She could make out that her cat was in heat. If she let it have her way, there will be another set of mouths to feed. Already she had five. She couldn't imagine another five or six. To prevent that she will have to get the vet. But the vet was more expensive than feeding another six cats. What was she going to do now? Let the cats have their way or pay the vet? That's when she remembered that her neighbor's cat was a carbon copy of her cat in heat. Maybe, she could swap the cats. She was pretty sure that the neighbor wouldn't even notice. So she waited for a chance to get hold of the cat. Little did she know that the neighbor had already swapped his cat with hers.
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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