Blahsphemy

What to write? The question hounded him for days. Nights were a different matter. He was always writing. The pen used to fly over the blank sheets like a bomber dropping cluster bombs. He used to feel good. Then all of a sudden his dream will be shattered by the loud fart of his roommate.   

They found him face down in a ditch. He was drifting between consciousness and blackness like a pendulum. He heard them whisper stereo. He thought he heard someone laugh as well. He was the quiet type. He knew he could crank up the party if he wanted. They used to call him Mr. Boom Before he ended up in the ditch he was leading peaceful retired life in an attic. There was no one around to disturb him. But then life has this nasty way of shaking things up. He was spotted by the kid he dreaded the most. He was no longer a kid. He had grown old, developed a serious meth problem and was always on the lookout for trouble. That day in one of his drug induced tantrums he just ran up to the attic and started kicking things around. That's when he spotted the long retired family member. Family or no family, the kid grabbed him and flung him out of the attic window. He fell on top of a passing truck that was jostling down the street. The very same truck moved around town with him precariously...

I just realized that I have forgotten something. I have left out the ending from this story. Or was it the beginning? I am not sure of it either. 

Loneliness welcomed him back like a long lost friend. He detested her company, always. He tried to shake her off at night clubs, stadiums, metro stations, malls and cinema halls. She was always waiting for him whenever he felt lonely. She seemed to enjoy his predicament. He wanted to lose her forever. The moment he was lonely, she was there by his side. Soon he started to like her company. He started to long for her in crowds, meetings and parties. Little did he know that he was becoming her. A loner.      

Once upon a time there was a man with no mind of his own. He always wanted others to do the thinking for him. He was always looking for his mind in the wrong places. One day he was caught peeping up a young lady's skirt for it. He didn't know where he could find his mind. He was frustrated that even though he didn't mind being without his mind the others did mind. So off he went to get a mind of his own. He travelled all around the world and came back to his old town. There one day he realized that his mind was all this while languishing in a prison deep underground. He dug and dug until his fingers bled. Finally he reached an iron handle. He turned it with all his might and the earth caved in. Now he was a man who was in no need for a mind. A dead man. 

The time has come. It surely didn't come on a bike or horseback. It was riding a snail. That too a snail that lost its way a million times. By the time it arrived, it was eons late. There was no one waiting for it. But, then time and tide waits for none. So the feeling was mutual. 

The trap was set. A few days passed until it delivered. One ugly squirming word was found impaled in it. It created such a racket that she was scared to go anywhere near it. Finally the word died. It stared with its blank eyes at the world and lay motionless. She poked it, just to be sure. It was dead for sure. I have to erase it before it starts to stink, she thought. The trap had other plans. It wanted to eat the word one alphabet at a time. It shook the carcass whenever she came near. She just couldn't understand why a dead word refused to go away silently.