Firebird

The earth crackled as she ran in unholy sprints and so did the leaves. Autumn was here and the leaves had broken down from their chains. She disappeared again from my sight. I was again close; very close.

It has been 2 years since I have been chasing her. And I have run out of patience now. I want it ended swiftly. But she has managed to outsmart me; every time. I am the hunter and she was the one that would be hunted. The mountains didn’t help me much. It would have been much easier if we were on the plains. But I have no choice here; I have to find a way.

I am Evan, 12 years old, and this is my world. I have been living this world for the last 2 years and hunting her down is my mission; my salvation. I have not yet met another living soul. I am all alone facing my nemesis. Pangs of longing and depression have hit me every now and then. But I have been strong. I crave for my freedom.

My nemesis is the Firebird; the only other moving being here. She is painted with shades of red. She resembled a peacock. She is as majestic as the dragon; as magnanimous as the lion. Her fiery red wings glitter like brittle glass. She has a golden crown perched on her head. Her beak is silver, her eyes blue. She never made a sound. She is the devil of these lands. And my freedom shall only be attained after I stab her heart.

I have my weapons; a sword and an arrow. And these shall be enough. I only need one chance and I shall succeed. Many people have tried hunting the firebird. Some have succeeded in months, some years. Some never have. The essence of this world taught me these. I had no guardian, no shining angels or voices. The essence of this world-of-no-return instilled its learning and assigned me, my one sole task.

Kill the firebird…stab the heart…

I sneaked into a small crevice and adjusted myself. The firebird had stopped near a water stream. She was about a few hundred meters from my sight; if only I had a bow. She didn’t have any powers apart from her surreal beauty and her unnatural sprint speed. I only needed to trap her in a closed space and then I might have a chance.

I slid slowly in the stream as I watched her go near the bank, opposite to the crevice I was in. I swam cautiously through the blue waters and approached the bank. When I felt land, I rose cautiously above the water and saw her standing atop the edge. She was staring the distant water fall. A calm demeanour shone on her face and I felt instant love for her. I didn’t have a reason to hurt this harmless being.

Climbing the bank in one swift motion, I jumped as I made way and swung my sword towards her in one swift deadly arc. She reacted quickly but I was effective this time. I cut her deep on her right side and now she bled silvery blood. She backed off a little as blood spurted in steady amounts. This impact swerved my sword off my hands and it fell into the stream.

She faced me. I expected wrath and anger. But her face has never been calmer. She opened up her wings in one majestic movement. I dropped down to my knees in reverence and folded my arms in a prayer.

She was standing on her two legs and her radiant red wings radiated warmth and care that I have craved for, all this time. It was like a homely light of affection. I cried.

Do it child…

I suddenly heard her. She wasn’t speaking through her lips but it was something else altogether. She was inside my head.

Do it child…Do it before people interfere with our matters…I tried my best to bring you the greater freedom of life…But my missions have failed me…You deserve the other freedom, in peace…

I wept, as things suddenly made sense and as I felt a rush of blood to the head. I nodded.

I went near her and removed the arrow from my pocket. She cajoled me with her wings. I steadied my arms and held the arrow with both arms. I raised it above my head and positioned it to stab her.

Freedom was one stroke away…

The room 402 of the Green Field Hospital was buzzing with activity. The only child of the residential Doctor couple passed away this morning. The boy fell from their apartment’s terrace 2 years back and has been in a coma since. The state was vegetative from the very start and his vital organs never truly responded back.

There was a legal tussle ongoing for a mercy on his pain. And only yesterday did the jury rule in the favour of a clean death with a consensus made on its implementation being the following week.

Evan won.

Scare Diaries 1.1: The Night Out

A Cosmopolitan poster lay in front of us, as we gawked at the blonde model with wide eyes. She had a snake around her and she winked at us through the gloss. We winked back.

I was 14 then. And my cousin brother, of a year younger, had come to my home for the weekends. It was a routine thing back then. Sometimes I went to his place. Sometimes he did the same. On this occasion, he was there after a period of two months. My family shifted into a new house, leaving our old home after years. The old home had tons of memories attached to it. The newer one was working on making them.

The flat was basically a 2 BHK home, part of a new apartment that was in a secluded part of the area, with the hall in the middle and the bedrooms split on either side. My own room was my new den and I and my brother were using the seclusion to the fullest.

He brought an old cosmopolitan from one of his friends and that was quite something. We skimmed pages after pages in awe and amazement; puberty doing its part.

After we were done browsing, we went on to play an hour of Super Contra and Tennis. After noises of my mom from the bedroom reached our ears, we switched off the console in a rushed hurry and jumped to our beds. The lights switched got switched off dramatically. It was 1 am.

But being what we were, we didn’t sleep. We broke off into a jig of shallow discussions which consisted of only girls and a comic book thrown in between every now and then. It was safe to say that we reached an all-time low that day. We learned new things about the forbidden part of the human lives in extensive details.

We were on with it in with our hushed tones discussing in great lengths the details of the human anatomy. And just abruptly, my brother stopped and went wide eyed of a different kind. In the very next moment I did too.

From the hall outside, we heard sniffs; an act of crying; restrained. More particularly, it was a woman’s cry. And she did not stop the sorrowful expression of grief. Our neck hair went into absurd angles. It was not a loud wail and that was the worst part. It was a controlled bursting of tears.

We grew even stiffer, as we heard the woman pacing slowly up and down the hall. They were proper soft footsteps and while she paced, she continued the gloomy sobbing. The world seemed distraught as her sniffs drowned us in confusion.

My brother elbowed me and spoke in furious whispers.

"Bro! Kakima! She woke up and she heard everything!”

I looked at him in disdain. I knew my Mom. If she heard what we were speaking about, she wouldn’t take a stroll and cry out. She would come inside the room, switch on the lights and furiousity would follow in ample amounts.

I gulped stupidly.

"We should go and check." I suggested.

"I am not going to face her. My image has been tarnished for life in front of her."

Little punk. I had to live there forever, he skipped that part.

I looked at him with all the anger I could muster and went outside, cautiously placing my feet so as to make no sound. He cheered me on, grinning even.

I went outside into the hall. Apart from the things that are always there, there was no one and nothing else. The chair seemed settled on its own and the curtains waved themselves gracefully. A shot of current ran up my spine and the body went into chills. I tried to calm myself down, but a steady gush of sweat was drowning me in. I hurriedly walked towards my parent’s room to check on them.

They were sleeping like no swallow broke a sound. I went nearer to check on my mom specifically and peace never had a better description. I looked around the room and braced myself for incoming attacks and rushed to my room and locked it from the inside.

When I went inside all I saw was a cousin fast asleep like a sloth. In those few seconds that I was outside, my cousin collapsed into a deep sleep like I have never seen him do before. I tried waking him up but he stayed put. In despair and with sweats of a pig, I crept under a thick blanket to protect me from the evils outside, curling my legs to protect it from being caught from any arm that might come up from the insides of my bed.

It took me hours or maybe minutes to sleep but then I did fall asleep and the next day was behavior as usual. I asked my brother the reason why he left me stranded. He was nonchalant and said he was sleepy. When I discussed animatedly regarding the sniffs, he acted like nothing happened. The story got lost and I was the only keeper.

Times have moved on and we have changed the place and the memories of my cousin have been wiped off completely, sadly. The subtle terror of that night just didn’t tick him. Or perhaps the ghost of that woman took shelter in my brother's body and is playing tricks since then. Let’s just pretend, the last line was not read.

The Mute

Part 1]

An analog radio was being attended by a small boy of 10. It screeched decibels of unspectacular, unwanted sound. The boy looked frail, forlorn in his unblemished attire. He occupied a miniscule territory of a vast, arid ground that had a sparse blur of moving children in the horizon. The playground was a decent carpet of dry grass and the sun turned things into a shade of intense orange. The boy had a faint smile on while he treated the device.

A group of four kids entered into the frame and kicked and broke his radio. They took the boy by his collar and punched him on his stomach. He fell down hard and a round of kicks on the surface area of his body, followed suit. Blood oozed from his mouth as he watched the gang walking back into the blur screaming happily for successfully ensuring their violent victory.

He stared blank.

The boy was now an adult. He was reading lines from a piece of paper, as he stood 22 yards behind the girl he fancied. He planned out his throw and made sure the jokes would get the proper punch they deserve. He hoped the girl would appreciate his efforts because he knew for certain that he loved her.

A group of four boys entered into the frame and tore his words of love. They took the boy by his collar and punched him on his stomach. He fell down hard and a round of kicks on the surface area of his body, followed suit. Blood oozed from his mouth as he watched the gang walking back into the blur screaming happily for successfully ensuring their violent victory.

The girl laughed harder.

He stared blank.

The boy was now a working individual. He looked at the picture of his prospective bride. She looked threateningly through the gloss. His parents hooked him up to this piece of uncertainty. He stared the wall anticipating his forthcoming life.

A group of four men entered into the frame and placed a huge stack of files on his table. They went on to brag about his commitment levels and told him to work more. They also told him about his extended shift to increase the performance of the firm. They went away jolly in a tempo of relief at this ensuing victory of delegation.

He stared blank.

The man had a beard now. He looked down on the sink and then to his hands. He held the knife closely now. The knife dripped blood. He washed the knife with a pleasant calm.

He laughed and started singing a Kishore Kumar classic.

Part 2]

He gazed at his loaf of bread with utmost sincerity. He applied a fine layer of mixed fruit jam over the butter that was spread out before. Savoring this activity, he went on to make five such loaves each intricately prepared. He relished the warmth of the morning light in his drawing room and basked in the happiness of a temporary fulfillment. A bizarre sounding alarm clock rang nuts into the proceedings. He let out a sigh as he closed his eyes.

A white hill…A purple chariot…A radiant white horse driving it…As he commanded it…Peace…

“You useless buffoon! Go to work. Stop wasting time!”

His wife stormed into the drawing room, the air waves carrying abuses around her. He gazed at her as a cow gazes the land after it is done eating. A flurry of vulgar Hindi abuses continued. His first impression of her was spot on, he thought. All these years she treated him like dirt and he could do nothing about it. He wondered if he should have spoken against her when his parents were match making. He could have spoken then and not have been so mute. Then his life flashed in front of him and he shrugged it off, repenting.

He went inside took his briefcase and a haversack. His missus gave him a list periodically and he purchased whatsoever it told him to. He came out of his bedroom and his wife slapped him hard across his face.

“You moron! That 2 kg wheat you brought last night. We never eat that. Why the hell did you not bring the one we have been consuming for a hundred years now?”

He wanted to answer but went shrugging off. Her wife could have been an amusing mosquito. He didn’t care. As he was leaving he saw his antique knife in a stand on the table. He smiled at it, almost acknowledging it. And then, he went back to his furrowed brow.

He walked down the stairs. He could have opted for the elevator, but he never used one. He walked below to his apartment’s compound and found a horde of the residents taking on the security man. He looked closely, they were all women. He went near the crowd to look into the argument.

The harried security guy found new found confidence when he saw him. He momentarily went out of line and approached him with utmost contempt.

“Mind your own business, loser”. He spitted out.

He remained grim and walked past the crowd without replying back and looked satisfied when he heard a familiar word among the yells. He walked his way to his motorcycle and gave it a kick start. It fizzled out annoyingly.

At the garage, nothing much happened. Only the guys teased him about his lack of knowledge of things pertaining to his bike and a mandatory ‘loser’ followed him in his stride back to work.

The office was as – usual. People came. He worked. And everything was like it was every day. Only he was slapped by a woman. She alleged that he tried to make advances towards him. A slight murmur persisted and by the end of the lunch period, all was sorted. The woman laughed back her way. Everyone else looked pleased as they went back.

He stared blank.

Working hours ended for the day. He alighted two hours later.

On his way, he shopped according to the list. He could not find the salt brand his wife mentioned. He didn’t know what to do. So he didn’t bring any. He stopped at three more places before he walked back to his house.

The security guard walked to his post as he entered the building. The security man looked at him in disdain as he entered. The guard could have got more time if he came a little late, he thought.

As he entered, seeing his wife, he thought the same. The wife welcomed him with a cold smile with her attire, disheveled. The antique knife shone to his face, weirdly being reflected at suitable angles to get his attention. He walked past it. He went to have a shower and succumbed to his thoughts.

A green sky…Three flying purple reindeers drawing a sledge…He was dressed in red…Comfort…

He was rudely interrupted by his wife banging the door. The missing salt was the culprit this time.

The abuse continued during his dinner too. He went along eating. All the time he did that, he stared at the antique knife. The knife seemed to dissolve all the noises in the background.

After dinner, the lights went off. The wife took her sleeping pills and slept off instantly. He heaved a long sigh and sat waiting for the world to sleep.

It could have been a good two hours worth of sitting on one’s bed. He got up. Then, he went to the drawing room and took out the knife from the table, smiling. The knife smiled back. He collected something else from his haversack. For some reason, he felt an incoming rush of adrenaline.

He went inside his bedroom and saw his wife sleeping soundly. He got rid of his clothing. His eyebrows formed a tedious arc; lips contorted in rage. He, then, went where he had to.

Laid his things down and lifted his knife in extreme fury. He yelled in rage and stabbed continuously; furiously. Blood poured out instantly forming froth. The head was severed instantly from the body. The guts spilled out with uncanny ease. A warm flow of blood caressed his hands. He wiped the blood over his face and broke out into a satisfying grin.

He cursed in merriment.

Part 3]

The fish carcass lay splattered all across the kitchen floor.

After he finished stabbing the fish for the twenty-seventh time, he finally felt accomplished for the day. He cleaned up the place and the knife and then collected the fished up remains in a plastic bag, singing a Kishore Kumar classic during this time. A hot shower followed and clothing too.

He walked down to his compound and dropped the bag in front of the entrance relishing the waste. Tomorrow’s quarrelling noises echoed back into his ears and he looked pleased. Just to amuse himself, he sprinkled some gore into the guard’s shoes and let out a smirk.

He walked back, letting out words that echoed. Slowly he went inside his bedroom. Kissing his wife on the forehead, he laid down beside her. He closed his eyes.

“Every night, I get my voice back.” He spoke out loud.

And slept curling his knees like a fetus inside a womb; peace attained.

Flirt, Love, Get Killed

I was at the bus stop doing nothing as usual. I was a loner; I was a nomad. I worked only to quench my thirst; my hunger. Basically I was a suave vagabond who didn’t worry about the perils of life. I lived like there is no tomorrow. I waited for destiny to embrace me.

And then suddenly out of nowhere, she came. She was the most beautiful girl I have ever seen. I never thought I could love a girl. I was too busy living on my own spirits. But seeing her I knew, something changed inside me, for good.

I sought her attention. But she didn’t bother and stayed clung to her phone. My mind was working furiously. I knew I needed her. I was devising plans and plots to woo her; to get her. I decided buzzing my songs for her. Passersby waved furiously at me. But I managed fine, dodging. All I wanted was her attention. But to no avail. She was a stone. There was a good chance she was deaf but I didn’t care.

She took a cab out of the blue. I had my own means. I followed her furiously. Sweat and tears rolling. Never have I been so fast. The cab reached her house and parked and I halted too. I followed her stealthily and keeping out of sight. She opened her door and went inside. Foolish girl, I thought. I sneaked in. Stealth has always been my forte. I saw her taking her water bottle and walk to her room. I followed suit being sure she was deaf. I walked into her room. Still nothing came up. She was still acting as if I didn’t even exist. I was not a bloody ghost, I thought. Sure I was ok assuming her deaf. But I knew she wasn’t blind.

I got annoyed. Its one thing being told a ‘No’ but something altogether wretched when there is so much indifference around. I went stupid; I went brave. I touched her shoulder.

She was finally struck with sense and for the first time she looked at me. It was beautiful. I was lost looking at her blue, deep eyes. If someone knew how heaven felt, I am sure he/she (for gender equality) would describe it exactly the way I felt right now. This moment of love was something I never knew before. Her gaze was passive. Her posture grew stiff. But it didn’t bother me. I stared at her with all the grace my love could muster up. She moved her radiant arms and brought it near me. I stayed mesmerized.

She slapped her shoulder mildly. Pain grew inside me. I bled, I withered. She cursed something objectionable and shrugged me off her shoulders. She didn’t even look back and left me for dead on her floor. I was heartbroken; metaphorically and literally. I wish I could tell her how much I loved her. I wish I could tell her not all of us suck blood and spread malaria.

Dying sucks, irony intended.

Amateur Experiments

SD Radhakrishnan, bespectacled, gazed intently at a display board of a large machine. We called her Elizabeth. He noted down a few things on his notepad as I cleaned the floor. I brought some more hydrogen peroxide from the cabinet and poured it into the bucket. He noted some more. He went back and opened the panel and calibrated the readings. I, on the other hand, cleaned the floor with utmost sincerity. Radhakrishnan vented out frustrating groans every now and then. His job among the two was clearly the more difficult. But make no mistake; the floor was very clean now. It has never been so clean, as a matter of fact. But it’s not every day that graduates manage to send things through time. If our calculations are right, today would be that every day. As Radhakrishnan would say, “Science that!”

“Is there any chance that we might hit someone out cold?”

Radhakrishnan dismissed my question with amusement again. I didn’t really like him when he got all smug up but that’s that.

“Three point eight four three three five into ten raise to the negative sixteen”

That was the probability we would hit someone he would say incessantly.

Radhakrishnan and I are Physics and Electronic graduates from MIT respectively. It all started with a random brain storm session with a few of our classmates in a cafeteria and all the notions discussed lead us to this garage. It wasn’t that we are particularly thrilled. Deep inside we know this exercise is nothing more than futile scavenging of theoretical applications. But we are at least a bit proud making this far. Radhakrishnan might be grumpy and shake his head in denial but it was me who triggered the very foundation of our experiment. Radhakrishnan managed to actually implement it.

The garage looked unusually elongated now, after we cleared it. The floor reflected light for a change. The area starting from the device to the garage shutter was our experiment zone. We aligned Elizabeth centrally to cater to her needs.

“Science that!” Radhakrishnan exclaimed.

This usually would mean that the thing was done.

Radhakrishnan stood looking at me, in a dirty white shirt and a bright floral trunk, with a faint smile that did not necessarily convey relief. I cleaned the last square inch, earnestly, got up, wore my slipper and went behind Elizabeth and checked her out. She did not in any way look amateur.

Elizabeth was a huge, almost square box made of polished tin. It had a black electronic panel that gleamed out primitive LEDs. The front looked rather sober. It was covered entirely but for a small vent. Inside among the other details contained the two most important ingredients of our experiment; a propulsion cartridge containing a bullet and a vertically aligned laser, a real one. The laser would not emit the way it was suppose to. In that laid the foundation of our time-travel hullabaloo.

Wormholes are the theoretical entities that we assumed would exist, as a basis of our little experiment. Science Fiction over the ages has twisted and dried down its relevance. In actual sense in theory of technicality, wormholes are entities that get created every now in then in space and last for a time that cannot be measured in any scale known to humans. They are born and then they die in a time frame so miniscule that nothing can grasp it. However if wormholes are caught, stretched and traversed, time and space can be theoretically manipulated. If traversed, they can lead to a time or a universe completely different than ours. It can be any time in the past or the present or the future in this universe or any other, in case there are indeed multiple universes.

This basic assumption was the core that we hoped would sustain. With that we needed a negative particle that would hold and stretch a wormhole. This unknown element was the key and somehow Radhakrishnan manage to accommodate this element in the laser. His basic notion was to change certain polarities which, he presumed, would do the job. And the bullet was supposed to be our time traveler. The laser would be emitted out of the machine with a bullet that would be fired a quarter of a second before. They would align together and if this, presumed negative, laser can tear out any nearby hole, the bullet might tailgate through time for a meter and then come back here. The bullet, irrespective of the outcome, was calibrated to a short projectile. The video camera that I would hold will check its motion through the experiment.

Throughout the process, Radhakrishnan remained adamant and always, spoke with conviction – “We won’t succeed in this lifetime”. Nevertheless he didn’t waver off the path and we did complete the implementation as we wanted, with my A negative electronic wizardry coming to good use.

We stood there for a moment or a thousand as if lost for words. I positioned myself in the corner to capture our amateur experiment. The joy was not in the result but in the process, I convinced myself into believing it. Because irrespective of the result, the satisfaction lies in creating a plot and a story that tries to waver off the routine.

Amidst my philosophical consolidating reverie, Radhakrishnan pressed the start button abruptly and turned Elizabeth on. I hated the fact that no punch lines were made. The device whizzed while I switched on my camera and wore the glares Radhakrishnan told me to wear. The whizzing continued for a minute or so and hopes wandered elsewhere. Then suddenly, a sound of a chisel hitting tin was heard.

A bright light spurted out of the device in sync with the bullet. The light was reminiscent of an Avada Kevadra ejaculating from Voldy’s wand. It started and finished in a blur and we heard the bullet hit the floor. The first attempt at least worked in doing what was expected. The experiment has started and that was a good sign.

We turned off the device and went with tepid feet to pick up the bullet.

Did we start the World War? Did we hit Kennedy or Gandhi? Or was it a peasant or a mafia or Radhakrishnan’s dad in the war? What did we change?

We gasped in horror as the bullet lay on the floor soaked in blood and history.

Radhakrishnan hurried to check the camera as I sat on the floor, on my knees, checking the ghost bullet intently, as a small puddle of blood formed in front of me.

I smiled.