I still remember that day. We woke up feeling lighter. There was a pep on everyones step. Even the sad felt that a load has been lifted off their shoulders. The gym rats lifted more than usual. We felt good until Joseph found that he had to place more than usual on the weighing scales. Then all hell broke loose. By noon, the furniture started levitating. Water refused to stay down. Kids began to bounce higher. Blood began to rush to our brains. Cars floated. In fact anything that was independent had to be tied down. Some moored themselves to the trees. Our world was going light. We had lost gravity for ever.
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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