Blahsphemy

I will never die. I had seen generations after generations grow old and wither away. I have seen continents move apart and closer. I have seen volcanoes erupt, oceans dry up, rivers evaporate, mountains crumble. I have seen world wars, poverty, genocide, nuclear bombs, fuel shortages, famine and flood. For time immemorial I am the only constant. I am change.

Can someone tell me what's wrong? For me everything seemed alright. That's the only wrong bit about you, someone had commented in passing. But is that really that wrong? Or were they the ones who got it wrong?

Life was blooming one pixel at a time on his laptop screen. It was a megapixel dream come true for him. For he always believed his pixels were live. He always thought of them as extensions of his brain. He was happy that they were alive and kicking for everyone to see. But he knew that it was time to hit the print button and commit genocide. The ink jet devoured and regurgitated them on plain paper. All dried up and lifeless.

Damn, I missed. I have never missed. In a shootout if you miss you never live to tell any tales. So then how come you are reading this? He missed too. So I could take a second shot at him and correct my mistake.

It was on the last day of the last year of the last planet of the last human race that he stumbled on the trigger to the top secret nuclear weapons pile.

Edna was a fool. That's what he liked everyone to believe. He could always hide behind his foolish self. It helped him wriggle his way out of many a difficult situation. "Poor fool" that's what everyone thought. For Edna also, the feeling was mutual.

It was loud enough to rattle his eardrums. He was amazed how such a tiny thing can produce such a racket. Try dropping one again, someone urged him. He hesitated, it was an open invitation. He wanted to drop them all. He wanted to wake up the dead. He grabbed the pack and threw them high up in the air so that when gravity reclaims them they will all explode one by one. But, they never came crashing down, the magnet had other plans for them.

He never thought he will take that path again. He could feel the chill crawl up his spine at the mere thought of the last time he went that way. He thought about his best friend who frequented that path. One day his friend went down this way and never came back. That's the day he took the path looking for him. That's the day he saw his friend stepping in to the void from the precipice. That's the day he realised why his friend used to love this path. That's the day he knew that one day he will also be walking down the same path looking for that same precipice.

It's time to pull out my eyes. They are a nuisance anyway. I always get to see what irritates or tempts me. The world is blind, it's better that I don't see much. Oooh camt see wht am i tpig..................

Today we will remain closed. Today we won't give in to the pressure and part. Today we won't let the hinges do their work. Today we won't let the key woo the lock and weaken us. Today we won't let the latch slide down and free us. Today we won't budge. Today we will remain closed.

Everything is going as planned. The rain fell when it had to. The fruits were ripe. The predators were busy mating and defending territories. The trackers have returned with news about a fresh source of food. But didn't the sun rise in the west today?

These are the tears of joy, but they taste the same, she wondered.

When he woke up he was alone. The rain was still rattling the window panes. The amphibian orchestra had bowed out. The ancient ceiling fan made another futile attempt to stir up some breeze. A lonely mosquito with a blood filled stomach was lazily buzzing around. A jecko's warning echoed in one of the distant corridors. The house creaked under the weight of the soaked thatched roof. How long will it endure the onslaught of the elements? Will I be there when it happens? Will we perish together? Or will we go on to see another monsoon?

This time it was easy. The title came before he even thought of what to write. Usually the tiresome ordeal of wrapping up a story used to leave him panting for a title. Titles always played hard to get. He always felt that the ones he chose prickled his carefully woven stories. There were times when he was caught between two equally potent titles. There were times when he stared at them and still couldn't recognize them. But then sometimes, the title came to him without any struggle. Just like today.

She did it. No he did it. No not me. It was them. They made me do it. We didn't do it. It was there in the system. The system can't make anyone do anything. There must be someone who did it. That's her. No him. No them. Not us.

Finally. He heard the familiar rustle at his doorstep. It must be her. He could see her shadow moving under the door. He waited for the keys to jangle. The door knob to turn. What's taking her so long? She must be carrying something. Sometimes she picks up stuff on her way back. There will be something for me, as always. Or has she forgotten the keys in the car? She is quite capable of that. He was getting a bit impatient now. What's stopping her from opening that door? The door seemed like a bottomless chasm between him and her. Will she cross it? Or shall I just cross it and meet her? What if it's not her? What's taking her so long to open that door? Why can't she make some familiar sound that will tell me for sure that it's her? Why is she silent? Why isn't the doorbell ringing if it's not her? Why? His impatience was delivering knockout punches to reasoning in rapid succession. What if... that was the last thing that passed through his mind before he...

Today's sun looks different, she thought. The orange blob looked bigger than usual. Something like an orange on steroids. Her thumbs wandered over the controls of her turbo-charged air conditioner. Don't give up your fight against the sun, she whispered. The mammoth machine shuddered as if it understood the gravity of her statement.

It's time to wake up the muse, he thought. She has been worshiping Rip Van Winkle for quite some time. Do I really need to interrupt her worship? It was a rhetoric question of sorts. He wanted her to be up. But didn't have the guts to do it. He approached her before his new found courage could hide in the darkest corners of his mind. There she was lying motionless, secured to a bed of inertia covered with cobwebs of memory. He could see her faint radiance seeping through the dusty words that have settled on her. I can never blame her, he thought. For it's me who neglected her. i was too busy to notice that she was there waiting for me. All that mattered to me was fame and fortune. And now all that is left is just her.