Walls

Walls

Part one: White – Inside

I am surrounded by walls.

They tower over me, spreading darkness. One of my five senses are dampened by these walls, rendering me blind. I can only feel, smell, taste and hear.

Tasting my way out of this place is not an option. I only smell the reek of my own making. So that leaves hearing and feeling.

I take care not to alarm anyone outside. I listen closely, trying to understand where I am and who my captor is.

This is probably something I should have asked myself a long ago. You know, when I was put in here. But I feel like I was too young. Like an infant. Now, I am like an adult and it is probably too late. But this is not my end. This is not where I give up. I am going to get out.

I can hear something outside, it’s an annoying noise. Kind of like a child, playing. I wonder why, of all things, I hear a child. I should hear my parents, or my captives, or terrorists. I should hear a deep, dark voice. Almost sinister. I should hear laughter, growls and evil plans being concocted about my fate. I should hear madness. Chaos. Infinite doom.

Instead, I hear a child. Is this psychological torture? Is a child my infinite doom?

There is a sudden shake. The whole room moves. It’s like an earthquake. The walls are shaking, I am falling all over the place inside the room. In the darkness, I see nothing. I can barely feel a thing except my surroundings. I feel my smooth, milky skin. I feel the grimy, metallic walls. I feel the smooth floor. I feel trapped.

Another shake. Another earthquake. I find my heart in severe palpitation. I panic.

I want to scream, I want to shout. But what will that do? I will probably be killed. Or worst, tortured.

So I keep quiet and try to find out what is happening. I listen. Silently.

A chuckle. This chuckle is also shrill, and childish but a little more pronounced. This chuckle seems to originate from an older child. It was saying something.

“… I have one too,” says the second voice. The older child chuckles once more.

“No! You don’t.” says the first voice and suddenly, there is a yell. No, a scream. The child seems to be calling for its parents.

Can they be my captor? Is this my chance?

Footsteps. “Leave it alone,” says a third voice. I can’t quite figure out who it is. Is it male? Is it female? Is it young or old?

I cry. Silent, of course.

I feel a million years in my tears. It’s as if this captivity has made me mature.

I think of ways to get out. I know there is only one. The hole.

You see, my first week here (or was it a month?), I was chilled out. I thought this would be just a fun, temporary place. Kind of like a game. I never thought I had been captured. It was more of a peekaboo kind of deal.

Then, slowly it dawned on me: I had been kidnapped. I couldn’t remember who I had been before. It was like my whole constitution had been changed. I was no longer who I had been before the capture. Now, I was different.

They had experimented on me. They had injected me with things. And now, they had confined me to a dark cell. Probably for eternity.

Once realization dawned, so did the immediate desire to jump to action. And so, I felt around. And when I did so, I felt it. A hole.

It, at first, seemed like a depression in the ceiling. Like a chimney maybe? But circular and without a column or a fireplace. It was soft. The whole ceiling had been made of a metallic sheet but this small hole like area was made out of a soft material… Like felt or cling film. It didn’t make sense. What was it purpose?

But then again, what was mine?

I was waiting for the hole to magically open up. I was hoping for a ladder to descend down to my rescue. And that some detectives would be my rescuers.

But that day had never come. And now I was here. The earthquakes. The heat. I was no longer chilled out. I was boiling in this hot, dark room.

I waited and waited and waited. It was all in vain. My mind immediately jumped to the worst (and the most probable) of the outcomes: I would probably die and wither away in here. I would just wait here, as my body would turn into worm food and then I would probably die. Peacefully? Or in pain? Would the hunger kill me? Or would my expanded bowels? Would my bladder explode? Or would my skin curdle like sour milk.

I wanted to cry more, but was too tired to do anything else. I knew there was no hope because, now, everything had — OH FUCK!

*

Part two: White – Outside

Freedom.

Sweet sweet freedom.

As sudden as I had been captured, that is how I was released as well. One second, I had been contemplating death, the next second I was thrown out of the room by some magical force.

The ceiling had been ripped open by some kind of a storm, and the sun had been too bright for me to see outside.

But the smell of fresh air was nothing compared to the damp and moist room. I was free, free for the first time. And I had light. I could see. I could use all my 5 senses. It felt otherworldly, almost magical. For the first time, I had tears of joy in my eyes.

I felt myself fall flat on the road side. It hurt.

It was scalding hot. There was no wind. The storm was nowhere to be seen. And I knew not of the force that had thrown me out of my confinement.

I tried to scramble away from the road. I knew my captors must be on my tail. So I tried to get up and run. But I couldn’t get up. My legs had turned to liquid.

I realized what had happened just then. I had been thrown from a height. Such a height that it had broken me.

Cars passed by nonchalantly, as if they couldn’t see me. People walked by, not giving a damn. And I just stayed there, spread out like butter.

And then a smell. It was the worst smell I had ever had the pleasure of in taking through my nose. And it was coming from me.

Had it been the smell of shit, I would’ve not cared. But it was not. It was the smell that accompanied curdling milk. Was I rotting?!

I fainted. I would never get up again.

The last thing I felt was a tongue lashing over my almost dead body. And whiskers.

*
Part three: Peach Outside

It was a cute family of four, walking along the skywalk.

The lady wore a beautiful red saree, an ice cream cone in her hand. She seemed happily chattering with the man beside her, holding her shopping bags and seeming equally entertained.

Her husband, the man with the bags, had one eye on his wife while the other on his kids. Two children, Jack and John aged 5 and 8 respectively , were giggling and laughing and jumping. Jack seemed a little frustrated but John seemed content.

While the parents walked behind, the mother oblivious while the father wary, Jack groaned. He had not been allowed ice cream. But it gave him pleasure that he had been allowed to consume one white tetra pack of something. Jack, being 5, had no idea what was inside. It seemed new. And his brother, John, was also holding one pack.

Jack felt proud of himself. He was a big boy now. He had been allowed to walk by himself. Below him, cars sped by. Vroom.

“I have boo boo, you don’t” Jack teased John. Despite of being the younger one, Jack still was always the one to taunt his brother. But John was the calm of the two.

He simply said “Of course not. I have one too.” John was chuckling now.

“No you don’t!” Jack retorted, screamed for his mom and lunged for John’s hand.

“Leave it alone!” said their father. He was rushing to get hold of Jack. Jack had, in process of lunging on John, dropped his tetra pack. Its contents were now all split on the road below them.

“There goes your cold lassi. I told you to be careful!”

The mother took hold of one kid, the father the troublesome other, and together, the family of four walked home.

Below them, a cat purred softly. On the sidewalk of the road, she had found dinner.


Heya Bleedsters!

It has been too long since I flexed my creative muscles. So I decided to use them. And, the result, is this. This crazy, confusing, crappy story.

You might probably be dumbfounded by the purpose of this story. Well, a friend of mine gave three random words (heat, skywalk and cold lassi) and asked me to weave a story out of them.

Enjoy!

Love,

K.


As always, if any of it made you smile, laugh, frown or giggle like a little baby, comment share and like! To be up-to-date with my other posts, give a like to my Facebook page and follow on Twitter if you use it! Any images used are either taken from Google Images, from my own personal collection or some other sources (which will be mentioned if and when, unless stated otherwise). Contact me if you want it removed.


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The Best Short Story with the best Twist EVER [Quora Answer]

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Heya, Bleedsters!
Exams are ongoing, and not any exams–ENGINEERING EXAMS! You know what that means! Study-time!!! Somehow, I have found time for this little post. And it is a good share…
It has been a long time since I posted another of my favorite Quora answers on my blog. I stumbled upon this great Short Story, that was originally written by Andy Weir, author of “The Martian.” But I found it on Quora, written by Michael Scalera! It is thought provoking and interesting… And of course, it comes with a twist at the end! Enjoy!

Love,
Kunal

Answer:
by Michael Scalera, Dreamer and Aspiring Doer
“My favorite short story with a twist ending is by Andy Weir, author of “The Martian.”  It’s short enough to paste here, and I do so knowing that Weir himself put the story online for free so he probably wouldn’t mind.  Also, two stories by Jorge Luis Borges fit the bill, so I’ll paste links to those at the end of this answer.

The Egg
By: Andy Weir

You were on your way home when you died.
It was a car accident. Nothing particularly remarkable, but fatal nonetheless. You left behind a wife and two children. It was a painless death. The EMTs tried their best to save you, but to no avail. Your body was so utterly shattered you were better off, trust me.
And that’s when you met me.
“What… what happened?” You asked. “Where am I?”
“You died,” I said, matter-of-factly. No point in mincing words.
“There was a… a truck and it was skidding…”
“Yup,” I said.
“I… I died?”
“Yup. But don’t feel bad about it. Everyone dies,” I said.
You looked around. There was nothingness. Just you and me. “What is this place?” You asked. “Is this the afterlife?”
“More or less,” I said.
“Are you god?” You asked.
“Yup,” I replied. “I’m God.”
“My kids… my wife,” you said.
“What about them?”
“Will they be all right?”
“That’s what I like to see,” I said. “You just died and your main concern is for your family. That’s good stuff right there.”
You looked at me with fascination. To you, I didn’t look like God. I just looked like some man. Or possibly a woman. Some vague authority figure, maybe. More of a grammar school teacher than the almighty.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “They’ll be fine. Your kids will remember you as perfect in every way. They didn’t have time to grow contempt for you. Your wife will cry on the outside, but will be secretly relieved. To be fair, your marriage was falling apart. If it’s any consolation, she’ll feel very guilty for feeling relieved.”
“Oh,” you said. “So what happens now? Do I go to heaven or hell or something?”
“Neither,” I said. “You’ll be reincarnated.”
“Ah,” you said. “So the Hindus were right,”
“All religions are right in their own way,” I said. “Walk with me.”
You followed along as we strode through the void. “Where are we going?”
“Nowhere in particular,” I said. “It’s just nice to walk while we talk.”
“So what’s the point, then?” You asked. “When I get reborn, I’ll just be a blank slate, right? A baby. So all my experiences and everything I did in this life won’t matter.”
“Not so!” I said. “You have within you all the knowledge and experiences of all your past lives. You just don’t remember them right now.”
I stopped walking and took you by the shoulders. “Your soul is more magnificent, beautiful, and gigantic than you can possibly imagine. A human mind can only contain a tiny fraction of what you are. It’s like sticking your finger in a glass of water to see if it’s hot or cold. You put a tiny part of yourself into the vessel, and when you bring it back out, you’ve gained all the experiences it had.
“You’ve been in a human for the last 48 years, so you haven’t stretched out yet and felt the rest of your immense consciousness. If we hung out here for long enough, you’d start remembering everything. But there’s no point to doing that between each life.”
“How many times have I been reincarnated, then?”
“Oh lots. Lots and lots. And in to lots of different lives.” I said. “This time around, you’ll be a Chinese peasant girl in 540 AD.”
“Wait, what?” You stammered. “You’re sending me back in time?”
“Well, I guess technically. Time, as you know it, only exists in your universe. Things are different where I come from.”
“Where you come from?” You said.
“Oh sure,” I explained “I come from somewhere. Somewhere else. And there are others like me. I know you’ll want to know what it’s like there, but honestly you wouldn’t understand.”
“Oh,” you said, a little let down. “But wait. If I get reincarnated to other places in time, I could have interacted with myself at some point.”
“Sure. Happens all the time. And with both lives only aware of their own lifespan you don’t even know it’s happening.”
“So what’s the point of it all?”
“Seriously?” I asked. “Seriously? You’re asking me for the meaning of life? Isn’t that a little stereotypical?”
“Well it’s a reasonable question,” you persisted.
I looked you in the eye. “The meaning of life, the reason I made this whole universe, is for you to mature.”
“You mean mankind? You want us to mature?”
“No, just you. I made this whole universe for you. With each new life you grow and mature and become a larger and greater intellect.”
“Just me? What about everyone else?”
“There is no one else,” I said. “In this universe, there’s just you and me.”
You stared blankly at me. “But all the people on earth…”
“All you. Different incarnations of you.”
“Wait. I’m everyone!?”
“Now you’re getting it,” I said, with a congratulatory slap on the back.
“I’m every human being who ever lived?”
“Or who will ever live, yes.”
“I’m Abraham Lincoln?”
“And you’re John Wilkes Booth, too,” I added.
“I’m Hitler?” You said, appalled.
“And you’re the millions he killed.”
“I’m Jesus?”
“And you’re everyone who followed him.”
You fell silent.
“Every time you victimized someone,” I said, “you were victimizing yourself. Every act of kindness you’ve done, you’ve done to yourself. Every happy and sad moment ever experienced by any human was, or will be, experienced by you.”
You thought for a long time.
“Why?” You asked me. “Why do all this?”
“Because someday, you will become like me. Because that’s what you are. You’re one of my kind. You’re my child.”
“Whoa,” you said, incredulous. “You mean I’m a god?”
“No. Not yet. You’re a fetus. You’re still growing. Once you’ve lived every human life throughout all time, you will have grown enough to be born.”
“So the whole universe,” you said, “it’s just…”
“An egg.” I answered. “Now it’s time for you to move on to your next life.”
And I sent you on your way.

Also check out:  The Two Kings and the Two Labyrinths, by Jorge Luis Borges
The Circular Ruins, by Jorge Luis Borges

Source: Click Here

I have provided all the links and credits accordingly! Tell me what you think about this short story in the comments below…

As always, if any of it made you smile, laugh, frown or giggle like a little baby, comment share and like! To be up-to-date with my other posts, give a like to my Facebook page and follow onTwitter if you use it! Any images used are either taken from Google Images or from my own personal collection or other sources which will be mentioned if and when, unless stated otherwise. Contact me if you want it removed.

The Outright Question[Short Story]

The Outright Question

by Kunal Nayak

As a typically named Indian, Abhishek was expected to fall for the prettiest girl in his class. He saw how they looked at her, his mates. And frankly, he could see why.

The girl in question had been drop-dead gorgeous. A slim figure, skin fair but not abnormally so, hair that waved and shined like a mane of a horse whilst smelling sweet and top-brand shampoo-ey. Her eyes were nothing of the ordinary, yet they sparkled when needed, catching everyone’s attention. Her face might have been sculpted by Gods, by the look of it. Imperfection in terms of beauty was something that wouldn’t come across your mind when you thought of Priya. Yes, another typical Indian name.

When they looked at her, they forgot everything else. Angel, the classmates called her. Even the girls. A typical fad amongst the youth of Mumbai, Abhishek would always think. Some would take a shy glimpse of her, in the middle of lectures. Again, boys and girls. For boys, she was THE PERFECT girlfriend. For girls, she was the subject of chronic envy.

Abhishek had heard one of his female friends say that she did not need make up, or jewellery since she was fair and sparkly. Some annoyingly jealous rivals of hers would call her Vampire from Twilight. That would always make Abhishek chuckle hard.

And Priya was not only perfect in terms of looks. She was good in studies, and most of the professors adored her. She would be obedient, although mischievous too when needed. She was one of those Chetan Bhagat heroines: giggling, smart yet hot, bookish yet friendly, eye catching yet shy when necessary… It was like a OnePlus phone: everything in one package.

But you know what that means. With great power, comes great responsibility but with great beauty comes great dudes trying to hit on her openly. Even in a conservative country like India.

Abhishek would always see her with her few, choicest friends. She would live in her own world, whilst dating a slew of guys from his college. He never cared once. He just didn’t feel attracted to her. Sure, she was pretty. Okay, she was more than pretty. She was smoking hot and some parts of his body liked her more than others. But for Abhishek, she came off a bit pretentious.

Perhaps that had been the effect of Facebook memes, or American TV shows, or those typical books where every pretty girl was a villain. One look at a pretty girl and one always jumps to the conclusion that she is either bitchy, or crazy, or pretentious or slu—you know what I mean. It just a natural instinct of a person of Abhishek’s age in this century.

The one thing that irked Abhishek the most was the stupidity. A clever girl like her, he had thought first, yet as time progressed she turned into a typical girl. She would be heard clicking selfies with her gal pals. She would make those weird chicken faces (or is it called a duck face?) and her Facebook timeline would be filled with her own pictures. No, just her OWN pictures. Literally.

Narcissist much, Priya Abhishek would think always when those pics would flood his face.

From a perfect angel to a typical attention-seeking commoner, her transition reached the peak when she started being famous for her frivolous lifestyle than her looks.

Abhishek had sworn a long time back, at her thousandth selfie, that he would never date such a girl. Or even fall for one like her.

One day, a comment from a friend piqued Abhishek’s interest. It was a simple statement, one that was very common and he had heard a million times. Yet for some strange reasons, this particular time caught his eye. His friend had asked: Have you noticed how she is always single?

And notice he did. For years, Priya had been gawked at. She was pretty and guys approached her like moth to a flame. But she had always politely declined. Not once had she ever been seen in the company of guys for too long. Sure, she hung out with guys, but usually those seemed to be already in relationships. This thought irked him quite a bit.

One day, he decided to ask her. But how could he?

Abhishek had never been close with Priya. Sure, they had been paired together for some lab assignments some years ago, and they had shared a common friend named Lord of the Rings but that had been the extent of it. And besides, what did he care? What did he care about her life? What did he care? What did he…

Fine, thought Abhishek one day. Finally admitting defeat, he realized that perhaps he too had a crush on her. Perhaps, he too was a typical college gawker. But what was the harm in that?

Things took a turn when he was sitting alone in the lab, waiting for his classmates to come. The teacher was missing too. He had always been the first. And he hated that. Abhishek hated being early at everything, but that was a result of his parents’ upbringing. He could not help it.

And then Priya appeared. Stupid romantics would call it fate, but Abhishek called it timing as they both waited in silence for the batch of students to arrive.

Abhishek could almost hear the comical cricket sound in the background, the one they show in cartoons when the silence is noticeable. Taking a deep breath knowing he would repent it later, Abhishek spoke.

“So what is up?” he asked her softly. “Have you finished watching the new Hobbit film?”

She seemed perplexed at the conversation since they had not spoken much, but nevertheless replied “Oh! Not really. It sucks big time, I know it.”

And of course, in no time, they were launching into great details of the LotR universe. They chatted, they laughed, and they had fun. After what seemed like hours, they finally realized that no one had appeared.

After some minutes of calls, they both realized that the Principal had issued a holiday because of some stupid reason and they both lived far away in separate directions so Abhishek asked outright, without thinking, “Wanna have a cup of coffee with me?”

Her beautiful eyes sparkled at the thought, and she grinned widely as she replied “How about a Maharaja Mac instead? I am frigging hungry! And thirsty from all the talking.”

“So how come you are single?” was the first obvious question that he asked her as he sipped his coke-without-ice. “We both know you’re hot. So how come you have never dated?”

“Because no one has ever asked me…” she said simply.

That took Abhishek aback. He stared at her, and that was all that Priya needed for a further explanation.

“Yes, tons of guys have hinted at it. Others have made sleazy comments. Many have tried to, but failed. Some even asked my friends to ask me. But nobody has outright asked me the question. It is a simple question. And still they get scared.”

He pondered that for a moment. Could it be true that-

“Do you mean to say that I am the first person to ask you out?” he asked, his eyebrows practically raised out of his forehead.

She never gave him an answer. But then again, it wasn’t needed.

Abhishek still chuckles at the thought of the reaction the whole college gave a few weeks later when they both broke the news about their very joyful relationship.

Abhishek still recalls how all it took him was the courage to ask her the one single question, the same one that countless others had been too craven to ask. Perhaps, bravery does pay off although its not the same type of bravery.

Also, Playing the Bagpipes* was great.

Hey Bleedsters!
Pushing your boundaries is good for you, or so I have heard. I suck at it, though. However just this once, I want to try pushing my biggest boundary: story telling. Here is a cute one that was inspired by a post I saw somewhere, about something. Too bad I don’t remember it but it was something about how the hot girl was never directly asked out on a date because of which she would proudly remain single…
I have not proofread this as I am busy with my exams. So gimme me a break. Anyhoo, Is it good? Is it bad? Did I do the right thing by pushing the boundaries? Help me answer my own questions! Not based on any true story, although I wish it was real 😉 (NO, Priya and Abhishek are not real, they are literally two people whose names I googled as ‘Most Common Names’. Although Rahul was the first one that popped up under the BOY section, my brother is named that and I don’t want people who know me, badgering him with questions.
Chow!
Okay, who says that?
Regards,
F*ck you, be nice to your viewers!
Love, (that is better)
Kunal

*A How I Met Your Mother reference, if you caught it 😀

As always, if any of it made you smile, laugh, frown or giggle like a little baby, comment share and like! To be up-to-date with my other posts, give a like to my Facebook page and follow on Twitter if you use it! Any images used are either taken from Google Images or from my own personal collection, unless stated otherwise. Contact me if you want it removed.