Someone stole my pen. That's why I couldn't write all these days. You know how difficult it is when you don't have your pen, don't you? I don't have to tell you all this, but still I feel morally responsible for not writing and entertaining you. Don't you want to know who stole my pen? I am the one who had stolen it. I hid it where no one could find it. I searched everywhere else to make sure that it wasn't there. I didn't tell anyone that I had stolen it. I was too lazy to confront the blank pages. I was too blank to string the words. I shut my own conscience. I am a thief.
He couldn't keep count of the days or nights as he was always surrounded by darkness. No he wasn't blind nor did someone blindfold him. He fell in to a deep dark hole that's all. He was rushing to catch the last train home. Since it was getting late he decided to take the shortcut. Before he fell, all that he saw was a lamppost by the tracks. The impact of the fall switched off the lights in his brain. When he recovered, it was dark. He tried to feel his way around. But to his surprise all that he could feel was the darkness around him. It was as if he was encased in a thick gooey dark liquid. It held him tight. It moved with his movements. It felt as if he was part of the liquid. He floated in it. He never felt hungry or cold. In fact he felt comfortable. For the first time, he felt safe. Slowly he began to forget what he was and whom he knew. In this darkness, it was impossible to wrack his brain. Everything was slowly getting shrouded in darkness. Until that day when he ...
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