Blahsphemy

"Don't let him gift you a tail of misery", she froze as she remembered her mothers words. It was long back. She was too young to understand what a tail of misery was. Her mom had told her that the tail of misery is what makes women move around with swollen bellies and crying babies. She used to dread the tail of misery. Her mom had told her that someday she too will fall for a man who will gift her the tail of misery. Time passed, she was a full blown woman now. She met the man of her dreams at her workplace. Last night he broke her defenses with sweet talk and raging hormones. They had a wonderful time exploring erogenous zones on each other. Then he did it. He injected her with a million tails. The tails raced one another to fulfill her mom's prophecy. She clutched the pillow tight and whispered "oh tails of misery, leave me alone, or I will have to terminate you once and for al".   

He rechecked his list. Everything was in order. Guns, ammo, grenades... everything. He checked his watch. It beeped a happy beep and showed that he had exactly 30 minutes more. He took a long breath and kicked open the door. The street wore an empty look, as if it anticipated his arrival. He slowly moved towards the local school dragging his bag. He checked his watch again. Soon the kids will be out. He had specially prepared everything for them. They will love my sweet grenades and chewy AK 47s, he thought. A smile hid somewhere on his wrinkled face.  

I like funerals better than birthdays or weddings. You are free to shed a tear or wallow in silence. You don't have to smile unless you have to. You don't have to socialise much. You don't have to shave or look your best. You are not forced to eat or drink. You don't have to bring a gift or your family along. You can just be a face in the crowd. You can slip away when you feel like. Best of all, you will never be attending the funeral of the same guy again. Peace.  

I am really hungry, he commented. She pushed an empty plate towards him and asked, why don't you feed on these for a change? Your credit card limit is over. The mobile company will disconnected your line. The landlord wants us to pay the rent or I will have to sleep with him. My job contract will be over this month. He burped as he pushed the plate away.      

Today I have a headache. Tomorrow I might have some other ache. Life's so predictable. Another deadpan start to a story that will never be written.       

Who is that? Is that me? I don't look so old. Is that a tummy or is it just the t-shirt? What happened to my flowing locks? Is that a wrinkled forehead? Are those bags under my eyes? No I am still young. I am still kicking. Who put that damn bucket here?  

The words of wisdom were washed up on the shores of ignorance. Their ship was wrecked by a dullard off the coast of Intelligentsia. They floated aimlessly for days in the sea of Babel. On these strange shores, no one understood them. Some threw stones. Others spat at them. They were laughed at for they made no sense to the inhabitants. They soon discovered that in spite of their wisdom, they were deemed ignorant. 

Today he fed me a couple of doc files for breakfast. By evening I was full with a fat and juicy ppt. This is my lucky day. There are times when I get nothing. Nothing at all for days. Then a file appears out of the blue, just for me.  

Inspiration didn't strike me last night, he lamented.  She smiled the usual don't worry smile.  Nor did it look like it's going to strike me today, he added.  She tried not to yawn.  But it stabbed me right through my heart, he whispered.  She choked on the water she was drinking.   

The words play hide and seek Like sunlight on a rainy day Splish splosh the drops fell Only to be washed away 

The same words visited me again. I was shocked. They have this uncanny habit of sneaking upon me every time I welcome a blank page. I don't hate them but I just can't have the same words all over gain on a fresh page. Strange isn't it? Old words on a new page can make the page old.      

One puff and its heaven Said the voice from within I've been puffing ever since All I got is this chronic cough  

The world is spinning damn fast. So fast that today is yesterday before we know it. The words just gushed out of his mouth like soap bubbles from a washing machine's drain. He sounds so vague, she thought. For her every day was like an eternity. It just stuck there like an ant trapped in superglue. Nothing changed in her life. So what is this guy talking about. Which planet is he from? Hard to believe that we are stuck within the same four walls. Now he was yapping about how close the generation gap is in China. Damn, stupid guy, we are all guided by hormones. If I want to mate I won't wait for the world to stop spinning or the generation gap to widen. I will still resort to the primitive instincts my great great predecessors deployed before they evolved in to us. By the way it's the same instinct that got him in my room in the first place. 

Seven minutes, he gasped. The timer was ticking on. He carefully studied the wires. If he pulls the wrong one, his world will go boom. The red wire mocked him. The green invited him. The blue one was indifferent. The yellow mocked him. The violet one threatened him. The indigo one confused him. He looked at the clock again. Three minutes. Now it didn't matter whether he pulled the right one or not. The bomb was destined to blow him and everyone around him to smithereens. One more minute to go his brain screamed. He looked at them again. Red, green, yellow, blue, violet and indigo. Something is missing, he thought. Then it struck him like a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. He pulled the tiny orange wire that was hidden in the tangle. The clock stopped. The sun shone. Birds chirped. He felt as of he was born again.   

Searched for a lost friend. Met a million faces. None registered. Some sounded familiar. Some strange. Never wanted to meet some others. Still searching for that elusive friend.

When you have everything what would you love to lose? That question was aimed at the world. But it fell flat by his foot. And to make things worse, he kicked it under the sofa. There it was welcomed by the potato chip that had gone on a sabbatical last year. The cobwebs and dust softened its fall. It lay there all curled up in the fetal question mark position. A position all the inhabitants of queryland take while waiting for death and answers. 

A pair of legs and hands. Two eyes, ears and nostrils. One mouth. One anus. A dangling reproductive organ cum urinary tract. Hirsute. The cockroach summed him up through its myriad mosaic eyes. Its antennae figured what he had for dinner last night from the traces of the fart that had escaped from his rear. He tried to ignore the arthropod that can outlive him in a nuclear holocaust. He hummed a popular tune hoping that the ultrasound waves might goad the insect to retreat into its hole. But it just sat there nonchalantly waving its antennae. What if it is a mutant that sees me as a receptacle for its eggs?  What if it is a decepticon? What if it's my reborn grandpa? He was immobilized by his fears when the power went off. A silent scream escaped his throat. He felt a million cockroach legs on him. He heard cockroaches whizz past his ears laughing at his manhood. Cockroaches? Was there an army of them lying in ambush? He screamed with all his might till everyone in the apartment kn

Saw death dreaming a dead puppy dream on wet asphalt. The drizzle and the cloudy skies paid homage to the departed soul. The sun opened his drowsy eyes when the impatient crows descended to break their fast. This too like any other dream shall disappear fast, I thought. But, death and his dreams are the only reality, that's what life has taught me.         

  There is a story inside me, he declared.  Then show me that, barked the old man.  But, I can't do that. There he goes. He has a story and he can't show that. You don't understand. You haven't written one, have you? How can you be so sure? If you don't show me your story I will have to extract it from you. I will rip it out page by page. No! You can't do that, the very thought numbs my brain. I have to keep a level head to reveal my story. Level head? I can behead you and keep it on a platter so that it's level. You are insensitive. Now I am sure that you haven't written anything. You are testing my patience. And you are killing my muse.