Category Archives: short fiction

Fuzzy

Things are moving. Fast enough. They seem fuzzy. Seems so. What will happen if I stick my head out? Will it be the freshness of air entering your lungs or just a smell of putrid past making its way to the future?

It is all a blur. Artistic or Alcoholic? I don’t know.

Fireflies in cobwebs. Brighten things before the touch of your feet slithers to the spiders. Way to go. 

Are you and me, one story? Fuzzy but Intrepid. Yes it is.

Your Days are Numbered!

 

“My days are numbered!”

“Oh really! Mine too! What a coincidence!” I said in a mocking tone, and thus  obviously invoking the fury of  a guy who is lying on a hospital bed, with countless tubes coming in and going out of him. Some of them, the ones that pump red colored liquid, which might very well be carrot juice, are decidedly more exciting than other transparent fluid carrying ones. The numbers in the nearby machines keep on changing and follow some sort of cyclic pattern. I wonder, how boring would it have been in olden times when the hospitals were just beds and parts of people! No cool machines and tubes that give the whole room a feel of a miniature water theme park.

 

“You think, I am joking. Don’t you?!” he says sounding not too happy at my numbered days coincidence gig.

I want to say, “No” but don’t want to lie as somewhere inside, I feel that people can smell lies once they are on a hospital bed. And the truth is that due to my uncanny ability to find traces of humor, I think there is a jocular element to the whole statement.

 

I actually hate when people say that my days are numbered. My hate resides more in the use of word ‘numbered’ than in the utmost pessimism forming the foundation of such a statement. What do they mean when they say ‘numbered’? Is it countdown kind of thing where they are counting it on their fingers, and just to delay the eventuality and increase counting means they have taken their shoes off too.  Aren’t all of us going to live for numbered days? I don’t know anybody who lived for infinite number of days or even to a lesser extent somebody who lived to ‘iota’. I would love to meet somebody who says, “Ah! You know what, I found the cheat code of life, I have infinite life till Level 10”. 

 

I imagine myself meeting the same guy again at Pearly gates and saying, “Weren’t you the ‘cheat code of life’ guy?”

“Yeah!…code worked…but system crashed!” he replies.

Romulus with Some Number

 

‘Not every child thrown to wolves becomes a hero”

                                                            —– Somebody (Obviously!!)

Yeah so true! Tell this to my parents who had thrown me in front of wolves. Well the fact that they wanted me to become a hero was just one reason. My being too troublesome and my habit of making up fictional stories that destroyed at least 3 marriages and forced one person to visit a ghost hunter, had something to do with my parents extreme step.

One day when I drank a full bottle of blue ink and I turned totally blue. My parents took me to that crazy doctor who it seemed had not got off his chair for a decade then and his chair somehow seemed to have molded itself around that man. So that crazy man said that there was no way out and the only way I can get it out is becoming writer and bring that ink on paper. I am pretty sure he said that to cheer me up. But it was only me who was cheered up that day, as my parents nuisance child become a socially unacceptable child. (If you think that being white/black is minority, think of being blue!). So just a week later, I found myself lying in a forest.

What do you do in such situation?
Try to save yourself or at least think of saving yourself.
How do you feel in such situations?
I don’t know as I did not feel anything. I just slept for most days. So a few days into this place and I was attacked by wolves. And when they attacked, I was saved by my blue color and Herman. I assume wolves don’t like blue cheese and then Herman was there for me. Herman is actually a two and one quarter toed sloth. Well he was a three toed sloth but he lost three quarters of a toe to the exacting scenarios during Forest War II. A nice jolly fellow he is!

I did get friendly with wolves after a few more meetings. And well they did help me a lot. But I could never join the league of Romulus, Remus Lupin or Mowgli. All heroes! Rest of my life is pretty banal like most of you guys. When wolves realized that I was too much of a sloth myself and sloth realized that I am too much of a wolf myself, they all decided that It was time for me to leave forest.

Once back among humans, I did what my doctor had suggested long time back. I started writing. My first story was obviously the one about my stay with sloths and wolves. People occasionally ask me questions like:

 
Are you a werewolf?

No! they never bit me! They really really hate blue color.

What is your name?

Romulus with some number.

What is the full name of your friend?

Its ‘Herman Dolloway the two and one quarter sloth!’

Did you have your clothes on when your parents left you in forest?

No! they are ruthless. I think they did not want to give me an unfair advantage over animals. They did not even leave me with underwear on. (Mowgli was lucky on that front)

All the kids thrown to wolves become heroes. Do you think you are going to be next hero?

Well I think Rome has already been found. I am not a werewolf and Mowgli is too clichéd to become hero now. So I guess as somebody who had lot of time at hand to think of wolves and children together, said, ” Not every child thrown to wolves becomes a hero’

Some just become food!

PS: This is definitely one of the dumbest post on Antisense Strand!

 

 

 

 

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