Another era slammed it's doors shut. No one will know what fell behind those doors. They will always be secrets. But at times these doors are pried open. By distant memories, jealousy, curiosity and vendetta. But that was not the case here. Bishop Sazu laid peacefully in his wooden casket like he was meditating. His smiling face gave away no secrets. I am an orphan boy who knows what the Bishop is taking with him to his grave. I am sure there were others like me, waiting for someone to fling those doors open.
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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