Chapter 3

"God! This movie is moronic! Fucked up woman in a fucked up relationship!" thought Jimmy as he spat again onto his Colt .45 and then rubbed it for the zillionth time.

The stupid fucking phone. Now he was wide up and he was awake. And the idiot box disappointed him, yet again.


Instead of switching channels he decided to switch off the TV, limped over to the cabinet and poured himself a stiff whiskey. As he took a long slow sip, he thought about his day ahead. It was going to be a rough one.


Jimmy glanced at his watch. It was 6 am. It was time.

The silence in the room was deafening.


Tucking his colt into his belt after one more loving polish, he flung on a jacket and walked towards the door, giving the room one swift scan before clicking it shut.


Taking the stairs down from his fourth floor apartment, two at a time, Jimmy make a quick mental visual map of his job at hand. Quickening his pace, once out on the street, he hunched his shoulders as if to protect his ears from the blistering cold.


"Fucking fucked up winters. I hate the fucking cold." Jimmy muttered to himself as he stuffed his hands deeper into his pockets.


Fifteen minutes later he was there.


Climbing the front few steps of the rambling mansion, he took a deep breath and gripped the brass knocker.


He waited a second longer and then he knocked.

Chapter 2

R.E.M interrupted at four fucking a.m. by a muffled Kill-Bill whistle. He reached for his cell phone under the pillow. Even in his hash-hazed senses he knew it was her.

“Who the fuck?” he barked.

The scowl deepened when the caller didn’t speak up. He hung up & switched off the phone.

There is something warm & womblike about deep sleep after smoking up. He felt like one of those embryos from Matrix, floating in thick comforting molasses. And now he had been yanked out brutally.

Irked and sleepless, he lit up a cigarette. His mind wandered to their solo encounter. His lean angular frame appeared fidgety next to her poised suppleness. Her grave sobriety had been calming to his buzzing restless existence.

He looked at the switched off cell phone and dragged deep on the cigarette. He had changed his number when he moved from the city. But she seemed to creep stealthily in his life every once in a while. What did she want? What was there to say or do? 

*Posted for nasha.

Chapter 1

She sat there, on the red bean bag with a pair of scissors in her hand.

She had nothing to cut though.

There were times when she felt that she'd lost her trail of thought, but that wasn't happening today. Her mind was fixed on something she had no control over.

Maybe she needed to be someone else. A facade really; so that she could surprise herself with her thoughts for a change. How can one be so consciously comfortable with the thoughts in one's head?

She aimlessly picked up and cut ambiguous pieces of paper. She was exhausted.

After all, the more the mind wanders, the more it tires.

She threw the scissors and walked into the dark of the night. She walked through the deep blacks, along the streets of bizarre memories. Some blurred, some fading, one stark yellow.

She knew she wouldn't be able to dodge it out of her mind. She knew she was on to something, just wasn't sure what it was yet.

Everything that could go wrong, did. There was little anyone could do to salvage the turn of events. But she just couldn't get her mind off it. And she wasn't even thinking of a way out, a solution, a conclusion. She was just thinking.

The thing is that she was equally confused by his using the word 'career'. Only a few days ago she saw him running around in the park with his arms spread out yelling, "I'm an airplane!"

Only she knew what he really was. And that was one thing she could no longer keep a secret.

She finally fought her own thoughts and dialled the number.

It rang.