The shrill tone echoed along the long dank corridor. Footsteps rushed to pick up the phone. Then ensued a free-for-all and finally the receiver ended up with the little guy in his white pyjamas. His mouth still wet and smudged with red cream, he yelled a loud "Hellooooooo". The lady in a black satin night gown stood beside him, her long hair tumbling down her curvy back. She looked pale and exhausted but a smile dazzlingly lit up her beautiful face. " Pappa!", exclaimed the little guy with all his might. And as a chill hand touched my shoulder, I turned and looked straight into her face...the face contrite with unshed tears and something else simmering deep inside- agony. My throat goes dry...
The phone rings...tring tring...The shrill tone echoes along the corridor. the smell of fresh cake being baked touched his nostrils and the little guy in white pyjamas runs towards it. So does his mother- the beautiful lady with long tresses that almost kissed her waist with her every footstep. The playful tiff ends with the little one winning the fight and yelling a mighty "Pappa!" over the phone. This happens almost every night, as I watch them in the adjacent flat, from my fourteenth floor balcony, holding my cigar, reminiscing my non existent family. The call from the young man who is employed abroad and the two loving souls who run to talk to the man of their lives...hmmmm...
With a wife divorced years back and no kids to hold on to, my life is just the routine and mundane "run of the mill. All I want is a loving hand to hug me tight and call me "Pappa!". And she- the most adorable woman I've seen all my life. What kind of a man would live life apart from such love and beauty? Her husky voice when she sings to her son, her elegance in black sarees, her lovely locks of soft and wavy hair...Oh God...I am mad with want, hungry with need. It was one such dark starry night that I went knocking their door. I had heard her bedtime story being read out with warmth and the ensuing silence must have emboldened me.
I knocked on the door and waited with bated breath as she opened the door wide, her smile lighting up her whole face and my whole being. The smell of freshly baked cake floats around the hall as I walk behind her, adoring her long tresses and curvy back. She insists on having a coffee as I watch her moves with lust and longing. Unable to resist my feelings anymore, I pull her waist from behind. Unexpected of the sudden movement, she turns, flips and falls back with her head hitting the granite counter top. Blood gushes out as a stream...flowing freely on the kitchen floor as I watch stupefied with horror. She lies still and it takes me just two full minutes to register that she is dead...plain dead. Sweating and panting, I turn to run, as the little one in his white pyjamas stands near the kitchen door clutching his Tom teddy, his eyes wide with fear. His mouth still is wet and smudged with the red cream from his favourite cake. Shit! I try to think fast. What did he see? He shouldn't be alive...is what my head orders me.
" I didn't do anything", I yell, as he tries to kick himself free from my vice like grip. I grab the big Tom teddy and push the little one on the ground, smothering him. His limbs flail and try to grab something, anything...And I could reach the phone cord. Pulling it around his neck and smothering his groans with the teddy, I exert all my energy in wringing his tiny neck. His limbs loosen and finally he lies still...I run fast from the house, so fast as my legs could carry me and rest only when I reach the confines of my home.
I try to wet my parched lips and shriek at the top of my voice. But I can muster just a weak ahhhhh....I wrest myself free from her grip and the hollowed eyes of her little son. I finally break free, the cigar in my hand still intact. As I tumble to my death fourteen floors from my balcony, all I can see is her long tresses of hair rolling along my death and her soft husky voice reading the usual bed time story.
This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend an initiative for Indian Bloggers by Blogadda.
Got ended before it started..:(ReplyDelete
Would have loved it if it had continued for a few more days with some twists aka;)
Thanks a ton for the comment, Ramya :) Would have loved more twists, but we were supposed to write a short story dear!Delete
the flow of story is a bit confusing..how ever as per my interpretation...the lead character of the story is falling from 14th floor. where she dreams of a pretty young woman..living by adjacent flat.thinking of her..he drowns frm the top. he is dead..am i correct. ?ReplyDelete
Ahhhh....sorry. The interpretation should be the lead character is a widower who lusts after his neighbour whose husband lives abroad. He tries to seduce her when she accidentally falls and her head hits the granite countertop, dies. Her innocent son who watches her fall is now killed by the widower. But she haunts him and is instrumental in his suicide...This is the story in a nutshell :)Delete
Welcome to my blog, Kalpana :) Thanks for the comment :)Delete
As I was midway of the story,I thought the fall would be of a different nature.But in a story of this short size ,you have given an unexpected twist and perhaps an apt end to the lusty and cruel guy.It was a gripping story.ReplyDelete
KP! Thank you so much for the comment. Was really doubtful of this story, as I think I am not that much into short fiction. Thanks a ton :) You inspire me!Delete
That was scary!ReplyDelete
Really??? Thank you Me ;)Delete