The jungle is fine as long as you are not bred in a zoo, the guide joked. Well, what they call the jungle was a zoo at some point of time. Then the bombing started. All the zookeepers disappeared, the animals were left to fend for themselves. Some were stolen, some eaten, and some died... those who escaped now rule this jungle. So don't be surprised if you see an animal so geographically out of context grazing next to you. It's just a zoo that has gone haywire. A zoo without boundaries and cages. A zoo where every animal is for himself.
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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