"Don't stop dreaming cause it ain't over..." - Ghost K
I know I have seen that face before. My mind gnawed at me endlessly, trying to remember when and where. Then my feet stop involuntarily before my brain could command them.
In the next instant, I dash back, dash as fast as my limp right foot would permit.
"I thought you were dead." I accuse.
Not even looking at me, he leans back his head and blows smoke in the sky, in face of god.
"I thought so too, but not every wish comes true," SS say, the last part so softly, that it barely registers.
"You bled to death right in front of me, disembowelled, blood dripping down the stairs, one after the other, you shouldn't be alive," my clouded mind struggles to put such a long sentence in words.
"Then you shouldn't be talking to me, go away. Let me be," he says.
"Sorry," I apologize. He just shrugs and keeps on walking.
Without any invitation, I join him.
"So, where are you going?" I ask. No point in ruffling the ghosts he wants to keep to himself.
"Nowhere."
"But I'll know once I reach there," another cryptic reply. Sometimes it irked me, not a single straightforward reply from this guy.
"Come with me then, there's already a ghost living in my house. She may like some company," I offer, knowing if he'd nowhere to go, any place is as good as other.
"Let's go then," he replies, taking off his coat, slinging it over his shoulder as if finding a place had lifted a load off of him.
Still smoking his cigarette, looking somewhere distantly, he asks me "Taking a walk in the noon. Are you out of work or something?" It comes out as, "Aww you oww of wok or sunthin..."
"Right now I am trying my hand at being a writer."
"Published something?"
"Yeah, a book that sold 1002 copies before it got deshelved." I tell with some embarrassment.
"Hmmm..." he looks at me doubtfully.
I look down at my expensive shoes, thinking how to string my pathetic piece of tale.
"I wrote a book called How to kill anything," I tell him after a pause.
Having worked in a publishing house, I knew that books with unqualified titles- titles like, 'how to sell anything', 'how to win friends', 'how to get ahead in life', sell faster than satin panties. So I came up with this book that basically expounded that you can kill anything by bashing it repeatedly with a heavy object. Only I spiced it with spurious historical accounts, and enough words to fill 100 pages.
I even convinced my publishing house to run 5000 copies of the book. They gladly did, and it did sell briskly on bus and train stations. But then a 15 year boy got carried away, battered 7 people in his neighbourhood to death while they slept. When they searched his home, they found 3 different blood stained rocks. He would use different ones on men, women and children. They also found a copy of my book, neatly covered with a cellophane sheet, several sections of texts highlighted.
It was a scandal. If my company hadn't got me a good lawyer, people would have busted my nuts and set me on fire. My company saw an opportunity where people saw disaster. They recalled the cursed book and commissioned me to write a new one. Hoping the negative publicity will trump up book's appeal. Then they'll run 'Limited edition - How to kill anyone, with graphic art at 10 times the price.
"Sounds like an amoral bunch," SS remarks.
"Yeah, the most amoral you'll ever come across. It's great fun working for them." I boast.
"So what are you writing now?"
"Something similar, how to fight anything."
"And what's the big idea now?"
"Don't get hit and hit out as much as possible." I say, trying to keep my face as straight.
He whistles, "That doesn't sound very bright."
"But it will sell, once I repack it into something palatable."
"Good, I don't want to be kicked out soon after I get find a place to live," he quips.
"No one will kick me out that place even if I don't pay any rent," I reassure him
"Why so? Do you fight as well as you write?"
"If I fight as well as I write, I'll be dead before I parry the first punch," I tell, dousing his hopes if he was taking me for a sparring partner.
"And about the house, you'll find out soon."
I know I have seen that face before. My mind gnawed at me endlessly, trying to remember when and where. Then my feet stop involuntarily before my brain could command them.
In the next instant, I dash back, dash as fast as my limp right foot would permit.
"I thought you were dead." I accuse.
Not even looking at me, he leans back his head and blows smoke in the sky, in face of god.
"I thought so too, but not every wish comes true," SS say, the last part so softly, that it barely registers.
"You bled to death right in front of me, disembowelled, blood dripping down the stairs, one after the other, you shouldn't be alive," my clouded mind struggles to put such a long sentence in words.
"Then you shouldn't be talking to me, go away. Let me be," he says.
"Sorry," I apologize. He just shrugs and keeps on walking.
Without any invitation, I join him.
"So, where are you going?" I ask. No point in ruffling the ghosts he wants to keep to himself.
"Nowhere."
"But I'll know once I reach there," another cryptic reply. Sometimes it irked me, not a single straightforward reply from this guy.
"Come with me then, there's already a ghost living in my house. She may like some company," I offer, knowing if he'd nowhere to go, any place is as good as other.
"Let's go then," he replies, taking off his coat, slinging it over his shoulder as if finding a place had lifted a load off of him.
Still smoking his cigarette, looking somewhere distantly, he asks me "Taking a walk in the noon. Are you out of work or something?" It comes out as, "Aww you oww of wok or sunthin..."
"Right now I am trying my hand at being a writer."
"Published something?"
"Yeah, a book that sold 1002 copies before it got deshelved." I tell with some embarrassment.
"Hmmm..." he looks at me doubtfully.
I look down at my expensive shoes, thinking how to string my pathetic piece of tale.
"I wrote a book called How to kill anything," I tell him after a pause.
Having worked in a publishing house, I knew that books with unqualified titles- titles like, 'how to sell anything', 'how to win friends', 'how to get ahead in life', sell faster than satin panties. So I came up with this book that basically expounded that you can kill anything by bashing it repeatedly with a heavy object. Only I spiced it with spurious historical accounts, and enough words to fill 100 pages.
I even convinced my publishing house to run 5000 copies of the book. They gladly did, and it did sell briskly on bus and train stations. But then a 15 year boy got carried away, battered 7 people in his neighbourhood to death while they slept. When they searched his home, they found 3 different blood stained rocks. He would use different ones on men, women and children. They also found a copy of my book, neatly covered with a cellophane sheet, several sections of texts highlighted.
It was a scandal. If my company hadn't got me a good lawyer, people would have busted my nuts and set me on fire. My company saw an opportunity where people saw disaster. They recalled the cursed book and commissioned me to write a new one. Hoping the negative publicity will trump up book's appeal. Then they'll run 'Limited edition - How to kill anyone, with graphic art at 10 times the price.
"Sounds like an amoral bunch," SS remarks.
"Yeah, the most amoral you'll ever come across. It's great fun working for them." I boast.
"So what are you writing now?"
"Something similar, how to fight anything."
"And what's the big idea now?"
"Don't get hit and hit out as much as possible." I say, trying to keep my face as straight.
He whistles, "That doesn't sound very bright."
"But it will sell, once I repack it into something palatable."
"Good, I don't want to be kicked out soon after I get find a place to live," he quips.
"No one will kick me out that place even if I don't pay any rent," I reassure him
"Why so? Do you fight as well as you write?"
"If I fight as well as I write, I'll be dead before I parry the first punch," I tell, dousing his hopes if he was taking me for a sparring partner.
"And about the house, you'll find out soon."
To be continued......
