobia. For a long long time. Then I came out. Different place; different smell; different skies.

It took me a while to understand I was stuck in the heel of a shoe all this time. After all who am I to complain - I am just another rolling stone.

Soulless.

“What happens when we die?”

“Well do I look dead to you kid?”

“No, but I thought you were wise and old enough to tell.”

“I am old, older than anything you might have seen, but I am afraid I am not wise enough, son. They say different things, though.”

“What different things? What do you believe is going to happen when we die?”

“Some say we cease to exist, while some say we do not. Some say the next is dependent on what we do in this. And it goes so on.”

“What do you believe? What do most of them believe?”

“If you ask that I can tell you, though I must also add that it is for you to believe it, as you see it. Most of them believe, including me that, once we die here, we goto a different world where we are attached to a body. Where we have a shape. Where we are fragile. Where we have tiers. Where we have names. Where we can lie, but also we can choose not to. Where we are what we look like rather than what we are. Where we appear. Where we are soulless.”

War Trophies.

"Two thousand seven hundred and forty nine!"

"Cool! So that is a good catch."

"But then most of these silly morons don't wear gold anymore. Remember the last war, even though there were less ears, most of them were gold, pure gold! This time it's mostly scrap metal. Nickel and Steel and all scrap metal."

"We are doing good man, we are doing good. The UN and NATO and all around, and still we are doing really good."

"Yeah, but you never know, when they actually decide to get these bodies back home than dump them here."

"They won't! There is always too many dead overtime."

"And these women soldiers! No wonder they are soldiers! Not even a single piece of bloody jewelry on them. Men are better."

"Yeah, I hope this war continues."

"You know where better money is - the coffins! I have heard they make it with elmwood. That should be something."

"But it is a logistic nightmare. For now we should stick to ears and ear-rings. But that can be thought about, of course."

Comatose.

"Doctor, I need help."

"Yes son, I am here to help. Tell me what is the issue?"

"Doctor, I can't remember things."

"We all forget things son."

"No, it's not like that. Let me explain."

"Ok, I am listening."

"Yesterday night, I came home after work. Had dinner, couple of beers. Then I went to my room. Slept off. The next thing I remember is that I woke up after 8 hours. I don't remember anything in between."

"Oh! That is really bad."

"What's is even worse is that, when I thought back, this has been happening for a long long time. I can't even remember since when."

"Oh this is really worse. We need to do some tests, maybe even a surgery. Nurse, bring in the stretcher please."

Gatorade.

She ran and ran and ran. And she didn't stop. Not yet.

Past the mountains and plains and plateaux and deserts and grasslands, she ran.

Her body was getting tired but her mind wasn't.

She ran through the cities and villages and towns.

Then she stopped near a small run down shop, rather abruptly for no reason.

And she suddenly felt tired - she was still clutching the bag in her hands.

"Give me something to drink", she told the old shopkeeper.

"What do you want my dear?"

"Give me something to drink."

"How long have you been running my dear?"

"Since 1978."

"Here, have this", he passed her a bottle of Gatorade.

"How much is it?"

"For a girl as lovely as you, it's free. What is your name, my dear?"

"Erendira."

Into the path of light!

"Room number 320, please."

"Here, madam."

"Thank You"

"I dunno what is so special about room number 320. This lady has booked it for every alternate Thursdays."

"Since when?"

"Since time immemorial."

"Till when?"

"Till the end of..." 

"End of?"

"End of this register, as far as I can see."

"Okay richer the stranger; stranger the richer."

"I am here."

""

"I am here, I say."

""

"Well, Good night."

When you die you go to another world, and the place you die is the portal, the entry to the wormhole. And if you ever want to come back you can only come back through the same door.

"And Thursdays were always special for us."

Pelvic Thrust.

"Damn I hate Bollywood - why do they always have to make us go in circles. It was so good back in Russia."

"But you get more care and attention here - man I love it when they ogle at us"

"Hmmmm, that's true but it sure is hard work here."

"Yeah, and I had this stupid ding dong song all day."

"Mine was a nice slow one today but still it is paining from yesterday's thing."

"Diwali sure was hard work for us sister."

"So was Holi. O they have a lot of festivals here. But aren't we underpaid here? Can't just live on attention."

"Sure thing, I miss them unions. I sure miss USSR."

**Pelvis 7 speaking to Pelvis 23

Pack them well!

"Ladies, Gentlemen and Numbers - Please be seated and please be calm. This is a small announcement, not so important, but an announcement nevertheless. We the card-makers association of the world, have decided, that from the coming batch of playing cards, plastic and paper both, there will be a slight change in the order in which, the cards will be packed. From the next batch onwards, the order of packing will be Jack - King - Queen instead of Jack - Queen - King."

"Preposterous", the first one to reply was the Queen of Spades, the Black Maria. "You say that this is a small thing. I have been sleeping between the Jack and the Queen. Now, I the Queen of Spades, has to sleep next to the Ass of the Clubs. This is ridiculous."

"Well, Her Majesty, it is actually the Ace of Clubs, not Ass."

"Ass-arse-ace, does that really make a difference? There has been one or two occasions of faulty packs where I had to sleep with the Arse of the Clubs. Where is sleeping between the Jack and the King and where is sleeping with an Arse, that too of a different class?"

"And who will be sleeping next to me?", that was the Queen of Diamonds, the last in the order. 

"Depending on the region, HM, it could be the Card of Guarantee, or the Joker, or The Blank Card."

"In your dreams, the Joker? How dare? Or the card of guarantee? The Blank? How dare you?"

The numbers were getting uneasy and bored. And after all they were not affected at all by the change. The lucky ones were the Aces, they were getting to sleep next to (or with, depends on how you look) with the Queens of the neighboring realm, except the Ace of Spades of course. There were issues popping up here and there, but it was a done deal. 

"Let's get these pansies off the hall, there is another important announcement the chess makers have to make regarding the length of the cross on the King's head."