it has been thirty days since you did something about it, he thought. Twenty five, not thirty days the calendar corrected him. He had this wonderful knack of procrastinating. So much so that he can be called a true champion in that sport. Deep inside he knew that he could beat anyone when it comes to keeping things for later. Sadly, the clock on his wall never thought so. Never had it paused once to look at him lounging on his chair staring at the wall. It had always been busy eating up the seconds a solitary tick and a tock at at a time. He stood up, yawned and looked out of the window. The shadows were longer than they were in the morning. A slight breeze was upsetting the fallen leaves on a cobbled path. The story was not going anywhere, just like him. That's when she stepped in, a wry little runaway from a nearby mental asylum. She was high on dope and he was a low on hope. She burst into his life through the front door. He didn't know what to make out of her. She didn't know he even existed. One day a man found them on that sofa by the fireplace like two mannequins from outer space.
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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