There was a time when the stories were abundant. All you had to do was to go out and look for them. Then came a different species called the reader. They lived off stories. Each wanted a special kind of story. They wanted more of everything. They wanted this, that and whatnot. They wanted everything that went under the name of stories. This led to the dwindling of stories. Stories were hunted down even before they matured. They were devoured undercooked. They were under developed. They were plagiarized. They were driven to extinction by the greedy readers. Whatever that you see as a story is just a poor excuse for the real thing. Like this one for instance.
He couldn't keep count of the days or nights as he was always surrounded by darkness. No he wasn't blind nor did someone blindfold him. He fell in to a deep dark hole that's all. He was rushing to catch the last train home. Since it was getting late he decided to take the shortcut. Before he fell, all that he saw was a lamppost by the tracks. The impact of the fall switched off the lights in his brain. When he recovered, it was dark. He tried to feel his way around. But to his surprise all that he could feel was the darkness around him. It was as if he was encased in a thick gooey dark liquid. It held him tight. It moved with his movements. It felt as if he was part of the liquid. He floated in it. He never felt hungry or cold. In fact he felt comfortable. For the first time, he felt safe. Slowly he began to forget what he was and whom he knew. In this darkness, it was impossible to wrack his brain. Everything was slowly getting shrouded in darkness. Until that day when he ...
Comments
Post a Comment