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.
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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