Godot or something like that.

(Previously)

There was a picture on the wall of a little girl turning a page of a book that seemed heavier than she was. Below the picture there was a table with shreds of important looking paper and blots of poetry-filled ink. This starts like an episode worth remembering, like a moment a photographer would like to capture for it had the air of the antique and the elegance of the sublime.

The winterlessness of the summer and the twilightlessness of the evening made it easier to long for an event, something out of the ordinary. The thing about boredom is that it makes one unavoidably curious. And curiosity, as we all know, kills the cat. The cat did die, in spite of the nine life myth.

(Then)

John- no, none of the famous one(s)- returned home to find the cat dead. It has always been dead. It is a picture of a dead cat for chrissake. Why would he have a picture of a dead cat hanging on his living room wall? Well, his dead almost-girlfriend-whom-he-was-still-in-love-with loved cats and he had never forgiven her for dying. So it goes . Anyone else would have at least waited till they had gotten down to the act so he would lose probably the only chance at losing his virginity. That bitch. It’s no fun being a 37 year old balding virgin who doesn’t have the nerd-genius tag to use as an excuse for his ‘condition’. 

Coming back to the dead cat, it was probably John’s twisted sense of poetry or humour, whatever you would like to call it, or maybe the cute shopping assistant at the bookstore that John to buy the picture. Not that it matters. What matters is why would the bookstore have a big poster of a dead cat for sale? Now that is twisted.  So the cat is dead and the dead cat is photogenic- yes, the cruel universe!- and John would certainly prefer to have its picture hanging on his wall rather than his own miserable self’s.

(Now)

The thing about boredom is that it makes one unavoidably curious and although the winterlessness of the summer and the twilightlessness of the evening made it easier to long for an event, something out of the ordinary. Nothing really happened.  No one came, not even Godot. All that one could say, even with the underlying curiosity and longing for something extraordinary, was that everything was hopelessly ordinary.

Surprise, O beloved lovers!

Two love-struck figures, cozy by the window,sipping coffee, fingers entwined somewhere in the intricacies of the grill,feeling the drops of rain. Then...

and

Poof






p.s: Is it Sunday? Amidst all the weekend plans if you can write a micro-fiction in 160 characters, go visit The Monkey Man!!!

The Dreamer

The sky was black. Not the black that leads you to despair, but the black that makes you want to lie back and gaze at it, and for some unknown reason count the glittering, luminous spheres of plasma spread over it generously. I was, however, too self-involved to even care.

***

Just last Sunday, in one of his restless, philosophizing mood, he had told me, 'I know my dream is to be the guy who has everything -immeasurable, insane amount of money, women , crazy, easy success and all of this without the side effects, of course. I want a peace too, you see.  ' After a moment's consideration, he adds, (his voice dipping, making him sound more sincere, less pretentious) ' You'd think having lived all this while shaping a dream this elaborate and to die young, before achieving it would be a tragedy but the catch is that you would have already achieved it in a way then. How? You would then become the person who had almost superhuman potentials a perfect entity, the guy-who-could-have-achieved-anything-he-put-his-mind-to. Your self-doubt, your moments of excruciating insecurities  and over-critical self-reflection would then vanish and would have existed in vain. For you, apparently, had what it took to be what you dreamt of.'' His eyes glued to the screen, not staring at anything in particular, just seemed to have forgotten my presence next to him. 

The next moment we are busy watching a mindless comedy and laughing our guts out just for the heck of it.  He had always been a little strange; 'eccentric', he liked to call himself. This is, probably, why he was the one guy whom I trusted since I was a kid. Maybe his was   a case of borderline neurosis, but he knew the line between being selfish and being a cold hearted betrayer and he had always respected it...until one day when he decided to betray my faith on his insanity and jump off the roof.

He just let me stand by and watch him die.

He may have meant it for me to be a part of his grand scheme, his master-plan to make sure he achieves everything he but I refuse not to feel betrayed just because he is dead.
I did not ask to be a part of this and be damned for ever.

***

Today as I saw the twilight hue fade to give way to the black sky, I noticed the sky and the ever-so-many twinkles from the beautiful explosions of gas, performing, as it seemed to me, specially for me. 

Picture credit: Xavier Photography