I am the king of Andalusia. Don't ask me where is it on a map. I have never looked at a map to figure out where my country is. I was born there so I never had to resort to a map. I am a pirate. I don't have a ship. The ship that I sail the seas belong to my victims. I got this one from a rich Arab. Wondering how do I go around without a map or a compass? I am like the wind. I have no plans. I go wherever I please. I never wait for anyone. I have no direction. I make the windmills go round and round till they are dizzy. I am a wanderer. I am a free spirit. I am the king of Andalusia. I am a pirate. I don't have a map or compass. I don't have a ship. I am like the wind. No I am the wind.
I have to write. Those were the words that escaped the dying man's lips. He was found lying unconscious near a mountain of blank paper. His autopsy revealed over exhaustion as the reason. But what did he want to write so badly that it killed him, no one knows. The task was designated to the junior cop who was part of the investigation team. Let's call him Namura. So here we are with Namura in a room with the mountain of blank paper. He is awed as to why should there be so many papers near a dying man. He picks a sheet on the top. He studies it. It's as blank as blank papers can be. No pencil or pen has violated its virgin whiteness. Namura thinks of the white bed sheets back home. He is tired. All he wants is to crash on his bed. He feels angry about the whole situation. Here I am, staring at a blank piece of paper, wondering why someone who wanted to write so badly didn't write a single word, while the whole world is sleeping on their comfy beds. He wanted to tear the ...
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