Tuesday, July 19, 2005

Feeble Attempt: Short Story

The man in the blue shirt hesitated a bit. Was there someone calling him? He turned around. Nope. The lady in the blue dress continued to remain engrossed in her book. There wasn’t any one else in the vicinity apart from that mangy dog, but he was pretty sure that the call (if there had been) wasn’t from that source.

The lady felt the slightest bit of wind on her cheek, and as she looked up from the Harry Potter book she was reading to brush the strand of hair attempting to get into her eye, she saw a man in a blue shirt look away. Was he staring at me? Can’t be sure. He did remind her of somebody though – her old neighbour. Or should it be her neighbour of old. Whatever. Thoughts of her neighbour always raised her hackles.

He had seemed like this incredibly nice chap with a happy family. Of course, such a view was hard to persist with after he chain sawed his family one night. Too many things in his mind. It’s obviously hard to remain sane when you know that your best friend had just poisoned your family. A poison that doesn’t even work like normal ones – and that was the tragedy! Surprisingly. No, all this poison did was to remove the last vestiges of humaneness in any human. Living with mechanical people isn’t too much fun. But what warranted the massacre was the fact that these “people” could spread this at will. He was about to get to his friend as well. He had conjured up these images of a gruesome slow death that would make…well…he might as well admit it…make what he went through, as he wiped out his family, as just a walk in the park. Dreams…hmmph! Of course, none of that happened as the cops got there before. His murder cycle began and ended with his family, prematurely if one may add. Couldn’t get to the friend.

Not that his friend could have been murdered. Let’s optimistically rephrase that – only his friend’s body could have been murdered. His conscience had done a good job of expunging his soul. Ironic indeed. It had created a serious conflict of interest. How could one commit suicide in order to live! He didn’t bother himself with such philosophical ruminations. Not after his dastardly acts. The first “killing” was the worst. Oh no…it was a very clean affair – so not “worst” in that sense. Even now, it amazed him to see his ego surfacing to appease his “killer” image. Isn’t it the image that woos the ego? That first “killing” was the worst simply because his human self had put up its best fight. Since then it was pretty much gravity’s way. Humaneness, just like egotism, can never be vanquished completely. He learnt that the hard way when his guilt tortured him no end after the “poisoning” of his best friend’s family. But he couldn’t stand up against the Giant.

The Giant was just a moniker. He stood 7 ft tall. He spoke softly. He spoke endearingly. All that was sweet candy. But what he spoke wasn’t. He was good at convincing people to kill others. He was very fair in his choices. There was never any discrimination regards the person who should die, and who should do the killing. In fact, he prided himself on his objectivity. He would have been a good guy, a well-respected man in society, but for the little thing of him beginning to “kill” since his childhood. As a baby, he had a stunted view of what killing was. God (if there does exist such a person) needs to be thanked for such small favours. As a baby, he had “killed” people – only they seemed so to his mind. Not that he didn’t actually hurt them. Ask the curious visitor who in the process of playfully pointing his finger at the baby’s cheek had the digit bitten to the bone. They all laughed at the baby’s supernatural teeth. Uncomfortably. It had to be uncomfortable laughter. But as he grew, so did his brain, so did his sweet talk and so did his laziness. Now he just needed to sermonize for 10 minutes, and the audience would have made up its mind on the weapon. So simple. So lazy. Of course, you do have the occasional tough nuts to crack. Like the one he just got off the phone. Phone – another piece of invention to encourage laziness and unhinder his depravity. His powers seemed to be growing at an alarming rate. The latest “to-be-killer” was able to get quite a few barks & yips out, before he silenced him with his speech. By the end of the talk, he was pretty sure that if the person at the other end had a tail, it would be wagging vigorously. He had got him so excited about this new “kill”.

He dropped the phone. His small brain managed to grasp most of what the voice at the other end wanted. The victim was a tough target. Unlike most humans, this one actually observed. So he needed to be at his utmost stealth to get the better of him. The victim seemed to have taken a liking for that girl. That was good. Mind wasn’t where it was supposed to be. Very good. And there came the 18 wheeler down the road. Excellent.

The mangy dog made a lunge at the man in blue, who went sprawling onto the hot road. Crap! How hot is this road…was his last thought as the 18-wheeler decided to give him a closer look. The lady in the blue dress didn’t look up until she noticed that her Half Blood Prince book was drenched fully in blood.
Author's Note: The above story writing style is completely inspired from Mark Twain's short story, "The Story of the Old Ram". I couldn't help but try to write one using the same.


At 5:27 AM, Anonymous No insult this!:-) said...

hmm...a writer! surely an inspired writer! ;-)
u should try out something more in line of douglas adams.
if i had the money,i would definetely finance u

At 8:32 AM, Blogger Bloggard said...

Brilliant brilliant...I'll come back to read the rest of it later sometime...but brilliant brilliant.


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