Every night, when the clock chimes 10, the old one steps out of his bungalow with a box of biscuits to find solace in the company of an army of dogs.
The optimist smokes a pack of cigarettes and as the smoke fills the air, she unpacks the memories of the city she loved and left behind, the people she adored, and the tale of love she missed.
No one has spoken in the last 30 minutes they spent in that hospital corridor waiting for the cryptic doctor’s final verdict, scrolling reel after reel, listening to that podcast, re-watching a show.
The leftovers of what seemed like 2 platters of food had attracted innumerable insect pests, invading the space, as the neighbor peeked into the unemployed’s window after several rings.
The “pure”, the “impure”, and everybody in-between penetrate the walls with unrequited longings that they dare say aloud, Agarbatti’s, and words that tumble out of gurus.
The periphery of the skin of a nail that’s fallen is starting to burn as her leg rocks like a chair when the crowd murmurs “What a woman”
Waves of pleasure swirl and splash as nimble fingers some familiar, some a mere acquaintance, ignite a fire that turns them to ash.
He smacked her and the house was shining, ever-so-clean.
First week was about “Water is a powerful element, keep swimming”, the second transcended into “Exercise because endorphins are everything”, while the third moved into a cave of silence.
It’s damp and cold, jailed with introverted strangers that peel the skin as anecdotes entwine and the night stretches into a waterfall of thoughts.
A diminishing body that ached after reasoning “just one, just one cut”, whispered for a warm hug, and received endless hours of undisturbed sleep.
He writes and writes and writes and every piece has a void that echoes “Somebody save me”.