The water was rising fast. It's the moon, thought he. Now he could hear it flowing down his cellar steps. I will have to switch to my gills, soon. Something strange was going on. Instead of the usual icy cold water, his feet got scalded. He jumped in pain. The volcano must have burst and the lava would've reached the sea. I will have to get my escape pod now. He grabbed the lever and yanked it with all his might. Something creaked way down. The room shuddered. The floor parted and his escape pod appeared. He jumped in and hit the ignition. Nothing happened. The fuel was frozen. Now all that he had to do was to wait for the scalding water to melt his fuel. But then will his pod start, he never knew. He was floating on his own ocean of uncertainty.
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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