A ❤٥ﺎ√ﻉ Story™ ©

His eyes are affixed on the clock. It’s the clock on the wall just in front of his bed; the one he got as a gift on his birthday from his love interest. It has already struck twelve but there is not a single trace of sleep in his eyes. His eyes that are so quiet speak volume, but he hardly utters any. He subdues all the pain within himself.

The clock has Jim Morrison as wall paper. It’s slightly bigger than other ordinary wall clock and there are even some epigram etched just below the clock head.

He seems lost within the clock. Probably he is fleeing with his imagination to some hinterland, where he could find solace amongst all those gloominess he is engulfed with. He blinks his eyes and stream of tears roll down his cheeks, but he does not bother to wipe them away. He lets them march on their path till their existence is lost within the periphery of his murky face.

Sluggishly, he fetches a cigarette; gives a frantic look at it. Then, he reaches for the lighter that was placed on the table near his bed.  He lights the cigarette, inhales a puff of smoke into his lungs and exhales a thick cloud into the air. He rests his head on the pillow, makes some adjustment, and then gulps in another breathe of cigarette. While staring at the ceiling above, he shots a bubble of smoke upwards. 


As he gazes at the ceiling, he spots a pair of gecko trying to make love.  A miniature smile curls up across his face. He draws in two puffs of smoke and ogles back at the scenic beauty of his ceiling. The exhaled smoke takes the serpentine shape and takes the vista he had been enjoying in its veil for a while. The smoke settles within a second and he gets back to where he was a second ago. Just then, out of nowhere another gecko appears and the situation turns out into something he had not expected for. A clear sign of frustration mounts his face again.

He resorts back to the cigarette, but it’s too small to take the puff. He dumps the soot on the ashtray that is almost full. He, again struggles through the cigarette pack, but fails to find a new piece. Just then he realizes, had emptied five packs that same day. At the very moment, the light goes off. “Damn, this load shedding” he rant to himself.

Lethargically, he seeks out his mobile. With the help of frantic mobile light, he gets to the candle in the drawer. Near the candle he sees a set of razor blade. He seeks out them both, delves for a while and walks back to the bed again.

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He brushes aside the candle and fondles with the razor. He reaches for his mobile, unlocks it and jumps to the image folder. He skips through some of the pictures and rests his eye on one; for as long as he can. He is lost again in his thoughts. His passionate looks make it sure that, she is the one he has been thinking of. He types a message, throws his mobile on the bed and lands his fist on the wall nearby.

A sudden uproar of disgust, anger and frustration whirls all over his face. An evil glows up in his eyes. He closes his eyes, takes a long deep breath. He then, summons the razor to his hand and erratically guides it over the veins on his wrist. A gush of blood floods across the bed. He feels dizzy and falls unconscious. A deep silence swallows up the entire room. Just then a message tone beeps up in his mobile and breaks up silence. It reads “Message sending failed”.



© ɱɐϩτα Ͼϵϔϼα 2010
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