The most feared man, he was called sometimes. The most hated man, he was called otherwise. On those dark nights, when you are walking alone on the road towards your home and the cold winter wind blows and sends a chill down your spine, you would fear him they would say. You had to just look into his eyes to know fear, you had to just step into his shadow to feel fear. And whether you liked it or not you had to live in his fear.
He controlled everything. Everything about the city from the corporation houses to the manufacturing units, from its industries to its schools, from its old age centres to its hospitals, from its entertainment to its recreation, from its air to its water.
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Drunk on really cheap wine, he turned on the light only to find her on the wall. She seemed mildly surprised to see him, the room had been her haven for the past few hours. Who was this man standing in the corner and looking at her, she wondered, why did it feel like day all of sudden, where did all this light come from?
Lizards. He was not particularly fond of any reptiles, especially lizards.
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My friend was angry that I had slept with the guy she had liked but she was sensible enough not to make a big deal out of it. Early next morning she pulled me out of the room, she said we should leave now. It was for my sake, I had a few important meetings that day, she still cared, and I had slept with the guy she had liked.
I am sick and pathetic and she is going to go away soon, just like all the others. I like her, I like her very much. She loathes me now, I know, I can see. She won’t say, but I can see.
The rut does not seem to end. You are never out of my life. No matter how I do, how much I achieve, I will never be able to make you happy. I did what you asked me to, I studied hard and now I am at the best place in the country, and you are still not happy. You still ask to wear proper clothes and cut my hair and not talk to boys, you still want to control every breathe I take.
I don’t understand why we are not like others, why we are so different as a family, why you are so unreasonable and why out of all the millions of people in the world I had to end in a fancy house with the two of you.
The first time I cut, I cut deep and I saw all the blood and I felt at peace. They found me much later and then they called you and you didn’t understand why I took the blade and slashed it across my wrist and I didn’t understand why you were at my bedside crying.
The second time when I broke the windows I screamed, I screamed so loud the entire wing came to the room and they screamed too seeing me in blood and glass. They called you again and this time you cried harder and I still didn’t understand why you were there, why were you pretending to care?
Alcohol made the voices go away, alcohol made it easier to just be. Weed took the edge off things and for the first time in my life I was finally free and I think I could understand happiness if not feel it. We drank a little too much night, and then we hit high after high after high and after that when he asked me to what he asked me to do, I could not say no.
How could I say no when it felt …so real, so true?
At age six –
Why, mommy, why? Why do you hate me, why does daddy hit me, why can’t I go and play outside like all the other little girls? Why don’t you ever hit him, he is little I know, but he is the one who breaks most of the things? Why, mommy, why? Why do you hate me, why does daddy hit me?
At age ten –
But, I am at the top of my class, why can’t I have that dress? Why can I not eat that? Why do I have to wear that ugly frock, why does it always have to be a frock? Why can I not grow my hair? Why does he get most of the chocolates, always? Why. mommy, why? Why do you hate me, why does daddy hit me?
At age thirteen –
Why can’t I be friends with him?
My friend liked the way he looked, laughed. We were dressed as sluts that day. Cute little hot sluts. And we were wasted. Wasted as fuck.
We lingered past the closing time and when my friend went to pay the bill, I walked over to him and told him she found him cute, that he should talk to her.
She came back and they started flirting and a couple of drinks later we ended up at his place.
At his place, around 2 in the morning, I slept with him.
He was pleasantly flattered when he saw her mail the next day.
Was he expecting it? No.
Was he hoping, a little perhaps.
To say that she stood out of the crowd was an understatement. He had never met any one like her. The sexual tension stretching the air around them, yesterday when he was speaking to her, was quite apparent – to him, to her and to the third person in the room. That had never happened to him before. He had teased a lot of women in his life, but to have someone tease him back, play with his words, twist them and throw them back at him in a light and playful manner, that had never happened to him before.
So when she wrote to him, asking him to collaborate with her on some project of hers, he knew this was going to be the start of something bad and he also knew that he was going to go ahead and do it anyway. Women like her did not step into his life everyday. She was famous, she held power. And she had looked absolutely sexual in those tight pants.
So he replied.
And after a few mails, they exchanged numbers.
This is all still harmless right?
He met her a few days before he was to be married. And he almost immediately fell in love with her.He could not precisely define that instant when it happened, was it when he walked into the room and saw her seated at the far end of table or was it when she politely differed with his opinions in front of all those people?
He found it difficult not to look at her, look at her as she walked across the hall in those tight pants. He found it difficult, difficult not to look into her eyes as she answered him with blunt honesty. He found it difficult not to fall for her when it was clear that she was falling for him too.
But he was soon going to marry another. He knew that, she didn’t.
Next day, she got in touch with him.
What do you think he should do now?
We have to save her, he screamed. That thing inside her head is going to kill her, we have to get to her before it’s too late.
The alpha in-charge rolled her eyes. She had woken up to a baby dinosaur abandoned at her doorstep. She did not have the time to fix her hair and the coffee that he brought her had phenomenally low levels of caffeine.
And now this, now they had to go in her head, jeopardize their own heads, try to kill that thing and save her. Why couldn’t people just say no to the things? Temptation had ruined her kind, it had also ruined the dinosaurs. The rescue mission would take her and the team into someone else’s head corrupted by that thing. Ergh.
Some days, you just couldn’t catch a break.
Long black hair along her back, in her see-through dress she stands by his bed and watches him sleep.
Hands wanting to touch him, she refrains and instead quenches her thirst by drinking from his bedside bottle.
He wakes every morning wondering where did the water go.
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They were running towards her car with the tiger right behind them. She had always been a terrible driver, so she let the girl drive.
Her long black hair loose around her face, the girl drove like a dream. When the car stopped she moved in closer to the girl to kiss her but then she heard it – the buzz.
Start the car, start the car, she screamed.
The girl tried. And tried.
She looked at her lips longingly, muttered a curse and ran out for her life.
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “But No Cigar.”
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The dining table is laid with some dishes but it is untidy, so I tidy it up and think it best to heat the food.
I am not going to cook, I don’t think I do know how to cook, I don’t want to find out either, there is something very repulsive about creative labor, I do not like it.
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Just being left alone with my thoughts, being able to listen to the voice in my head clearly and being able to discretize them leads to such peace of mind. The voice in the head is getting stronger, the outside noises are fading away and it feels peaceful.
He writes after I tell him to write. And he writes like me. All this time that I have been with him all I see is myself in him. He is just like me. A better me that is nice. A compartmentalized me.
I look at my arms, I have been scratched. I should see a doctor.
The old woman says – look now you have made them angry.
I say – look now, they have killed me.
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