Greetings and wishes for unwished occassions my ever faithful audience. I am of the opinion that there is no apologizing to be done for my absence over the past few weeks. I doubt I was missed and I hope I can bring back that writing mode I ever so love. The exams are yet to be done with but the ones that are over have taken their toll on me. Im happy they're over and I think thats all I wish to speak of 'em.
What follows is a short story I made in my mind a few mins ago. Written at a stretch with no drafts and reviews. Dont judge. Dont hate. Congratulate.
1.15am
About the time when the drunks and the not so drunks begin leaving the crowded bar and head to the wife. Whether they get a banging or get to do some banging will never be known. She herself never bothered. Cleaned the glasses. Cleared the plates and got on with life. Deep down inside, it was the picture of that '69 Mustang and the joint she kept in her locker that kept her going.Possibly it was some psychological problem that a doctor would cure with a hundred million sedatives and an ever-more effective bill. But to her opinion, everyone had some shit messed up in their heads and it often was a matter of perspective to realize who would really stab you while you sleep and who wouldn't.
And then he came in.
Oh yes, straight out of one of those magazines, she had never seen this man come into the bar before. Never seen a man like him before, in fact. She had never felt the kiss and warmth of a man for a very long time. She never knew what it felt like to have a man celebrate her as a perennial festival and not as a singular evening's trophy. C'est la vie, someone had told her. C'est la vie Je ne veut pas vivre is what she wanted to tell that someone. But not all that is thought is said in this funny world we call home.
He sat right across her, she behind the counter, eyes fixed on him and his, fixed on the TV screen.
"Jack. Make it a double", he said. Simple enough order if it had been another man. And it would've bin given in the same old dusty glasses used for eons. But no, this was no ordinary man. One of the new glasses, a little more than a double and a professionally cut lemon wedge perfectly placed so as to not hinder the first and the perfect sip. But the person she served was no usual at this bar and neither was he paying attention to all the signs this woman was so subtly conveying.
In a matter of seconds, "Reload", he said.
Same routine. Unnoticed, obviously.
2 seconds and 2 shots afterward, he asked,"I've always thought the bartender would wonder why a man comes in late and orders more shots than you're allowed to give this time in the night. You, however do not seem to share the opinion."
Blood flowing faster than all the alcohol she had served, she was at a loss for words. The handsome brute spoke. He was not just a morose tank. He was a talking morose tank. Christmas does come early once in a while.
Doing the same thing any woman does when talking to a man she has a thing for, "Uh. Okay. Why you drinkin' so much pal?"
Not overdone, she thought.
He smiled. Not a giving smile. A sinister, almost borderline grieved smile.
"You see that woman on the tele? That Martha J?"
"Yeah"
"I asked that woman to marry me 4 nights back. She said yes."
"Oh my God. Im so sorry"
Why was she sorry? Martha J was featured in the news report about her death.
"No you're not. You havent done anything , why must you be sorry?
It is a shitty situation when you hear bout someone's death and there is no bloody right way to respond. Eh. Who gives a...?"
5th Reload.
"Suicide is what the police have confirmed. I got me a text from her the night before she did it. Telling me not to mourn her and to consider life as a new page. Funny bit is that the police never found her phone. But we were no spies or important people for a suicide to be staged. Maybe she threw it. Maybe she didn't. Im just gonna have to live without that knowledge. Although, living at all seems to be a harder task now."
"You gotta hang in ther' honey. Things will change. I know it."
"Says who? Say, whats yer name Missy?"
"Hope."
"Thats as ironic as life can get.
I better get going now, lass. Got the rest of my life to brood. This is for the drinks and for being the first person in many to have not asked me if I did that to the woman who would've been the mother of my children."
"I can't take your money sir. Its alright"
"You see this bunch of notes? Comes to about 15 bucks. I first met Martha when she was ahead of me in line in a branch of a fast food joint. Their credit card machine was down and she didn't have no money. I was hungry and I offered to pay for her meal. After the customary formalities and involuntary denial she agreed to it and promised she'd pay it back. That's how we started dating. Then, a day after she killed herself, I got a letter from her addressed to me, written on the day she did it. It contained this wad of notes. Now why would she do that eh?
Did she want me to think that the whole thing was just a prolonged mindfuck to pay me back a measly 15 bucks? That I was supposed to forger her like I forgot that she owed me money?
This money won't let me sleep missy. You keep it. You look like someone who knows how to use it."
"Er. Thanks. Where will you go now?"
"Home. Or whatever is left of it"
And he left. And she never saw him again. She almost considered the whole thing being a dream.
Hope told this story a total of a hundred times before her death as a tool for inspiration, strengthening relationships and as her last words to the man who held her as she died. She valued it more than any heirloom that she inherited. And cherished it beyond measure.
But her story was incomplete. She never saw the tele, after our man left, showed that Martha was killed in a car accident. And nothing to do with suicide.
Back "home", he enters and hits the bed.
"Hey honey, how did the class go?", asked his wife. Yes, his wife.
"Life changing Martha Darling. Life-changing. By the way, don't you owe me money from the first time we met?"
If the intricacies and the underlying message of this story failed to reach you, leave a word and I shall explain.
________________________________________________________
Got one exam left and I hope it goes well.
Played Holi like a maniac today. Cheers to Daddy Long Legs for that.
Stay safe and don't drink and drive. However horrible you are, I think you dont deserve to die in a space as tight and enclosed as your car.
Goodnite Folks,
V
Now Listening:
Payaliyaa - Dev D (Trippy song, check it out)
Den Standiga Resan - Opeth
High - James Blunt
Now Reading : Brisingr - Christopher Paolini (The fourth book, Inheritance is out in November and I dont think I'll survive the curiousity!)
Now Feeling : Happy and slightly hungry.
What follows is a short story I made in my mind a few mins ago. Written at a stretch with no drafts and reviews. Dont judge. Dont hate. Congratulate.
1.15am
About the time when the drunks and the not so drunks begin leaving the crowded bar and head to the wife. Whether they get a banging or get to do some banging will never be known. She herself never bothered. Cleaned the glasses. Cleared the plates and got on with life. Deep down inside, it was the picture of that '69 Mustang and the joint she kept in her locker that kept her going.Possibly it was some psychological problem that a doctor would cure with a hundred million sedatives and an ever-more effective bill. But to her opinion, everyone had some shit messed up in their heads and it often was a matter of perspective to realize who would really stab you while you sleep and who wouldn't.
And then he came in.
Oh yes, straight out of one of those magazines, she had never seen this man come into the bar before. Never seen a man like him before, in fact. She had never felt the kiss and warmth of a man for a very long time. She never knew what it felt like to have a man celebrate her as a perennial festival and not as a singular evening's trophy. C'est la vie, someone had told her. C'est la vie Je ne veut pas vivre is what she wanted to tell that someone. But not all that is thought is said in this funny world we call home.
He sat right across her, she behind the counter, eyes fixed on him and his, fixed on the TV screen.
"Jack. Make it a double", he said. Simple enough order if it had been another man. And it would've bin given in the same old dusty glasses used for eons. But no, this was no ordinary man. One of the new glasses, a little more than a double and a professionally cut lemon wedge perfectly placed so as to not hinder the first and the perfect sip. But the person she served was no usual at this bar and neither was he paying attention to all the signs this woman was so subtly conveying.
In a matter of seconds, "Reload", he said.
Same routine. Unnoticed, obviously.
2 seconds and 2 shots afterward, he asked,"I've always thought the bartender would wonder why a man comes in late and orders more shots than you're allowed to give this time in the night. You, however do not seem to share the opinion."
Blood flowing faster than all the alcohol she had served, she was at a loss for words. The handsome brute spoke. He was not just a morose tank. He was a talking morose tank. Christmas does come early once in a while.
Doing the same thing any woman does when talking to a man she has a thing for, "Uh. Okay. Why you drinkin' so much pal?"
Not overdone, she thought.
He smiled. Not a giving smile. A sinister, almost borderline grieved smile.
"You see that woman on the tele? That Martha J?"
"Yeah"
"I asked that woman to marry me 4 nights back. She said yes."
"Oh my God. Im so sorry"
Why was she sorry? Martha J was featured in the news report about her death.
"No you're not. You havent done anything , why must you be sorry?
It is a shitty situation when you hear bout someone's death and there is no bloody right way to respond. Eh. Who gives a...?"
5th Reload.
"Suicide is what the police have confirmed. I got me a text from her the night before she did it. Telling me not to mourn her and to consider life as a new page. Funny bit is that the police never found her phone. But we were no spies or important people for a suicide to be staged. Maybe she threw it. Maybe she didn't. Im just gonna have to live without that knowledge. Although, living at all seems to be a harder task now."
"You gotta hang in ther' honey. Things will change. I know it."
"Says who? Say, whats yer name Missy?"
"Hope."
"Thats as ironic as life can get.
I better get going now, lass. Got the rest of my life to brood. This is for the drinks and for being the first person in many to have not asked me if I did that to the woman who would've been the mother of my children."
"I can't take your money sir. Its alright"
"You see this bunch of notes? Comes to about 15 bucks. I first met Martha when she was ahead of me in line in a branch of a fast food joint. Their credit card machine was down and she didn't have no money. I was hungry and I offered to pay for her meal. After the customary formalities and involuntary denial she agreed to it and promised she'd pay it back. That's how we started dating. Then, a day after she killed herself, I got a letter from her addressed to me, written on the day she did it. It contained this wad of notes. Now why would she do that eh?
Did she want me to think that the whole thing was just a prolonged mindfuck to pay me back a measly 15 bucks? That I was supposed to forger her like I forgot that she owed me money?
This money won't let me sleep missy. You keep it. You look like someone who knows how to use it."
"Er. Thanks. Where will you go now?"
"Home. Or whatever is left of it"
And he left. And she never saw him again. She almost considered the whole thing being a dream.
Hope told this story a total of a hundred times before her death as a tool for inspiration, strengthening relationships and as her last words to the man who held her as she died. She valued it more than any heirloom that she inherited. And cherished it beyond measure.
But her story was incomplete. She never saw the tele, after our man left, showed that Martha was killed in a car accident. And nothing to do with suicide.
Back "home", he enters and hits the bed.
"Hey honey, how did the class go?", asked his wife. Yes, his wife.
"Life changing Martha Darling. Life-changing. By the way, don't you owe me money from the first time we met?"
If the intricacies and the underlying message of this story failed to reach you, leave a word and I shall explain.
________________________________________________________
Got one exam left and I hope it goes well.
Played Holi like a maniac today. Cheers to Daddy Long Legs for that.
Stay safe and don't drink and drive. However horrible you are, I think you dont deserve to die in a space as tight and enclosed as your car.
Goodnite Folks,
V
Now Listening:
Payaliyaa - Dev D (Trippy song, check it out)
Den Standiga Resan - Opeth
High - James Blunt
Now Reading : Brisingr - Christopher Paolini (The fourth book, Inheritance is out in November and I dont think I'll survive the curiousity!)
Now Feeling : Happy and slightly hungry.
