The sun was on its way to the West. He saw an old man sitting on a rock. He said, "I have been watching you every evening sitting on the same rock watching me. It's irritating when people stare at you for nothing." The man smiled at the sun and said, "You have been watching me every single day of my life and I never complained. Now look at you whining about me staring at you." The sun realised that if he stays longer chit chatting with the guy he will be late for home and his wife the moon will get upset as she and her kids - the stars, were ready for their outing. So he just glared at the man. But the man laughed "Oh mighty sun, by evening your strength has been drained. I can out-glare you easily." The sun gave up and rushed home. Tomorrow I will make him pay for his insolence, he thought.
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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