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The Same

He gained his consciousness to the ringing of his alarm on his phone and opened his eyes. It took him a few seconds; and then he was sitting on the edge of his bed, staring at the floor until he took a deep sigh and got up to the start of his monotonous day, just like yesterday and the day before and all of those days before them, of which he had forgotten the count. He got ready for his office and left the house.

He walked through the same roads, down to the same metro station and waited with familiar faces for the same train that he took everyday to his office. He stood outside a huge building and entered into a big gate that led him through narrower corridors into a very small cubicle that he called his office. Grandly decorated with an old computer that he worked on, a stack of files and a picture of himself on the desk, from an ancient time when he was happy and could smile. He spent the most of his life there; and probably a little in the cafeteria where the people grouped together and talked about other people; which was almost the same everyday; they appeared like murmurs to him now. Nothing was exciting anymore. The dreams had been eaten alive by his personal needs and expenses, and his smile and excitement, by the monotony of his life and by his office.

At night, he would walk out of the office along with his colleagues, alone; distributing fake smiles to the people around him, just like he would when he came into, in the morning. This is what you have to give in return along with your services for the pay that you get from the company; and the ignorance from your pain to the world in return for their acceptance of you. So he walked back to the station again, on to the same train that would lead him back to his den; nowhere new, nowhere exciting.

As he entered the house, he got ready for bed, had his dinner and found himself sitting on the edge of his bed, looking at the floor. One deep sigh and then he lay down, waiting for sleep to take over him.


The next day he woke up to the same ring, sat up, gathered the courage and got out of his bed to the same day as yesterday. He walked to the station, took a train to office, worked with numbers the whole day, listened to murmurs in the cafeteria and went back to work again. With the same fake smile, he left the office at the end of the day, walked the same roads to the same station; took the same train and walked on to the same destination and found himself sitting on the edge of the bed till that deep sigh, and then lay back to wait for sleep.


The next day, while walking down from the station back home, he met an old acquaintance. As usual, he tried to avoid any contact because he wouldn’t have anything to talk about; nothing has changed in his life since 4 years. He has been the same. But it became unavoidable, so he stopped when his acquaintance started waving at him and calling out his name. His friend told him about the things he had done since they last met, opened an old wound when he talked about his long lost love, who has apparently moved on with her life, progressed, fallen in love again and was getting married. It was a long long time ago, but it still hurt. It hurt more to see that it was only him who hasn’t moved on at all, who was stuck with this life of no change.

As they bid farewell again, not knowing when they’ll meet again, they wished each other the best for their lives. He walked back the rest of the way, alone, with her thoughts, racing all through his mind. It all came back to him, once more. She was right, he couldn’t change; he didn’t have it in him, to change into something better than that. But he loved her with his whole heart, that should account for something.

He was standing outside his apartment when he came out of his reverie. He ramaged through his pocket for his keys and entered into his lair, finished his chores and found himself holding on to the edge of his bed looking at the floor and sighing, still thinking about the news. With the same thought, he lay down and fell asleep; a little later than the usual.

He woke up the next morning, late for work. Cursing himself and the alarm, he left for work. On the way, the sole of his shoes came out. Running out of time, he faltered all the way down to the station, caught an unusual train, with unfamiliar faces and entered his office with a genuine frown instead. All this led to him working overtime at the office, leaving the office alone, and catching the last train back home. He recalled the warning he got from the boss for coming in late and all the rush he had to be in the whole time to make up for it. He had totally forgotten about his shoes. He walked back home, with one shoes in his hand and the other in his foot, snailing down the alley.

When he finally reached outside his apartment and ramaged through his pockets again, he realised he had forgotten the keys to his apartment. He cursed himself again for forgetting it inside and stood there a couple of minutes, thinking what to do. Finally, he went next door asking for help from his neighbours who probably talked to him for the first time. It was an inconvenience that led to breaking the lock with a hammer that the neighbourhood man helped him with, but at last, an hour an a half later, he was inside the apartment.

He finished his chores for the night, a little more in rush than the usual; and finally found himself holding on to the edge of his bed, staring at the floor, with so many thoughts and events of the day going on inside his head. He finally paused and lay back on the bed, without a sigh and waited for the sleep to take over him.

Before he went into the slumber, something struck him out of all the inconveniences he had faced the whole day, and he smiled to himself, ‘ atleast today wasn’t like all the other days!’

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Posted by on December 19, 2018 in short story, Uncategorized

 

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Diary of a Werewolf: The First Transformation

I still remember that first transformation. I had known for a while that I had been infected in some way by something, but I could not come to terms with it myself. It just seemed to me as tricks of my mind where it connected random incidents. I still remember that first transformation. How can I ever forget that! It all started with the moon.

I could feel something within my body growing, coming out to take over. The physical pain was excruciating. I had always had this way of dealing with pain where I would bite my finger or pinch myself hard enough to divert the attention of my mind from the existing pain somewhere else; but I did not know what to do here! I did not know which part of body was in pain or rather, which part was not. I could not feel anything else; throughout my body, every single inch of it; so much so that I could not breathe anymore. You can always tell how deep your wound is by the way it feels; I could not. It was like pain was the only thing that existed within me. I begged for it to stop, to whom did not matter, screaming, taking occasional breaths but nothing helped. I could feel my bones break one by one and I was in no state to count but I could tell it wasn’t just one. I was on all four of my limbs; I tried to lie down but I couldn’t move, except for the ways my body moved itself. I had lost count of time but it felt like eternity. I could feel my insides shift places, move within me and the broken bones moved under the skin, causing me a level of pain that I never knew existed. My jaws started to change shape and a redness covered my vision which slowly turned into black and that was the last of what I remember of the night.

I opened my eyes in the forest not far from where I live, under the shining sun which made it hard for me to lie there anymore and to figure out exactly where I was. It took me a few minutes to come to my senses completely and to even realise that I had nothing on me. I gathered some things, bits and pieces of a branch and leaves to cover myself and sneaked my way home. My whole body ached in a hollowness but I remembered nothing of the night.

Well that was only the first. It has happened so many times after that that I’ve lost count and become familiar with the pain. My body hasn’t yet gotten used to it; I don’t think it ever will. You can never get used to such torture. Atleast back then, this fear of transformation wasn’t there. The haunting has only been added to after my learning. The haunting, that it will happen again!

 
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Posted by on June 7, 2018 in short story, Uncategorized

 

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Diary of a werewolf: The Deaths

I was flung in the air as I pushed his body away with my legs and freed my claws from his chest. His claws left holes on either sides of my neck and I could feel myself weak from the bleeding from different parts of my body. My final vision was of a figure vanishing into the darkness of the woods but it wasn’t him I was worried about; it was me. I had been badly injured and my body had been pushing it till that moment when my foe was out of my sight. My eyes couldn’t stay open any longer and my body exhaled a final breath as I descended from the height of that hill into the water below. As my body hit the surface of the water, my body came to an almost halt but the descent continued. As I entered the water, I started to feel my wounds getting more painful. The deeper I sunk, the more pressure was exerted on my wounds and the more painful it became. My whole body was covered with wounds and consumed by exhaustion. I soon lost consciousness, even before reaching the bottom and I knew this was going to be the end.

I don’t know after how long or why or even how, but I woke up, gasping for air, suffering from pain which was unbearable, even for the beast. It felt like the water was piercing through every single wound I had on my body. The pain was piercing through my will to live. I tried, but I could not move; my limbs wouldn’t support me; my heart wouldn’t give up. I gasped for air and tried to move my limbs again but failed; again and again and finally gave up. It was futile to try. So I just lay there, waiting, gasping uselessly for breath till I died, which seemed better than the pain that I had to bear, better than the helplessness I had to bear.

But it wasn’t my time I guess, or maybe the beast wouldn’t give up, I woke up again, gasping for breath and yet again failing to breathe. I was wrong; this was worse than the pain. It felt like I was being denied the satisfaction of dying, over and over again. The same thing, again and again. I don’t know how many times it happened, I lost count nor was I in a state where I could keep count. What I remember is that it was painful, very painful, every single time, being denied the most basic need of even a monster, air. I remember my body settling for water instead of air before drowning every time. The darkness surrounded me and all I could feel was pain and Death. The pain is unimaginable when you see no escape, no relief, no hope. The pain is unimaginable when death comes to you over and over again. 

I must have died, because there is no other explanation for my body to have surfaced without being void of life. I woke up, again; this time, in my human form but I could recall the horror I had undergone. Even for a person as strong willed and with high tolerance as me, it was horrifying. I could swear I felt even the body of the beast shiver with pain. I felt it reaching me, the pain of the darkness and the death and the hopelessness and fear it caused the beast. It shivered before every death, fearing that it’ll wake up again and would have to undergo the same horror again. Chills ran through my spine as the visions came to me in flashes and I wrapped my arms around myself as I dragged myself towards home, thinking to myself that there was no way a man could’ve survived that. It was the beast who did that; coming back from the dead, fighting death and coming back to life, over and over again. But then again, a man only has to face death once, it was because of the cursed beast that I couldn’t even die in peace. It’s a curse after all.

 
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Posted by on November 29, 2017 in short story, Uncategorized

 

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The Graves

His 45th birthday! A day which mocked him yet again, reminded him of the time that he had wasted, all those years that he had not utilized. He sat up on his bed, resting back at the headrest, staring at that face of her’s, which was still beautiful. Oh! The love of his life! He had done everything right in his life. A decent job, a decent lifestyle, a decent income and a decent family. He had fulfilled all of her needs and of his sons. They respected him and loved him and so did his parents. They were proud of him. He had fulfilled all the promises he had made to them, and all of those promises he had made to her; but what of those that he had made to himself! He sat there, his eyes drifting towards the darkness, thinking the same that his eyes could see, nothing! When else was he going to be that bestselling writer that he had always promised himself he would be. Where is that fame that he always thought he would achieve. Where are the fans. Where, the luxury! And when he thought about it, he realized he had actually achieved nothing in life. He had merely wasted his life. Those big plans, had never materialized. Those dreams, never came true.

He got up, breaking his reverie and snailed across the room into the washroom. The sound of the water from the tap filled his ears. He collected as much water as he could in his palms and splashed the water on his face trying to break out of the negativity that was drowning him. He stared right into his eyes in the mirror. It was suffocating. This monotonous breathing of his. He moved away from the eyes and stared at the wrinkles on his face. The futility of experiences that he had gathered, locked among these wrinkles. He stood there blank, without a frown or a tear or a smile, for he did not know what to do nor what to think of himself. He had wasted it all. All his years; in achieving everything! In being one of the rest. He wasn’t any different. He wasn’t special. Bound to be forgotten. He couldn’t face himself anymore and so he turned and walked into the darkness of the room again; the darkness which resembled more the inside of his mind. He got into the bed as slowly as he could and stared at her face once more. His treasure. She opened her eyes slowly and looked right into his eyes. 

‘Something wrong?’, she asked.

‘Nothing at all!’, he smiled with all the strength he had left in him and kissed her forehead.

She closed her eyes and buried her face in his chest, into that heavy heart of his. He held her close. The only fan, the only achievement of his life, his only treasure.

And then he went to sleep, with the love of his life and the graves of his dreams and desires.

 
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Posted by on March 14, 2017 in short story, Uncategorized

 

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Madness

He had been standing there for quite a while now, unable to understand anything; unable to see anything, but white. Yes, when you think about it, you realise that black cannot be the only colour you can relate with blindness! When you are standing there surrounded by nothing else but one single colour, you tend to lose the sense of distance between you and the last point till which you can see. At times, they overpower you; so much so that the boundaries seem to close in on you and you have nowhere else to go. It plays with your mind and your eyes, the colour; it drives you crazy. And all you want to do is to get out of it.

But this is new to him. It wasn’t like this. There used to be demons around. It wasn’t so lonely. The demons used to talk to each other and laugh at his face; stare at him, all at once. The things around him glowed, of different colours; and at times, it was very difficult to differentiate between things. He did not understand the world around him. It was so strange. There were times when the fireball above would disappear and things would stop radiating the light which hurt his eyes. But then the strange beings of the┬ánight would cry at nights and scare him enough to take his sleep away. Sleep, yes; it had been very long since he slept.

And then these demons, they caught him; brought him here, to this place which had no limits; and left him there, alone. There was nothing there; no demons, no angels, no one, nothing else either; not even walls. He ran. In one direction. But everything was the same. It felt as if he wasn’t even moving. But it did get him tired after a while. It’s harder to reach a place when you can’t see your goal; or anything else for that matter; you tend to give up sooner. And so he stopped. And looked around, again; failed to understand anything at all and sat down. He cried, for as long as he could and then closed his eyes. He was tired, so tired. But he felt something; someone standing near him. He opened his eyes and looked around. No one, nothing. The white seemed to hurt his eyes now. He screamed; and screamed, and screamed but heard nothing back, not even the echo of his voice. So he banged his head on the floor, harder and harder. All he wanted was to see was those demons now; the radiation of the colours from things, if only there were any. He banged his head harder on the floor, to see the little bit of red. But all it did was hurt and not make him bleed. He tried to scratch his face with his nails but it did not help either. So he placed his tongue between his teeth and banged his chin on the floor and shrieked with pain and then opened his eyes to see his blood on the floor. Red! Finally, a colour other than white. Something that made him smile. And while he smiled, he saw that red spread around him and cover every single inch of the white that was there. He turned around to take a look in every direction.

There was nothing around him. He just stood there, unable to understand anything; unable to see anything, but red!

 
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Posted by on August 7, 2016 in short story, Uncategorized

 

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Death

You see the good in life,
And then you see the bad.
You dream of a way of life,
A life you never had;
A life you never will have;
A life you never can have.

You dread the beauty
Of the things you hold bad.
You overlook the things,
The things, in life, you had.
You show your hatred;
You show your fear;
You curse the angel of death!
You curse it for taking you away;
For leaving the loved ones in dismay.
You hate him; for you cannot stay.
And you curse him for the things you cannot take.
But what of those, that you do get?

You think he is evil,
The most sinister of all.
For he came to take you,
When it was your call!

What of the years that he waited on you?
What of the moments that he let you live?
What of the memories that you made?
Years of time, did he not give?

Why not his patience do you count?
Why not his mercy do you see?
He came to take you before your time,
Could not that have been?

You leave this world with memories,
You leave people that you love,
Leave behind ones that love you,
Leave this world and rise above!
When all it could have possibly been,
A dead fetus that was never seen!

 
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Posted by on December 21, 2015 in poetry, Uncategorized

 

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Diary of a werewolf: The Hunt

It was so powerful, that beast, when it overcame me. I remember the strength that I felt running through my veins, the gushing of the blood through my body; and with it, anger, fury; power and barbarity that knew no limits.

I did not have a choice. I had to let it go. I had to let it take over me. There’s only so much time for which you can subdue the monster inside of you. There’s only so much time for which you can bear the pain. You think it will become a part of you, the pain; that your body will ultimately accept it; that you will get used to it and it will not hurt anymore. You expect it to at the least become bearable; a pain that you can live with. But the monster does not let that happen. It does not give up trying to take over your body, your mind, your entity. It just does not let you be your own self. You cannot imagine the pain of experiencing the growling of the beast within you, a sound that is heard over the loudest of noises, the shrillest of your own screams when you shout your lungs out, screaming, begging it to stop. But it never gives up. How can it?!

You live your entire life learning to subdue your emotions, your desires, your needs; your wants. This monster, knows no limits. The amount of power that it takes to keep it from coming out and taking over me; the amount of power that it takes me to bear the pain and not give up; is inexplicable. They say that if you try, nothing is impossible. I don’t think they have ever gone through this pain; and so I failed; I let go!

I remember every single thought that came in it’s mind. I know every part of the only emotion that it felt; hunger. I don’t think it is possible to explain the hunger of this barbaric beast. It does not understand fear or good or bad. It longs for the flesh and that is what it craves for, every single moment. The visions of it’s hunt; they do not leave me alone. The fear in the eyes of that woman when she saw it flash out of the darkness and consume her in a moment. Those eyes will never stop haunting me. How soothing was the smell and taste of her blood and how beautiful the very emotion of that moment when the beast had done it’s deed. The feeling seemed to compensate for all the pain that I had bore in subduing it and the suffering that I went through during the transformation. How every single part of my body arched and how every single bone in my body made me scream as they changed their shape within me. How I screamed louder than the beast then. How powerful I felt; how unconquerable; how beastly.

One can surely imagine the guilt of having taken a life and the misery of living with it for the rest of his life.
One cannot imagine the guilt of having taken a life and enjoyed it; felt good about it and the misery of living with it for the rest of his life; especially when he knows, it wasn’t the last. It was just the beginning.

 
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Posted by on February 21, 2015 in short story

 

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