Blahsphemy

The muse is back from a long sabbatical. Right now she is grumpy. We will all be, once we know that our vacation is over and we are back on the hamster wheel of our life. So I let her be. Woke up Tom Petty on iTunes. Lured her to a hot cup of Mocha and waited. She perked up a little. She seems to have a jet lag. Shall I tuck her in? You will wait, right? Catch you tomorrow.  

Strange sounds crept out of the door that was ajar. For the trained ear it sounded like the humid air escaping its prison. Still the soldier had his finger wrapped around the trigger. He moved cautiously towards the door. That's when he heard the familiar click of an IED being triggered by his weight. He stood their waiting for the explosion to rip him apart. It felt like eternity. But nothing happened. He took a step forward and fainted. He was born again.     

The man just stared back at him. It took a while for Nebrask to figure out that he was looking at a mirror. Mirrors are supposed to reflect, his brain screamed. So then what's this man doing in my mirror? Is that really me? Then what happened to the reflections I used to see everyday? Or did I wake up today as someone else? The questions were inundating his brain like an avalanche. He fled the room in search of another mirror.   

The worm mocked the fish. Little did the fish know that the worm had a hook up his sleeve. He lunged forward and swallowed it whole. The rest they say is history. But, don't they teach fish that in schools? Why do they still fall for worms?  

The writer with the unpronounceable name peered at me from the pages. I guess he was also in a similar situation as mine. My name would've been difficult for his foreign tongue to master. Since he had no option of seeing me, I guess he was relieved on that front. But then what am I talking about? How can we see one another through a book? Or for that matter any piece of communication? Can you see me? Do you know who I am? Before you read on, try imagining who I am. What I do for a living. Where do I live. In fact, anything and everything about me that might catch your fancy. In the meantime, I will do the same about you.  

That will be five stories, the blog replied. He blinked. The new month had sped on without him realising it. Five stories? He stammered. I have been not able to write for quite some time now. I have been waiting for that perfect story which will make everything else look stupid. But, it never happened. The blog just blinked. Five stories, please. It repeated. Was there a tone of irritation? He never bothered to ponder, he ran out on to the streets paved with alphabets and let his fingers dance. He had only one goal, five stories for the blog, no matter what.