Tales from a Kleptomaniac's Unwritten Diary.
Sunday, October 5, 2008
Saturday, October 4, 2008
Story 1 - My Diary...?
I woke up. Cold sweat had washed my bedsheet. I touched my pillow gingerly with my shaking hands. I got reminded of my high school days when I had loved a girl once, and had cried literal buckets of tears into my oppressed pillows to rid myself of that severity of mental torture.
My pillow was dripping wet. What was wrong with me?
I glanced around my demolished room. My bed looked straight out of a stationery shop storage room. Packed copies, unused pens and refills, geometry boxes (fresh out of their wrappers), rulers and books - what was going on here?
I tried to remember what had happened to me. I remember clearly going to the supermarket to get myself a pair of new shoes. Thats where the memory goes blank.
I get up gingerly. The lights and fans wer off. No wonder i was sweating.
What lay on my table scared the living daylights out of me.
A brand new 26 inch television set, not even unwrapped from its box. As i proceeded to touch it, i noticed a deep cut on the back of my right hand. It had not healed yet and looked pretty deep.
Where did i cut myself from?
Question after curious question flooded my sweaty brain.
Shards of glass were lying on the floor, looking up at me innocently from underneath their shallow immobility, glinting ever so strangely from a few rays of sunlight that managed to penetrate the shield of curtains that were blowing in the wind.
A horrible thought occured to me. Did i 'steal' these artefacts? Is this what i am reduced to now? A thief? A shoplifter?
From afar, I could hear police cars fast approaching.
----------------------------------------
"Kleptomania sir", sub-inspector Naren spoke with certainty.
"Kleptomania? What are the symptoms?", inspector Manish Darman asked.
"Sir, people are compelled to commit theft of small items like pen, paper, knives, tapes, small toys, cds etc. You get the idea? The victim himself does not realise that he has committed a crime", Naren looked at a piece of paper inside a blue file.
"Hmm...are we there yet?", asked the inspector.
"Nearly there, sir. His home is just round that corner. What course of action are we to take?"
"We don't kill. We arrest him. How dangerous are kleptomaniacs?"
"Vulnerable completely sir....if unarmed", spoke Naren with conviction. His eyes were fixed on the now approaching building.
"And what if armed?"
"Then sir, i think we are the vulnerable ones", Naren gave a small chortle of laughter.
-------------------------------------------
They are coming for me...was the first thought that came to me.
Should i run for it? Do i have a gun? Or a knife.
I went to the window, creaked open an inch and stole a glance outside. The cars were right in front of my home, their flashing sirens baring their ugly teeth at me through the grilled iron bars of the front gate.
Without wasting a single second, i ran. I opened the door and climbed the low wall behind my home and made a dash towards the main road. I didn't see the police car tracking my every move. It rushed at me like a mother trying to protect her only child from the clutches of a fire.
--------------------------------------------
"Sir, bad news," Naren spoke in a low voice.
"Don't tell me Naren, that the victim is in any way injured or unable to be interrogated?", the exasperated voice of Manish Darman inquired.
"The victim has been hit by one of the police cars. He is...he's...been killed."
"WHAT? WHICH OFFICER IS RESPONSIBLE FOR THIS?", boomed the inspector.
"It was Devrup's car. Its not his fault. The victim was trying to escape. The car was revved up in pursuit. The victim slipped and fell. The car tried to brake but...it hit the victim's head. Devrup managed to hear the last words of the victim before the concussion in his head killed him."
"What were his last words?"
"He said - 'My diary...?"
"Diary? Was it a statement or a question?", the inspector was stumped.
"It was a question sir."
"Have you searched his room? Did you find a diary there?"
"No sir. None at all."
"Strange. An unwritten diary. Case closed Naren?"
"Case closed sir."
--------------------------------------------
The lights have forever faded in that one room. The stolen articles were recovered. Just the owner's life couldn't ever be recovered.
There on his table, in full view - lay an unseen, unwritten diary. The window was open, ever so slightly. The small gusts of guttural wind that sometimes blew, ruffled up the unfelt pages of that kleptomaniacs unwritten diary, till the end of time - when the earth cracked and swallowed up this diary. That day, the plastic pages of that diary folded itself and fell like acid rain on the trees of hell.
_________x_________x___________
I woke up. Cold sweat had washed my bedsheet. I touched my pillow gingerly with my shaking hands. I got reminded of my high school days when I had loved a girl once, and had cried literal buckets of tears into my oppressed pillows to rid myself of that severity of mental torture.
My pillow was dripping wet. What was wrong with me?
I glanced around my demolished room. My bed looked straight out of a stationery shop storage room. Packed copies, unused pens and refills, geometry boxes (fresh out of their wrappers), rulers and books - what was going on here?
I tried to remember what had happened to me. I remember clearly going to the supermarket to get myself a pair of new shoes. Thats where the memory goes blank.
I get up gingerly. The lights and fans wer off. No wonder i was sweating.
What lay on my table scared the living daylights out of me.
A brand new 26 inch television set, not even unwrapped from its box. As i proceeded to touch it, i noticed a deep cut on the back of my right hand. It had not healed yet and looked pretty deep.
Where did i cut myself from?
Question after curious question flooded my sweaty brain.
Shards of glass were lying on the floor, looking up at me innocently from underneath their shallow immobility, glinting ever so strangely from a few rays of sunlight that managed to penetrate the shield of curtains that were blowing in the wind.
A horrible thought occured to me. Did i 'steal' these artefacts? Is this what i am reduced to now? A thief? A shoplifter?
From afar, I could hear police cars fast approaching.
----------------------------------------
"Kleptomania sir", sub-inspector Naren spoke with certainty.
"Kleptomania? What are the symptoms?", inspector Manish Darman asked.
"Sir, people are compelled to commit theft of small items like pen, paper, knives, tapes, small toys, cds etc. You get the idea? The victim himself does not realise that he has committed a crime", Naren looked at a piece of paper inside a blue file.
"Hmm...are we there yet?", asked the inspector.
"Nearly there, sir. His home is just round that corner. What course of action are we to take?"
"We don't kill. We arrest him. How dangerous are kleptomaniacs?"
"Vulnerable completely sir....if unarmed", spoke Naren with conviction. His eyes were fixed on the now approaching building.
"And what if armed?"
"Then sir, i think we are the vulnerable ones", Naren gave a small chortle of laughter.
-------------------------------------------
They are coming for me...was the first thought that came to me.
Should i run for it? Do i have a gun? Or a knife.
I went to the window, creaked open an inch and stole a glance outside. The cars were right in front of my home, their flashing sirens baring their ugly teeth at me through the grilled iron bars of the front gate.
Without wasting a single second, i ran. I opened the door and climbed the low wall behind my home and made a dash towards the main road. I didn't see the police car tracking my every move. It rushed at me like a mother trying to protect her only child from the clutches of a fire.
--------------------------------------------
"Sir, bad news," Naren spoke in a low voice.
"Don't tell me Naren, that the victim is in any way injured or unable to be interrogated?", the exasperated voice of Manish Darman inquired.
"The victim has been hit by one of the police cars. He is...he's...been killed."
"WHAT? WHICH OFFICER IS RESPONSIBLE FOR THIS?", boomed the inspector.
"It was Devrup's car. Its not his fault. The victim was trying to escape. The car was revved up in pursuit. The victim slipped and fell. The car tried to brake but...it hit the victim's head. Devrup managed to hear the last words of the victim before the concussion in his head killed him."
"What were his last words?"
"He said - 'My diary...?"
"Diary? Was it a statement or a question?", the inspector was stumped.
"It was a question sir."
"Have you searched his room? Did you find a diary there?"
"No sir. None at all."
"Strange. An unwritten diary. Case closed Naren?"
"Case closed sir."
--------------------------------------------
The lights have forever faded in that one room. The stolen articles were recovered. Just the owner's life couldn't ever be recovered.
There on his table, in full view - lay an unseen, unwritten diary. The window was open, ever so slightly. The small gusts of guttural wind that sometimes blew, ruffled up the unfelt pages of that kleptomaniacs unwritten diary, till the end of time - when the earth cracked and swallowed up this diary. That day, the plastic pages of that diary folded itself and fell like acid rain on the trees of hell.
_________x_________x___________
Tales From a Kleptomaniac's Unwritten Diary.
Presenting - a series of small, strange, unbelievable tales, written by Yours Truly!
I've named this series - Tales From a Kleptomaniac's Unwritten Diary.
Friday, October 3, 2008
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