Category: story

  • All this dryness and you.

    The Big Dipper is right there where it was yesterday. A full spin has completed and that, among everything else, is still right there. Hanging. Swinging. Laughing at me from far. Laughing at my tiny miseries. Shining like a monster. Lifeless winning over Life. I am a mad man listening to Beethoven. His Sonata 14 is crushing my heart as I listen to it. I have no feelings in the manner in which you have them. Usually, I have no feelings. In this night, I am half on fire for no reason. I am looking at things and finding no pleasure in them. I am half on fire for you. Sweating at places. I am looking at things and the brightness that they are trying to emit and how fast all of that brightness is getting sucked by this nothingness, by you not being here. Where are you. I wonder that. Where are you. My single wondering for tonight. Where are you. Where are you. I have an idea but I do not know.

    © Copyright 2020 Tomic Riter. All rights reserved

  • Why all this and how many times.

    Wheels on a street. Wheels of a boy knight. Wheels cracking like firecrackers on this steamy street. He is a warrior getting beaten by his mother. He is getting beaten by a mother on a warm evening. A mother is beating him like he should not be beaten. It is a warm evening, an evening without any pleasantness, and the boy is getting beaten. He deserves a better treatment but look at him. Better, look at his mother and her hardwork. She is tired but she continues. On this warm evening which is nothing much, an unnecessary act of mild violence is getting committed. In the middle of that act, he flees. He is gone while his mother’s hands keep beating the air. He is gone on his round wheels, that boy. Gone. Gone with other rascals. He is around the corner and he turns away and he is gone.

    © Copyright 2020 Tomic Riter. All rights reserved

  • Long road.

    Revisited few of my old poems. Had to do it. It’s a pointless and important task. You might understand it or you will when you reach that point. Lots of shit needs to be written down. I hope one life will be enough, and if not, then what choice do I really have other than to write more shit. I have got a lot inside my head. Being awake is as killing as going to sleep. Sitting in the cool breeze is making my eyes heavy. I could fall asleep right now. Heck, I could die right now, with or without a virus I do not really care.

    © Copyright 2020 Tomic Riter. All rights reserved

  • While the sky blazed

    Wrote few more poems in the last couple of days for my book. It’s going good. Life is not cruel these days since most men are locked inside. Tonight is cool weather and steady winds. I guess I will skip dinner, it slows me down and I am not that hungry. I ate stupid shit all day anyways. A delicious smell just entered my nose, somebody is surely hungry. It has started raining just now. Finally! Great! Great!

    © Copyright 2020 Tomic Riter. All rights reserved.

  • What things go on.

    I sit in frustration, watching how things proceed. The inhumanity flowing parallel to humanity. The great killer tide. Longer hours of hunger prevail. Today, I slept to the point of mild nausea. Daytime is demotivating, draining. This place is, once again, a desert. I hardly know, these days, what is going on outside. I go to work and then come back home. It is my only daily adventure. No walks outside. No drinking. Smoking I had quit long ago. This was a good time to start again.

    Few essential shops open for a brief time – 9 in the morning till 12 at noon. Over the past few weeks, timings have been changed multiple times. The people higher up probably do not know what the fuck would be the best time for people to step outside. I guess for the people who are just stupid, no time would be best. For others, yeah, something can be worked out. Often, people from small nearby villages arrive after everything closes down. They remain unaware of the changed timings. Hopelessness smears their weary faces. They go back thinking about I don’t know what dreadful things. Extreme hunger. Death. Some other violence.

    People are losing their minds. Isolating oneself can be toiling. Whatever. Sometimes, what needs to be done must be done without much thinking. It is the best bet.

    Tonight is a dreary windless night. Only pests are roaming freely on our streets. And dogs. And pigs. I have not listened to any song today. Maybe soon I will. Maybe.

    © Copyright 2020 Tomic Riter. All rights reserved.

  • To kill you or kick you out.

    I stepped down the roof to head to my room. I unlocked the front door and opened it. The lights were off, everything was dark inside. The only light glowing nearby was the one in the common area that lay in the middle of the four flats on my floor. I had opened the front door almost fully. I lifted my right arm to reach the light switch. I looked around. My finger touched the switch. I was about to turn on the switch when my eyes fell on some movement on the ceiling. It was a rapid movement in the dark. ‘A butterfly,’ was my first thought. I kept looking at the movement, it was in circles and it was fast. My finger was still on the switch. ‘But a butterfly doesn’t flutter this fast,’ was my second thought. I felt a fear rising in me. I switched on the light.

    I saw it. It was flying with its crooked, black wings. I stood at the door. I found myself unable to move any further. I kept it watching from there. It was energetic and mad. It was flying between the rooms, hitting the walls, then flying again. Fear froze my feet and my head. ‘How do I kill it?’ was my third thought. ‘How long will that take? It is faster than me and smaller than me. It can easily hit me in my eyes and make me blind forever.’ I stepped back, leaving the lights on. I came out of my house into the common area.

    I leaned against a wall and watched it fluttering. ‘It should come out now, The lights might scare it.’ I stood by the wall and kept watching. It was simply lost in its own dance. I reached for the switch for the light glowing in the common area. I switched it off. ‘Maybe this drives it out of my house.’ The sudden darkness outside did not seem to have any effect on it. I stood by the wall and kept watching. Waiting. I could feel the fear stopping my heart.

    It maintained its speed. It wasn’t growing tired of flying. It wasn’t coming out. I started thinking again about how to kill it. ‘Should I kill it or should I kill myself instead?’ I had no weapon with me, just slippers in my feet. There was no stick nearby, no broom either, no anything I could hit it with from far and fairly accurately. So I took off the slipper in my left foot and held it in my left hand. I walked like that to the door. I took a few steps, then I stopped. I couldn’t see any fluttering, any movement. I stood there for a few more seconds. No fluttering at all. I resumed walking to the front door. I looked inside. Nothing. ‘Is it gone?’ I stepped inside, took a few steps. Nothing. I put down the slipper. As soon as I put it down and looked up, it came out of the far darkness and flew right in my mouth.

    I stopped thinking everything. ‘It just flew right in my mouth.’ I staggered back, my body hit the door hard. My eyes were open, my mouth too. I could see its wings moving between my lips. It was trying to fly inside my system; whether it intended to do that, I cannot say. The fear of dying a horrible death gripped my muscles, my veins, my everything. I put my one palm on my chest and the other inside my mouth. It was a restless little beast. I grabbed it by its wing and pulled it out without caring about what damage my action could do to my tissues. I threw it on the ground. After a few moments, my eyes fell on it. It looked alive and well. It was twisting and turning, twisting and turning, twisting and turning, again and again and again. I guess just like me, it too was trying to make a sense of what had just happened. It went ahead and banged itself on the nearest wall multiple times. Then it took off into the air again. I ran out of my room and back into the common area.

    I leaned against the wall and bent down a little and rested my palms on my knees. ‘Who would believe this. I myself won’t.’ I took a deep breath. My mouth was open. My tongue was hanging out. I took two fingers and forced them down my throat. Nobody lived on that floor other than me. I could vomit right there and nobody would see. I forced my fingers into my mouth. Nothing came out. Not even wind. I pulled out my fingers and looked at them. There was no redness on them. No sign of blood. I wasn’t bleeding inside. ‘Oh fuck.’ My eyes had water in them. I sat down right there where I was standing.

    I do not know when my eyes had closed. I had fallen asleep on the floor. I opened my eyes slowly. How much time had passed, I cannot say. I came to wakefulness only to realize that a subtle pain had started growing in my throat. I put my both hands around my neck and pressed it firmly to assess the damage. The pain grew but gradually. I gulped down my saliva. It made the pain grow. However, pain was not the only thing that I felt in my throat. I felt like something stuck there, right in my throat. I opened my mouth as wide as I could. Something pointy, sharp poked the inner walls of my neck. ‘It hasn’t left me completely.’ A part of it broke inside my mouth and went down the canal. I stood up somehow.

    I gathered some sense and ran downstairs at once. I reached the ground floor and turned to the gallery. I stopped after talking a few steps. The security guard was sitting on a cemented bench. His eyes were almost closed and he was pouring some water into the glass that he held in his left hand. I walked to him. I do not know if he noticed me. He was in trance, rolling his head in circles, drinking water in gulps now and then.

    ‘Hey,’ I said. He did not listen at all, his eyes closed still. ‘Hey,’ I said again, a little louder this time. His one eye opened half. He moved his head upwards, asking me without speaking what the matter was.

    ‘Something has entered my house,’ I said, ‘Can you take care of it?’ He did not say a word. His eyes closed again.

    ‘Hey,’ I said again. ‘Just wait,’ he replied, ‘just wait, I have come back from work just now. I am exhausted. I will come to your room in five minutes. Just…just give me some time.’

    ‘No problem,’ I said and starting walking upstairs to my floor. His eyes had closed again.

    I reached the front door of my room. I forgot to lock it, it was in the state in which I had left it. I peeked inside. I did not notice any movement. I did not see anything fluttering. ‘Maybe it has grown tired. Maybe it is taking rest on the far wall before it resumes its mayhem.’ I waited for few minutes; how many, I cannot say. Nothing was moving. I walked inside with one slipper in my hands. I took few steps. Nothing. I took few more steps. Nothing still. Then suddenly it came out of the bedroom and flew right over my head and outside the door. I hurried behind it and closed the door, and then I went and closed all the windows. I closed everything for that nuisance.

    I put down the slipper and went ahead and drank some water. ‘Who would believe this.’ I walked to my bedroom, turned on the fan, fell in my chair. I drank some more water. The pain in my throat seemed to disappear. After five minutes, I heard a knock on the front door. Then another knock, then few more. ‘What the hell. Is it back?’ I thought. ”Sir, are you there?’ the security guard asked. He was finally here. I stood up from my chair and walked to the door.

    © Copyright 2020 Tomic Riter. All rights reserved.

  • The clock chimes no more.

    Day 5 or day 39 or day 42 or whatever day. Who cares. We kill our own times. Life is too long or too short to keep track of anything. Sooner than you realize, you go back to being the same shithead that you decided innumerable times to never be again.

    It’s going to be a half-moon night with no stars dancing. There’s no quarantine in my line of work. I am meant to die in the field while talking to some brainless jerk. I am meant to eat cannon balls. ‘Go ahead. Eat it. Eat that as well. Eat all of that. Come on! Eat fast. It’s for the good of your own people. ‘ Well, you got to eat all of that even if you got no people of your own. Frankly, in my line of work, you got no life of your own. You live with a false sense of satisfaction. You have got the love of people, even their claps and kisses but what in the hell, where I am about to go, will I do of all the claps and kisses? What will I do with all of that if I cannot have, in these trying times, even simple things that I actually, really want like meat and beer? People. People. People. They hardly understand your side of things. Their lives, inside their little heads, is far too important than anything else. They drown in their own piss of emotions without even knowing when did the drowning begin. They cannot even watch themselves for just a second. Like simply watch. ‘What’s there to watch in oneself?’ they would say. Well, if nothing is there then why so much fuss.

    I am watching the burnt rice from yesterday night, burnt at the bottom of the vessel. Things can go to hell in no time. A little here and there and it’s done. Your life is done. You are no more. You cease to exist here and go back to hell for some time. And in hell, it’s just your soul in the frying pan, smiling in pain all the time. As of now, I have put the burnt rice in the garbage bin, and I now wait to throw it out once its smell becomes unbearable.

    The virus is spreading faster now. It has started liking the people here. It is everywhere now, breathing our air, sleeping on our sofas, taking a summer swim in our glasses of water, kissing our toilet seats, chewing our brain nerves, inhaling our farts, dying in our abdominal acid. It is fucking everywhere, and its message is clearer than that of any God.

    — TOMIC RITER

  • As another victim ripens slowly.

    “What happened there?” Sonny asked.

    “Where?” I asked in return.

    “Your neighbor.”

    Sonny is a big man with one face and two eyes.

    “What neighbor. I don’t have a neighbor. I live alone on my floor,” I told Sonny.

    “The guy on the floor below yours.”

    “I don’t know. What happened to him? I never met him”

    “Somebody has pasted a notice on his front door. It says ‘HOME QUARANTINED. KINDLY REFRAIN FROM STEPPING OUTSIDE.’”

    “Oh that. Two folks visited this apartment in the morning. They said they were surveying for the virus. The guy has come here from outside two weeks back. That’s all I know about him,” I told Sonny.

    The sun had set. Almost. The roof , on which we stood, and everything else shone in red.

    “I see. It’s becoming a big thing slowly.”

    “The virus. Yes.”

    “What did they say to you?” Sonny asked me.

    “Nothing much. They asked me if anybody visited me from outside. I said no. Then they left my place.”

    Sonny nodded to my reply, then looked away and walked few steps. He looked down at the little playground that these village boys had created from dry mud. They were playing cricket foolishly.

    I looked away from Sonny. I looked at the red clay brick lying near my feet. I lifted it with my both arms. It was fairly heavy. I lifted it over my head. I stood like that for a while. The guy on the floor below, he never steps outside. Even if he fries himself in his home out of agony, nobody would know until the sour smell of death enters a clean nose.

    I caught a mild cold two days back.

    — TOMIC RITER