A Little Ray of Sunshine

Thud Thud Thud


This noise...little noise...what is it I wonder? 


My eyes flutter open slowly...Oh..I didn't know I could do that- open my eyes, that is! It's dark, and warm and oh sooooo cozy... Sigh.


I snuggle against the smooth surface and rub my face on my soft hair. The wall is all around me. What is it? 


Hmmmm....


I go tap tap with my feet (I didn't know I could do that either! Imagine!) Sigh. Its a little tight in here.


Hey- whats happening?! There's this weird feeling...its rising in my chest and to my mouth and all of a sudden it opened! My mouth opened! By itself! and my arms rising up as if to stretch *yawn*...and oops- what did I do? 


There's a tiny crack in the wall! And what IS this funny white thing coming in? Hmmm..


I try to crouch back (Away from the funny white thing. Weird.) but I can barely move! Hmph. 


Ok. I get it! I'll just use my brand new tap-tapping skills and cover the crack with my feet and...uh oh. Something just happened. I know it. I must have pressed my back too much against the wall. Sigh. I wonder if I broke something? Let me get up. 


Sigh. I just rolled. Sigh.


But wait...that funny white thing is all around me now and...and it has turned me...gasp! YELLOW!!


Maybe, just maybe, I can...yes...let me fix it...let me turn around..but damn! Did you see that? The wall just gave in..Let me see if....Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooo! My whole world is crumbling around me! I'm dying! I'm DYING! Daaaaaayyyyyiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnngggggg!


*silence*


Uh. Ok. 


Hello Mum. 


Um...So i guess there was no need to panic huh? And apparently, the egg IS supposed to break! Hehe. Phew! Who would've thunk?!

The High Cost of Living

It’s cold. Cold Metal. Feels awkward in my mouth.

I can feel the ridges with my tongue, the odd chip on the side- the engraving near the trigger.

Awkward. My mouth feels that. But the gun, it seems happy- like it's home.

I wonder what’s going to happen next. The safety catch is released. I imagine pulling the trigger, the whirr of the bullet as it leaves its abode to settle into mine. The slide into the barrel, the touch of the bullet to the back of my mouth, the thrust to my hand as it recoils, the burn as the bullet makes its way through my skull, and my brain. The pop- as it all falls apart and I lose my senses. Lose my all.

How will my body respond? Will I lose control? Will my bladder give up on me? Does it matter?

Ha! Vanity- thou art a bitch.

The mirror’s on the side- I can see it from the corner of my eye. See it see me. See it judge me. The bastard. What does it know about living a life? Living my life. Can’t blame it though- it's lot in life.

I look to my right. There he is- Cobain with his haunting eyes- looking back at me. Cajoling me. He gets it. Gets this emptiness, the loneliness. The feeling of being alone in a crowd. It’s the eyes that speak. Come join me, they say. Come as you are. That has me smirking.

I run my thumb over the trigger. That’s all it takes- one push. Seems too easy. Too easy to let it all go. What else can I do though? In my sixteen years, I seem to have lived a lifetime. Had sex. Check. Did lines. Check. Smoked pot. Check. Cut myself. Check.  Anything to make me feel alive. And now it seems only death can do that. Ironical.

I close my eyes; feel the saliva trickling down my throat. The taste of metal still in my mouth. I can feel the shudder rising through my hands, to my arm, up my throat to the back of my head. I let my head fall backwards.

Its time.

Dance of the Spirits

The bell rang as he stepped into the little drugstore, mist fuming from between his lips, rubbing his hands together.

It had been snowing on and off since Christmas. Christmas in New York. He never thought he'd be the one to miss the snow, seeing as he was from Alaska. But even he couldn’t stop that smile from forming when he woke up one fine morning to find the city covered in a blanket of snow. It somehow made this concrete jungle a lot more humane. A lot more like home.

He went up to the counter, picked up a pack of Marlboros and took his place in the queue behind a red haired elf. It was New york- he shouldn't have been surprised- but really- Christmas was done and over with. The woman at the counter rang up his purchase and he stepped out. She stood there- the elf- she had taken out a cigarette and stood there lighting it. Exactly what he had been intending to do. He walked up to her and asked if he could borrow a light.

A little pixie face looked up, smiled and said “Sure, everyone could do with a little warmth today."

He smiled as she lit his cig and they stood there outside the drugstore, puffing on the little poison sticks. 

"So, how are the working conditions at the North Pole?” he asked.

She shook her head and smiled, "Pretty pathetic if you ask, making toys for bratty kids and that Nicholas is quite the sugar daddy- if you know what I mean...”

"Of course- with that red coat- who could be up to any good in a RED coat- if I may ask?"

"Yup Yup- a regular perv, after all, he came up with the entire sneaking down the chimney thing. I mean, what’s wrong with politely knocking at the door and handing over the gift?"

"You know, I always did wonder that. I wonder how he managed specially with the snow and the near obese body structure. You'd think with all the up and down, he'd be fitter"

“Well, exercise once a year does not a Hulk Hogan maketh”

“Hulk Hogan? Really? I’d have put you more in the category of Triple H, you know”

“Gosh- you watch WWE? How old are you? Ten?”

“Says the woman dressed like an elf....”

“Hehe- I guess I had that coming”, she said as she stomped out the cig butt. “So where are you off to on this New year's eve?”

“Me? I thought I’ll take walk over to the Rockefellers and look at the fireworks... And you must be heading back to the North Pole..?”

“No No- Annual vacation time. Nick's out till Jan end. And the toy making factory is at a standstill.”

“Oh---so why don’t you come along. An elf by my side will make things all the more interesting”

“One pick up line I never thought I’d hear”. We both smiled.

“You know”, she said, “Try as I might, i can’t resist the lure of New York covered under a blanket of snow.”

He smiled wider- “I was thinking just that. It’s like home...”

“And where would that be?”

“Alaska.”

She gave out a shout of laughter and stood in the middle of the street clutching at her sides- “Are you fucking kidding me? You are from fucking North Pole? And you are making jokes about me?! Haha!”

He stood by sheepishly- “Yup Yup- I live next door to your toy factory- Happy now? Though technically, Alaska's not North Pole you know- that would be the Arctics.”

“Oh yeah- it’s a degree away”, she said, wiping a tear from her eye. “You are from Eskimo Land”

“I prefer to call it the land of the Northern Lights...”

She sighed “Dance of the Spirits"

He looked back, surprised- “How do you know that? Not many people do...”

“Know what? About the Aurora Borealis?”

“No- Dance of the Spirits- my grandma used to call it that…”

“Your grandma was a Cree? How delightful!  I always thought there was a kind of poetry in that. I can imagine man observing it for the first time and thinking just that- Dance of the Spirits- them coming together, converging and then moving apart- charged with electricity and intensity...."

“She wasn’t a Cree, though she’d say that it’s a lot like life…People coming together, drifting apart, meeting new people and writing newer destinies- Dance of our Life, she used to call it…”

“That’s beautiful...isn't it amazing- just when you think you have encountered all that life has to offer, you watch one sunset- and even that seems like a miracle. But the northern lights- they seem more than a miracle. Who could've thought that it’s just a collision of charged particles directed by the Earth's magnetic field? Two random charged particles coming together to create something so beautiful and then moving apart to create something completely different- yet equally wonderful “

“I know, I would stay up the whole night to watch just that and read..”

“Read?”

“Yup, with the light from the borealis. It gets that bright in the night...”

“Oh my God! You are such a geek! Read? Why would you want to read when you could have the most romantic date ever?”

“Really? In that much light? That’d have been a fun date!”

They were nearing Rockefeller’s now, the crowd getting denser. Up in the sky, sat the huge ball, bursting of which would mark the event of New Year. People were laughing and singing all around.

“So how long have you been in New York?, she yelled over the din of voices

“Long enough to not get surprised over that man throwing up over everyone”

“Haha- oh, ew- he really is…let’s get outta here”

“Really? Are you nuts? You never leave a good spot at Rockefellers on New Year’s Eve”

“What if you gotta pee?” One eyebrow rose “Ok- no really- sorry I asked”

And then the chants began “10…9….8…7..”

“I always found that funny- chanting along with the seconds- imagine, if the world ended at 12- u spent the last 10 seconds of your life doing just that- counting seconds”

He smiled and then the cheers of Happy New Year filled the air, and people were cheering, laughing and kissing all at once. He looked at her- that little elf. Those green eyes stared back. They kissed, just as the fireworks went off.

Their foreheads together, they stood smiling amidst the din of laughter and catcalls.

“I’m Emma”, by the way, she gasped.

“Ryan”, He said

And they smiled. A Happy New Year indeed.

The Eve of Destruction

"Everybody move calmly to the assembly area. DON'T PANIC. Everybody move calmly in a straight line towards the assembly area. Please let the....."

The voice droned on and on and like little ants, we moved in a straight line, converging from all sides towards the exit. What a day! First the ArmEx deal fell through and now, right in the middle of the tender negotiations, the bomb scare. I bet it's just some stupid hoax caller. Damn those buggers.

The office goers all formed a restless bunch. Some stood in groups, smoking and fidgeting, the others fervently looking around at the action. Some just lounged about in the grass, taking out their lunch packets, the slight sunshine a balm in this raspy winter. I saw her sitting bang in the middle of it all. A lone figure, surrounded by the crowd. A calm amidst the storm.

Heading towards her, I caught her glance and smiled. This seemed like as good time as any to make friends right?!  I sat down on a dry patch of grass beside her.

"Hi, I don't think I've seen you around.…I'm Alec"

Brown eyes stated into green ones and she smiled, "Hi...I'm Julia.." I was smitten- there was something about that smile. The day might not turn out to be that bad after all.

"You don't work here, do you? "

She smiled- "I don't- my friend works in the mail room- covering 1st through the 6th floors.. we had dinner together last night and she woke up pretty sick today morning- so thought I'd fill in for her...what about you?"

"Me? I've just started here actually, I used to work with the Republican Party for close to 5 years. Must say it was an interesting experience..."

One eyebrow arched, "You support Bush?"

"Well yeah- I mean people can say anything they want but that man knows what he is doing."

"You mean attacking third world countries to find his imaginary Weapons of Mass Destruction or fuelling terror around the world?"

"That, lady, is unpatriotic. I mean, that Saddam- he was scum. His regime needed to be removed and Bush alone had the guts to call war and stop that genocide. We are America. The balance of this world hangs on us. They look to us to be their saviors. You think its an easy job?"

"Ha! That's some jingoistic attitude you've got there. So if we are the saviors and stopping that genocide was the prerogative, then why did we not do anything about Darfur? Or Chechnya? Or probably we just do whatever is convenient to us."

"Well if those countries had their way, they'd be eating away all our resources. We need to prioritise and that's what we did. We warned them- we told them it was coming. They could have stopped it. Its not like it was a surprise attack. It was not calculated- but it was the need of the hour."

"Like it was the need of the hour to sponsor terrorism during the cold war?  Just because they were targeting the big bad wolf USSR? Our people are dying. Thousands of them- young blood, out there in the battlefield. Killing, fighting, dying- you think they'd ever be normal? Even when they come back, they are but a shadow of their former selves. What is your administration doing about it? Where was Bush when that mother sat outside his vacation home wanting an answer to why her young son was a victim at Iraq? And all you can say is that "YOU WARNED THEM?" That they knew it was coming? No one warned us, Alec- no one did- about the repurcussions"

"You won't understand, Julia. Politics is a dirty game. What needs to be done- has to be done. Collateral damage is unavoidable."

"Then why act surprised when it comes to bite us in the ass? When these terrorists attack us? CIA created them, they funded them till the time they served our purpose and then left them to fend for themselves. Tell me Alec, have someone you known died in a terror strike? Do you know how many families are ripped apart daily as a result of terrorist activities throughout the world? Young mothers widowed, sons and daughters who will never get to see their parents again, towns that have no young left...How can they justify it? Who will take responsibility for it? The CIA? The White House?"

I sighed, "Really, why are we fighting about this? We've just met....Anyways fancy being stuck outside in this cold due to that nuisance", I said trying to move to a safer topic.

She took a deep breath. Then in a calmer voice, "Nuisance? I think the intent is safety- is it not?"

"Well- I bet it's just a hoax- you know?"

"Really? What makes you so sure?"

"I don't think Taliban goes for these subtle little bombs you know...I mean its the CIA Headquarters- you think they'd let a bomb in easily?...Now if I saw a plane on the horizon, I'd worry..."

Those eyes glazed over "My father died in the 9/11 blasts...."

Shit. "Damn- I'm sorry- I must have sounded so callous..."

"Its OK- you don't have to be sorry- People who have to be aren't..."

"Yup..but what I wanted to say was that the security here is very tight- so you needn't worry."

Again, that smile. "You don't get it do you?"

"No really- the building is secure", he justified.

"Its not the buildings that screw up- Alec, people do. Why would anyone want to blow up a building, when its the people they want dead?"

"I don't get it..."

"Look around you Alec, how many people are there in this tight assembly area?"

"Around 300..."

"So if I were to press this tiny button on my phone to detonate the bomb, how many do you think will die?"

He stared at her, confusion blatant in his eyes...

"What did you say? Oh yeah- We warned them Alec- We told them it was coming. They could have stopped it."

She smiled- that same smile....and as the comprehension dawned in my eyes, she pressed the button.

The Sun

She trudged along the stark expanse. Alone.

The darkness engulfed her every step, falling about her, in a dense cover. She gasped, unable to breathe, her throat as parched as the earth around her.

No echo to her footsteps. The cracked barren ground offers no respite. Her lips are matted with dust, her hair flying about her. She stumbles and falls and lies there helpless.

There it is then- that little hand- coaxing her on or is that her mind playing tricks?

And then she hears the giggles. She looks up in surprise and sees the cherub as the first light of dawn strikes the sky. The light surrounds the babe, his golden hair lit up like a halo. Smile, he says, and come see my world. Grasping her hand, he pulls her up. Her thirst forgotten, her tiredness vanishes as she follows this little God. He is pointing out everything all at once, his enthusiasm infectious. "Look- an anthill!", he says one minute- "Ah! The flowers", he says the next. And the barren land is transformed to lush greenery. Hues of amber dot the green as the sun rises higher into the sky. He is laughing and smiling all at once and she finds herself revived and rejuvenated, caught in this new found wave of euphoria.

She picks him up and twirls him around, laughing along with him. Then holds him up, looks him in the eye and asks him- "And WHO are you?" He gurgles but does not answer. He hugs her, tight- as if, he'd never let go. And she hugs hims back, her eyes closed- wishing not to ever let go. And they become one.

She opens her eyes to the first ray of sunlight. She gulps. Her throat is still parched but she smiles. She looks at the sun and smiles.

She'll live, she knows.

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I am an Aquarian. Hence, as per Tarot lore, my card is The Star. And while The Star resonates positivity, my personal favorite is The Sun. It makes me smile, laugh, forget my sorrows and fills me with something we all need- Hope.

I see The Sun and I know that things will be all right and that my God will have me smiling at the end of it all.

Singularity

Singularity (sing-gyuh-LAR-i-tee) noun : A point in space-time at which space-time curvature becomes infinite and at which measurable quantities become exactly zero or infinitely large.

Singularity.

I jump from the moving bus, eager to get home. Show the trophy to my mother.

The digital clock glimmers in the dark. It's 3:05 AM and its hot. My mother puts cold wipes on my forehead. Father's pacing the room restlessly.

It's foggy. Pale sunlight is streaming through, reflecting off of the dust particles, turning them to glittery diamond dust. I see her standing with her friends, plucking the  lily, tucking it behind her ear.

I am crouched in my room. Pale moonlight filtering in through the curtains that are softly shifting in the night breeze. I can see my shadow. Its big. Bigger than I am. Than I ever was. Noises in the background. They are fighting again. I am eight.

Organ music plays. We are together. I turn to her as the carousel starts spinning. She laughs, looking at me, her hair whipping across her face.

Led Zep's blaring in the background. We're cutting lines on the tiny coffee table. It doesn't seem like it has been used for coffee anytime soon. Ever. A whiff. Stairway to heaven.

They are calling out my name. I step onto the stage, dressed in my graduation cape. Father and Mother are seated in the crowd. Not together. 

They are rioting on the streets. We are. I fling a stone with all my might. A cop's down. They fire. There's panic- a stampede. I am turning to look back as I run. A streak of blood hits me in the face, blinding me momentarily. Someone's fallen.

We're at the river bank, dipping our feet lightly in the water. I am turning to kiss her. We are making love. On the river bank, under the stars.

The doctor's handing over the babe to me. A precious life, left in callous arms. She is dying. The sheets are bloody; her breathing, shallow.

She walked today. Stumbling and struggling. Her eyes turned upwards as if to seek my approval. Her eyes. Just like her mother's. We visit her grave every year and adorn it with lilies.

Her first day at school. Trembling, eyes brimming with tears. Lips, a near pout. Clutching with all her might her brand new pink school bag. The teacher lovingly takes her hand. I get a teary wave.

She is squealing. The object of her affection a few feet away. We are at the concert of her favorite pop star. Its pink and glitter everywhere. I am shaking my head to get rid of the confetti, catching the eye of the lady nearby, also there with her daughter. We shrug. Kids!

Twelve. That's how old she is. Twelve. She is crossing the road, waving to her friends on the other side. A few yards away, the car is screeching towards the intersection. It's speeding. My baby girl isn't.

Singularity. A black hole in the Extropian worldview whose gravity is so intense that no light can be shed on what lies beyond it. By David Victor de Transend

She likes lilies. Just like her mother.

Singularity. Sometimes I think it's my heart.

The Jackpot

Ching ...whirrrrr...

They hear it. All of them. And it pulls them in. Like the sound of sirens that enchanted Oddysseus' men a zillion years ago...For who am I but a siren?

I see them day by day, spending hours at my altar. Praying, cajoling, wishing, hoping and at times even bribing. Just this once they say and just a quarter. We'll give half to charity, they say. Hah! Long forgotten claims.

I've seen them come and go, getting older and younger in front of my eyes. No one's free of my allure. They see the glittering lights, the inviting images and they think that today just might be their day. Ching...whirrrr... and they seek synchronisation...a match somewhere for that elusive prize- the jackpot.

How naive, I think, as I watch them. How naive.

And then there are those that refuse- they deny the urge, that they shan't fall under my spells again. And just when they assume that they stand safely on the shore, the wave comes, inching the sand away from beneath their feet and lets the riptide pull them in. Deep.

There are Gods and there are Gods. Me? I am but a temple wherein the God resides.

The only God that matters.

Lost in Translation

A sideways glance. A sigh.

Who knew Europe could be so hard on his American heart?

Another glance. A murmur..”Oi Lienda…”

She glanced up, fluttering eyelashes. Questioning look.

“Belle que fai?”, he asked

A hesitant smile. Smiling, but not comprehending.

“Bonita, bonita que tal?”

A raised eyebrow. Still silent.

“But Belle…”

She interrupts with a soft sigh and a raised hand “Je ne comprends pas francais…So you’ll have to speak to me..some other way…”

He smiled and shook his head…so much for lost in translation…

"Hi", he began afresh...

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Jack Johnson came up with this 1 minute 30 second gem called "Belle" for his (apparently) multilingual wife. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sfn2aq4RVos)

And listening to it, I just thought of a man- trying to figure out what language his lady love speaks. Those lines are the lyrics of the song:

Oi Lienda: Hello, beautiful. (portuguese)
Bella que fai?: Beautiful, what are you doing? (italian)
Bonita, bonita que tal?: Beautiful, beautiful, how are you? (spanish)
But belle: But beautiful
Je ne comprends pas français: I do not understand French (french)
So you'll have to speak to me
Some other way

The Fool

“Don’t!”

“But why not?”

“Really, what do you know about it?”

“Know? What is there to know? No one knows- that doesn’t mean no one shall ever find out”

“But why does it have to be you? Wait and watch- Learn from others’ experiences. This can do you no good”

“Why not me? Why are you so anxious? Nothing came out of thinking and waiting. Look at the beauty around you… What are you so scared of? The heights, the edge, or both?

“I am not scared of the heights or edges, I’m just… scared of what I might do when I am near one…”

“Then for once, do it. Without regards to what might happen…give in to the urge, the release, the anticipation and the exhilaration. Feel the wind against your face, defy the gravity, the fall shall help you rise again…”

He stood over the precipice, unbidden, unsought, but caught by a wave of euphoria. His hands trembling, eyes shut, a smile hovering about his face, he took a step. Then another. And then, there were none.

And he fell.

In love.

-------------------------

I believe in tarot. And few cards speak to me like no other.

The fool echoes a question that most closely resembles life- To be or not to be. And as a fool, the answer always is – To BE! And How! It pulls you towards a life of reckless abandon & lustful laughs, begging you take chances, dare into uncharted waters and Fall- Fall for Life!

A Forgotten Thought

A whiff of memory passes by...
Unbeknownst to me, it
Turns up the contours of my lips.
Sweet and glorious day it is,
And you to give me company..

Questionable Quills- A Short Story

He came running up the stairs. First day as an intern and he was late. Late! How could he not have woken up on time? That couldn’t possibly be because of the excitement of starting out his career or the fact that he was celebrating with Mr. Daniels the night before and that Mr. Daniels eventually landed up being flushed down the toilet? *Sigh* Just another day in the life of Derek Quill.

Up he went the stairs huffing and puffing. “I…huff…just …huff…gotalittlelatesir…huff huff”. Mr. Reed looked up from his book, and managed to growl and sigh all at the same time. (A little like Derek’s dad actually- he always tried doing that, you know- growl and sigh at the same time- but it like, never had the same effect) "First day of the job Mr. Quill and you are late. I hope this doesn’t turn into a habit.” “No Sir- not at all sir”, gasped Derek, with his breathing coming around, and his heartbeat resuming its regular pounding.

“You do realize the importance of the job you have here – don’t you?” Continued Mr. Reed, getting up from his rather comfy chair. “After all the Claustrum Syndicate is THE oldest and most reverent Syndicate in the Order of the Quills that ever existed and we take our jobs very very seriously.” “Indeed”

“And trust me- you weren’t the only applicant for this internship-“

“I do understand Mr. Reed and am extremely grateful for this opportunity”

“Good. Now let’s proceed to the job at hand.” Mr Reed replied, heading into a long winding tunnel- a rather dark tunnel at that with little neon arrows (like the ones they have in airplanes) guiding the way. Throughout the tunnel, Derek could spot vents- little vents, big vents, vents the size of a rabbit, vents the size of a hobbit- all in all, he  figured, it was an extremely airy tunnel.

“The Claustrum Syndicate is the oldest of the Order of the Quills, the order founded by the great Petrache Poenaru. As you know, the Order is a sum of multiple syndicates- At Claustrum, we deal with exigencies of the highest order and we have to ensure that our missions are accomplished at all costs!” Derek audibly gulped.

“There are no ground rules- we have to retrieve the tools anyhow. You must understand. The ancient Indians were the first to use the pen. All their Vedas, puranas- there was too much knowledge- too much to be written down- to be saved for posterity. Even at that time, we recognized the power of the written word- the power of a pen! Why do you think that “the Pentagon” was named what it was? A pen has turned the tide of many a wars. Voltaire once remarked” To hold a pen is to be at war”. And our intent is clear- There should be NO WAR!”

“So we just retrieve the pens? Without anyone knowing about it?”

“No- we knock them on the shoulder and politely ask them to hand it over to us.”

“uh-um”

“OFCOURSE YOU DUFUS!” Reed turned around on Derek- and quicker than you could say Jack Daniels, had him against the wall-“We retrieve the tools with the stealth of a neenja, as quiet as a tiiiger advancing towards its prey, leaving nooo traces behind. You got it?”

“Y- yes” he stammered.

“We have our systems in place all over the world- these tunnels link to a series of vents to everywhere possible- the UN, the CIA, White House and even….Oprah’s Office.” *Gasp*

“Our team of highly specialized professionals operates under a cover of secrecy and with great danger to their lives to retrieve these pens. People all over the world have, at some point of the time or the other, have lost their pens”, he said, now resuming the walk down the tunnel-“they seem to loose it all the time. One minute it was right here- and another, it’s gone. Keeps happening all the time- fountain pens, ball pens, gel pens, roller pens, markers- any kind of quill you could think of- goes missing.”

“But what purpose would it serve?”

“Isn’t it obvious? You think they said “The pen is mightier than the sword” without meaning it? We were the ones who took away the pen from Hitler when he was about to sign off the Nine Power Treaty and had we not taken away the pen at the appropriate time from Rowling, your dear Harry Potter would’ve been born a year prior- with a broom still- but as a school janitor!”

“B- but- these were important pens- why the others?”

“Use your brains m’boy. How long would it have taken it for them to figure out about us? Pens going missing from right under important noses”

“Of course- so you randomly siphon off others’ pens to make it look like a perfectly random occurrence”

“Exactly! Till date people have been blaming random, imaginary entities for the loss of their writing instruments- where do they go, who uses them- all these questions are but trifle. In fact, I have never seen more pens lost than in the year 1999, when in anticipation of the Y2K bug almost everybody was in the haste to write down the critical information rather than loosing it to their computer hard drives. Information that SHOULD NOT and MUST NOT ever be written down. I believe our sister concern – BIC- turned in a healthy profit that year”

“That’s great”, Derek remarked, as they entered into a room full of stacks and stacks of boxes.

“But what do we do with all these pens?” “What can we do? We recycle them. And the more important ones, of course, go to our museum. Anyways, now that we are here…”

Mr. Reed’s discourse was brutally interrupted by the sounds of blaring sirens- the room and the tunnels suddenly lit up with an eerie red light. “It’s an emergency”, he yelled over the din of sirens, as he tried to grab a passing young lad in a uniform. “Where is the Retrieval Squad off to?” “MTV is signing up Jersey Shore for another season today!! A travesty that MUST be stopped!! We must gather the relevant information immediately”.

“So Mr. Quill”, Mr. Reed said, turning towards Derek, “What are you waiting for?”

“Oh Boy! This is going to be fun!” thought Derek, as he mingled into the pandemonium around him.

The Delayed Flight

I sigh as I look around. I sigh again. Sighs seem inevitable in a situation like this. 

The fish in the aquarium look at me dolefully, their lips moving as if to talk.  I look back at the fish equally dolefully. We seem to have the endless wait in common. I look around. 

Another sigh. 

The voices seem to have subsided to a steady murmur. Bags lying helter skelter, coffee a baleful option. Dull, gray metal encounters my gaze, inducing a chill in this warm weather.  

The frog stares back at me from the cover of my book. "Read me," he says, "let me entertain you with the stories of my well." "But do u know of the worlds outside? The skies that seem so clear?", I ask. 

"No air traffic in the well though," he smirks back at me. 

I sigh again.