Sunday, October 12, 2008

My First Ever Story

They always said she was slightly crazy. They didn’t mean insane. Eccentric, more like.

Some said she was fearless, but they were wrong.

There was this monsoon morning; this wet, slippery monsoon morning. Her schoolbus had skidded and spun out of control. Like everyone else, she too was in a daze of panic. The jolts and thuds, were to her, screen images of some grotesque comedy. And when the bus came to a standstill, her heart thumped so loud, it hurt more than the iron bar that was weighing down upon her chest. A part of her mind was screaming out- ‘Don’t let me die! Please, please don’t let me die.’


But another part of her mind was at work too. It took in all the details.

How the shards of glass were glittering in the sunlight.

Slender, exquisite!

They had a faint greenish tinge, like Kryptonite from Superman…

Smatterings of blood all around.

Her blood? Some of it, definitely. Blood- the lifeline of a body. Why did it make people queasy?

 Such a brilliant shade of red! Royal, more royal than royal blue.

This part of her mind was the most alive. It made her smile. Smiling, she turned to the person who was sprawled beside her. And she asked- ‘Isn’t it all quite beautiful?’ Then she fainted.

No one realised that all the while, she was convulsed with fear.


Then there were a few who thought she was unfeeling. They were horribly wrong. In fact, they couldn’t have been more wrong if they’d tried. They probably based it on the time her grandfather was ill.

He was a very old man. Physically, he had kept himself quite well. But he hadn’t been able to save his brain. His brain was degenerating, and half the time, he was delirious. He had meant a lot to her, and it cut her to the quick.

One day, some relatives came to see him. She took them to his room. He lifted his head and stared at them vaguely. In a thin, faraway voice he said-‘I know why you have come. It’s alright, I forgive you.’ There was a tense silence. The visitors were all mirror images of each other- their faces contorted in an attempt at a sympathetic smile.


When like a gunshot into the night, there was a violent yelp. It was the girl. She was doubled over, her hands clutching her sides, her shoulders quaking with spasms of hysterical laughter. ‘What in GOD’S NAME is WRONG with you?’ someone hissed. ‘At a time like this…’

She stood up straight with an effort. ‘I…it’s just so…. funny!’ she spluttered. There were tears streaming down her face. Tears of mirth, everyone thought.


They weren’t tears of mirth. She was crying, crying out of pain for her grandfather. The laughter wasn’t a cover, oh no! That was born out an entirely different compartment in her head. It functioned individually. It was genuinely tickled by the situation.


Bloody fools, who thought she was insensitive! She was so sweet, so loving. And how I loved her! 

I suppose I understood her better than anybody else did. That’s why, when I say it’s best that I killed her, you have to trust me.


She was in my room. There was a power cut. I’d gone to the kitchen for a drink of water. It was dark, I couldn’t see very well; so I took a bit of time over it. When I returned, I saw that something on my table was in flames. She was watching it wide-eyed, her knuckles pressed hard against her cheeks.

At first I was only concerned with putting out the fire. I was relieved to find that it hadn’t harmed anything but a pile of papers. Papers!

Suddenly, the full significance of it sent me reeling.

My short stories. Shyly, hesitatingly, I had built them. I had torn out chunks of my heart and soul, and laid them down with fanatical care. They could never be written the same way again.

I didn’t need to ask her a thing. I knew exactly what had happened. When the lights had gone out, we had lit a candle. While I was away, she had knocked it over. Accidentally, I’m sure. But she had done nothing about it.

I could see it before my eyes. She standing transfixed by the flames, as they leapt and quivered with their unearthly beauty. Allowing helpless page after page to be charred black, writhe, and shrivel up- as though they were afflicted by some ghastly disease.


Her face was partly in shadow, partly illuminated by a rich, golden glow. She looked ethereal.

It hurt me to kill her when she looked like that. But it’s for the best. They called her crazy, and soon they would mean it. They would have her locked up. She would HATE that.


Don’t think I killed her in detached altruism. I was bubbling over with a wave of white-hot rage. It scorched me, like those flames scorched my stories. But while my hands were around her neck, I could understand that I was actually doing her a favour.


You see, even my brain is built up of different little boxes. I can reach into more than one box at the same time, but I never mix up their contents. She and me, we had a lot in common. Rather ironical, the whole story.


Speaking of story, this is jolly good material for a story, isn’t it? By destroying my writings, she gave me the chance to create a new one. Irony again! 

Life is so full of irony! Or am I just slightly crazy? I don’t mean insane. Eccentric, more like.

18 beep/s:

VelocityGirl (tm) said...

Stellar work, Sigmund!

Except for your stupid journal commentary at the end that sort of jarred.. but iz ok. :D

Tuntuni said...

really good stuff, anushka, although i do agree with sahana on the journal bit, but that last sentence just does it, its brilliant.

Death On Two Legs said...

I know that bit needs some editing. Only, I need to sleep over it a bit to know exactly what to do with it. Thanks for the constructive criticism :)

Death On Two Legs said...

achha, i've edited.
is this better?

Yamini said...

since i haven't read it earlier, i don't know about it being 'better', but to me it looks great. and the last sentence is IT. liked the aura of suspense! and you always write in a way that the reader is compelled to read till the end, more about your style than the matter, and i think that's cool. not flattering, just what i think.
awaiting more stuff from you.

encouraged you, have i? :P

Clezevra said...

That's your first? No, seriously... it's compelling. I couldn't stop reading. Again, last few lines seemed out of place, but the last line was the last blow!

purple rain said...

enjoyed reading it..

VelocityGirl (tm) said...

Much better, Sigmund!

kd said...

probably my fav so far..

Prince of Mirkwood said...

was the person u killed the part of u that used to write short stories? then its the other part that died isnt it?..coz technically this is a short story...ok lets just leave it this not to add my warped versions! great work!

Death On Two Legs said...

@anoorag- interesting observation, actually!!

Vikrant said...

i love it. love it. love it. love it.

azuria said...

it IS a part of you isn't it? ^_^
People always have a part of themselves in what they write :D

Beautiful really.

>:D< :X
>:D< :X
>:D< :X

for the story ^_^

azuria said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
Psmith said...

That was creepily good !

AngelofHarlem said...

Beautiful one Mishtu.
and I agree with Aakansha.

Mayukh said...

omg that was beautiful....drowning baby struggling to survive beautiful

Ash said...

Wonderful ^_^