Rickshaw Limbo

There I see myself go again.

My friend just dropped me to a rickshaw stand. Rickshaws are convenient, especially if you are not in a condition to drive in this traffic.

We had a great evening. Met up, spoke about good, old times and had a great time, too. I was feeling great throughout. Even as I sat in the rickshaw, listening to Tool and writing this down, I was whole. In a good mood.
I looked around through my journey in the rickshaw. I felt the music. Different thoughts springing up, feeling reminiscent.

I look around as I make way towards home on this tripedal urban pegasus . Cars, other rickshaws, vegetation growing along the sidewalk, number plate 4980, withered away cars on the side as a result of collisions.
The way was familiar, as I saw the route we travelled on. The bridge passed. Cigarette time.

Song after song, distance was covered. Quite a ride home from friend’s, you see? Red signals turning green, smoke dispersing from cars, people doing what they do best.

Again, same traffic visuals. Trucks with crates, motorcycles piercing through the traffic labyrinth. Some more Tool exploding through earphones. Feeling is still good.
Hazy taillights, feet tapping in open backs of tempos, number plate 4980, groovy breakdown.

I look back up as I stop typing this and see myself crossing the same bridge again. I notice something weird but I let the feeling pass.

Highway McDonald’s.

More flyovers. Commuters heading home from routine. Weekday blues. Streetlights illuminating the haze above. Jumbled up slang of languages and dialects from various parts of the country, all talking at the same time, in the same city, but all I hear is the music that mutes it all. Strings and beats. Rhythms. Synchronizing to make me feel the moment.

Same bridge passes.
Highway McDonald’s.

Sometimes I wonder if we are all stuck in an infinite loop. Doing the same shit over and over again, just in a different way. Repeat. Over and over and over.

It’s like you want to get home but you’re in a rickshaw limbo.

There I see myself go again.

Festivals in Graveyards of Living Infernos.

Hey, you people sitting out there in the cold next to the phone all naked and shit listening to Pink Floyd and tripping balls, put on your fuckin clothes and read this shit. 

First of all, a very happy festive season to whoever’s enjoying it. I’m having a nice time with everything so bright and high spirit again. A little change from the regular shit, you know?
Secondly, I’m really sorry I’ve missed out on the last Weekly Quadruplet. I’ve been really busy with family, festive events and personal development and shit. I shall make up for that. I’ve got a lot of making up for to do.
Also, I don’t know what you take this as, but I’m just putting up my opinion. I was at the balcony this afternoon. I like looking at the buildings and whatever greenery that’s left in this populated town we call Mumbai, or Bombay, if you wanna be hip about it, hipster hippie hip-off. Anyway, I noticed that all those firecrackers and fireworks really fuck up the city, man. I was eyeing through the scene and everything looked smoky, hazy and really congested, farther buildings looked faintly visible. Lesser birds, too. I just didn’t get that sound of birds that made the nature part of the area complete. Lesser crows, too. In fact, I love lesser crows, cuz I despise those motherfuckers, but this was at an unnatural, unbalanced lesser rate. Like, I saw one crow on a tree communicating with another crow 400mtrs away. And that’s really less compared to the regular crow population. Even the higher flying kites (birds, not the paper shits) were lesser. The pollution from the fireworks was fuckin high!
And the fucked up part was, all this summed up, and the entire view of Suburban Bombay looked dead. Like a fuckin graveyard. And ironically, it lightens up only during the nights, with still lesser stars visible. Why? Because fuckin pollution, that’s why. And it just saddens me. Festive season is a happy season, but for the shit we make of our world, our planet, we need to start cutting down the pollution or start accepting that fact that we are to blame ourselves if any possible future apocalypse should occur.

And that’s all I have to say. Happy Diwali, infidels!

The Winds Of Metamorphosis

Hi, regular people with emotions. I’m an emotionless robot with a beard. Just kidding, I’m human. But why this sudden display of emotion and the will to pour out? Well, I think it’s called an epiphany. 

Anyway, I was just musing away today.  I came across this observation, that many close friends that I met after a long time saw that I lost weight (Yep. I recently went on an Extremely Low Calorie Diet to lose the unnecessary kilos I was carrying around) told me that I look good, but they like the old Vikrant better, the same fatter, happier, grizzlier Vikrant that they knew all those years. And I always used to pass it off, but inside, I thought “No, man. I think you’re much better now. You’ve changed so much more, for the better. You’re much more positive now.” But today I realized that it meant something else. It meant they miss the happy dude, not the fat dude. And it’s true. I haven’t been very happy these days. They’re going.. well.. okayish. But today, I got in this really spiritual state of mind and got really sentimental over it.

I’ve seen things change right in front of my eyes and I’ve got myself to blame. I lost contact with people, the same people I hung out with all the time, and even today, these same people express happiness at the chance I meet them, and this sounds funny, but even a handful of drunk people have shown their true emotion with hugs and praises and what not. Whenever I decide to meet those special people, they show me that they miss me, and I haven’t even been giving a rat’s ass about it all these months.

So, I’ve decided that I’ll be the same old dude you guys want me to be. I’ll be a better person again. Leave back behind all those things that held me back. It’s a rough road ahead, but I’ll survive. I’m just thankful to everyone close to me, to everyone that’s helped me for whatever I am now. And I apologize for being a dick. I’m gonna get my shit together now. And I’m glad I’ve finally awoken from this hibernation.

Crimson Flashbulb Memories

How to put this down in words, I do not know. Sometimes, I have flashbulb visions, taking me back to that exact moment. These little visions I’ve been having, flashing before my eyes, at random moments of the day; while sipping on coffee, in the shower, at work. They taunt me. They remind me of the vulnerability us humans possess. They remind me that some monsters stay in your closet to haunt you, no matter how old or how strong you are.

We were a thing in high school and we never got over it. We were perfect together. We spent time on the beach, held barbecue parties, played Pictionary and Scrabble for hours, cuddled by the hearth on numerous nights. It was like a perfect fairy-tale. Next thing we know, we move in together and get married soon after. It had been three years now, since we were married, and she was a couple of weeks pregnant.

That one winter night, things fell apart. What seemed like a plan to rejoice the beginning of a new life was heading towards a very unfortunate direction. I decided to take her out for the evening. Dinner at The Orchard, it was. She looked as alluring as ever. I still remember quite vividly her scarlet shade of lipstick, her mesmerizing eyes, her adorable nose, her magnificent, dark hair. She looked like a goddess. Her beauty was unparalleled, her aura, nurturing. Every time I looked at her that night, I knew it in my heart that I had achieved it. And I couldn’t help but feel like the most fortunate dog on the face of this planet. I had to admit, I was her puppy.

We concluded our affair by midnight, tipped the waiter and headed to the car. She was drowsy and so was I. The whiskey hadn’t gotten me drunk, just a little light-headed. I opened the door for her, and then got back in the driver’s seat and we took off. She giggled while I spoke of rock bands and groupies on our way back. There was this biker group speeding at night, and it was safe to conclude that they were pretty drunk, judging by their evidently reckless riding. I shook my head. She smiled at me. I still remember the words that followed.

“You know, you’re pretty lucky that you caught a dame like me. Pretty smart, too, motives alike.”

I laughed. I looked at her and smiled. She was beautiful. I was looking at her, just about to utter something, when I saw the headlights of a truck coming towards us from her side, from behind her, at an unstoppable speed. The truck smashed to the side of the car, the side she sat on, and tossed the car to the side of the road, and all that went through my mind at the moment was that this was it. Still in the badly trashed car, I started losing consciousness as I looked at her. All that red. It spoiled a completely unblemished canvas. She didn’t appear to move, whereas I blacked out.

I regained consciousness somehow, just minutes later. That moment had this peculiar blinding white noise, a tingling buzz. My neck was bruised, my hand was broken and my head was swollen from colliding with the roof of the car. She lay covered in blood, feeling pain that couldn’t even be expressed. The door on her side was hit by the truck and a wedge stuck out and pierced her back and through her spine.

“Baby, you’re going to be completely fine. I’m getting you out of here.” I was disorientated. I knew the damage was irreparable. She gripped my hand tight and looked at me and gave me that enchanting smile. “It’s alright. I want you to be strong, sweetheart.”  Tears rolled down my eyes, fearing the unimaginable. “No, love! We can fix this! I’m calling the ambulance. Nothing’s going to happen to you, my love!” She held my head close to hers, kissed me, and whispered, “It’s time for me to go. It’s okay. Whatever we shared, it was pure magic, love. And I want you to remember it that way. Be strong. I love you.” And she breathed her last.

She died in my arms. Ever had someone you’d give your life for, give away their life in your arms? The pain will kill you. And it will take its time. I have never loved anyone like that in my life, and I never will. But the things we shared will always echo throughout my life, reminding me that somewhere in the stars, she will be waiting for me, and till then, I just have to “be strong”.

“It’s time for me to go.”

The flashbulb visions I have occur more often now. It’s like, somehow, my mind triggers a memory, taking me back to those final moments of her mortal coil. They remind me of her reassuring touch, her scintillating smile, her adorable chuckle.

“Be strong. I love you.”

That night, I lost the one thing I lived for. But, she still comes to my dreams, teasing me with that smile of hers. These flashbulb memories flash those same words, those exact moments over and over again; taunting me, reminding me of that last kiss when the crimson speckled right before every colour of my life faded away in my arms.

The Legend of Caveman Krull

You know that one guy that’s completely rock & roll, and he’s chilled out, and he’s as badass as it gets? Yep. That dude. Now imagine that dude with fuckin dreadlocks and a beard, and animal hide and shit for his clothes and his bandana, and his Round North Pole-aroid sunglasses. That was Caveman Krull right there.

Now, kids, you may have not heard of Caveman Krull, but know this, that Caveman Krull is the motherfuckin father of all things badass and rock & roll. Yep, right in the fuckin Stone Age, the first primitive man had learned to rock. Some say there have been archaeological discoveries of prehistoric paintings of a man being struck by lightning on his dick that made him awesome in bed, taught him the ways of rock & roll and metal and made him the most masculine, badass motherfucker in the history of prehistoric rock (Dang!). It was believed that on the 420^th day, Caveman Krull smoked some weed and started air-guitaring like a lunatic. Hey, the Stone Age was named right after he showed people the joy of being stoned, okay? The tools were just a hobby of the prehistoric sci-fi nerds and were used as a cover-up so you don’t smoke pot today in school, you clueless bastards.

Anyway, Caveman Krull was the Jim Morrison of the Stone Age. In fact, Morrison and all the other rock musicians were influenced by Krull. UFO sightings? Caveman Krull was there first. Who do you think evolved that chimp mind, you dumbfuck? Krull was so rock & roll, he got groovy with the fuckin aliens. People now call it abduction, but back then, Woodstock was Stonestock at the Stonehenge and these alien dudes whipped out an opposable thumb, a Wah pedal and psychedelics. Caveman Krull knew that the mind-erasing thingamajig were just roofies.

Long story short, Krull kept reincarnating as all those rock & roll dudes you’ve witnessed so far; Adolf Hitler, Jimi Hendrix, Joe Lo Truglio and that guy from The Terminator that keeps yelling some Spanish shit – Arnold who’s-a-nigga? Anyway, today, Caveman Krull’s legacy lives on.

 Long live rock & roll, shitheads. 

 

The Weekly Quadruplet iiOct13

I.

The countryside is not a place one should fuck around with. It looks enchanting during the day, don’t get fooled; the shimmering brook, the fresh air, the green meadows. But at night, The Broken Ones emerge from the darkest corners of the valleys.
Now, The Broken Ones are exactly what they sound like; they are deformed beyond recognition, the descendants of the countryside’s previously shunned hillbilly family, The Spinehaters.
And if you ever wander off in the countryside after dark, The Broken Ones will be there in ambush.
Lurking.
And they will accept you as their own, right after they’ve broken your bones and eaten your tongue.

II.

There sat a chair in the middle of the ocean. Rhea stood on it, contemplating if she knew what she was doing. She said she was looking for peace. The sky was clear and bright blue.
Her knees heavier than her heart, mind clearer than the ocean.
It was as if she knew that the horizon was just a dive away.

III.

My head heavy, resting on my hand. Lying lifeless on the bed. Eyes shutting. Almost shut, but not quite. It’s midnight and I’ve lost it again. The one thing that keeps me in touch with sanity. The nicotine’s not enough. Caffeine just adds to the lunacy. The AC has chilled the room down.  I know it’s creeping away from me, slowly, steadily, just like the tortoise that won that race. It’s taunting, in a way. The second the TV switches off, I’m gonna go to that place where I’ll lose it. All I have to do is close my eyes, and there it is.

That place, the darkness.
And I lose it, my grip of reality.

IV.

Shadows followed him everywhere he went. Shadows tall, shadows short. Shadows scrawny, shadows buff. Through the school, into the classroom, across the hall. The bullies never crossed his path. Once, Big Fred tried to snatch his lunch. That day, the entire cafeteria saw the shadow of a mutant-alligator swallow down Big Fred. From that day on, people knew not to cross paths with The Kid That Casts Shadows ever. To this day, he is seen sitting alone by the lake, murmuring stories while the shadows jump around the bonfire.

The Weekly Quadruplet iOct13

I.

There it came, as swiftly as it did, and it sucked it all away; his life, his hulk-sized feet, his happiness, his hidden comic book stash, his ability to assemble the words, everything. The holidays had arrived and the fat bastard was picking up rust and a nebulous beard.

II.

“That’s Bolshevik!” She exclaimed, with reference to a movie. “That probably doesn’t even translate to mean bullshit, by the way.”
She just couldn’t accept it. But he was so sure.
“I’m serious; does it not make any sense to you? Does it not occur to you that this has all happened before? Déjà vu, fate, luck, everything is a pattern! Somewhere in a parallel universe, there’s a girl reading out the lines of a book that are the exact words spoken in this conversation!”
She smirks.
“Well, I hope that girl knows you’re mental.”

III.

The third rock from the sun had three layers of purity that three evil men from three evil worlds peeled with their three-fingered hands until there was nothing but three blue seeds that Jack found and didn’t give three jack-shits about because three’s just another number and to throw away a perfect world of threes for three cows was the third best thing Jack had ever done.

IV.

He wakes up feeling like he slept for days. His eyes filled with sand. The walls of the room were closing in on him, but never reaching the bed he lay on. They were crimson with black slime oozing out of cracks. Disorientated, he looked around. He heard their cries. The walls bled. They bled the cries of the ones that never made it to hell’s patio. Still lying on the bed, he turned to his side to listen to their howls. He knew he wasn’t leaving, he knew that that was it. He had sinned and now was the hour of endurance.  He shuts his eyes for a minute, and then opens them; two bright yellow eyes stare at him from the corner of the room. Then a distorted whisper comes from that direction, repeating the same words till the black slime fills the room: “Thud-crack-snap go the crunchy bones of your back.”

Hi, Reader! Prepare to be blown! (Not really)

Greetings, Earthlings.

I haven’t been regular at posting; hence, to rectify this, I am initiating a weekly post that’ll feature original short short stories to keep the zealous reader in you entertained. That doesn’t mean that I won’t be writing other stuff. It just means that I’ll be regular at the weekly thing. Other posts will come as ideas flow.

The regular thing will be called The Weekly Quadruplet, and it’ll consist of four untitled stories. I’ll be publishing the first one tonight. Hope you like it. 🙂

Also, If you like my way of writing and would like to be a co-author on the blog, then get in touch with me at  vikrantrkale@gmail.com 

Thanks for the support, peeps. Ciao.

Entities: The Science Of The Maker

Remy and Zed are best of friends. But they’re always arguing about something; always wanting to prove a point. With everyone, even each other. I honestly find it really repulsive, having them start a verbal quarrel to prove shit. But they stick around, so hey, what can I say?

So, anyway, this might sound stupid to you, but they were debating on the existence of man and reality. Now, for me, I think there is a higher entity, who’s probably more advanced than any of us and he created stuff and life, and I also believe in Extraterrestrial Intelligence. And these beliefs MAY coincide, from the theory of humans being the creation and/or hybrids of Grey extraterrestrials. Anyway, Remy was talking about all of humanity being the product of one being’s consciousness functioning in intricate disorder, as if that person was dreaming everything and we were a part of it. Zed, on the other hand, claimed the human race to be a program from the future, a simulation of existence, and that dying is just getting unplugged, just like in the movie Matrix.

I wouldn’t pay attention, though. I won’t believe in it unless I have physical or visual evidence or a logical explanation for it. My black coffee just waited there while I stared at it. In the reflection, I saw an asteroid approaching real close to the surface of the earth, and then it struck me. The asteroid collided with earth; I saw the world go black. Pitch black. And then I opened my eyes.

 I was just dreaming. That’s how they occur to me. Effervescent and vivid.

I unplugged myself from the pod, yawned while I scratched my grey, over-sized cranium and wrote down another universe’s Armageddon.

ENTITIES: Conspiracies

Vincent (identity changed) was found dead in his room with peculiar incisions in his abdominal region. Soon after his demise, a few letters were found with his handwriting on them. It was later found that Vincent had seen the light. In a dark, disruptive chamber. Vincent saw.

This was what was recovered from the journal

19th May, 2007.   

 

        I’m writing this down just in case somebody out there in the world decides to believe what I have to say. I’m in this complicated as fuck situation that’s too difficult to describe, so I’m just gonna say staying here with the crazies at the asylum has turned me crazy even though I know I’m not. I am just trying to warn them. They need to know. They need to know what’s happening. What our world will suffer. I know what I have seen. I am NOT making this up. 

 

   Judging from my past lifestyle, that of a musician trying to make a rupee off the streets of a country where masala-jhatka  is the genre of music that people favour, competing was a task. I was more of a metal head. Got high to music and cooked some mouth-watering guitar riffs. 

 

    But all this began that night when I first overdosed on the devil’s trident. We were at Pune at a friend’s holiday-home, right next to some stadium. Anyway, man did that stuff get me seeing things! But I was pretty functional. And this may be the most unbelievable coincidence ever, but I swear I saw two tall men in black coming towards me with a silver shawarma-looking thingamajig that shot blue light orbs at me and the next thing I know, I wake up in this soundproofed room with lights pointed at me and shit. Looked like a dental clinic to me by the instruments scattered and charts of dentures and shit. I could look around, but my body was paralyzed. I couldn’t feel a thing. Couldn’t move a muscle. Neck was pretty stiff, too. And then entered this short fellow in a lab-coat wearing green glasses on his toad-like face, looking at me like he was gonna suck me in like a fly with his toad-like tongue. He could hear my thoughts, for I could hear his, and he telepathically planted images in my mind of the future, of what would become of mankind. Nope, I wasn’t dreaming, nope, I wasn’t sure if this was a hallucination but it sure as shit made me soil myself. I blacked out soon after minutes of groaning as I couldn’t really speak or move my mouth. 

 

            I woke up two days later in an ambulance which was en route the hospital. My parents were already there. I fell unconscio..

 

 

 

*Pages damaged*

This information would’ve proved to be essential for mankind’s survival, because what followed was true and accurate prediction.

The precision of a madman. The one who has seen the end.

     29th August, 2015

 

             Tomorrow is my first day at the asylum. I don’t believe this. They think I’m crazy. I know what I’ve seen. I feel like one of those creepy fucks from sci-fi flicks who warn people about shit that’s about to walk out of the closet and slit their throats, but hey, if THEY are right about that, then so am I. Rehab sucked. Now this. I’m not losing hope on life, that’s the only reason I’m putting up with this bullshit asylum thing. I hope they have experienced therapists there who I probably might make sense to. 

 

    Those… THINGS, the toad-faced bastard and the others, the day I get to see them again, I’m gonna shoot all those dipshits to dust. Empty shells like it’s Sunday. 

 

     Anyway, so tomorrow. Yeah, it’s gonna be shit. Hope we don’t run out of time. 

 

 

 

    

    30th August, 2015

 

          Once mom and dad dropped me to the asylum and left, these people from here started behaving pretty normal with me. They probably understand me. They know I’m not crazy. Then why shelter me? Anyway, I got to the point. Once we got introduced, I told them what I witnessed. What was weird was, they weren’t surprised at all! They heard me out and told me they’ll be helping me tomorrow onward, and that I should get a good night’s rest. I had the pills. Probably placebo. If only they had some psyched out shit in here. Asylums usually have killer dope. 

 

    Anyway, the day is over. I might get to meet professionals tomorrow so that I can tell them. Waiting…

 

 

7th September, 2015

 

             I’m gonna die in this place. Somebody needs to help me out of here. I’m writing this down in the hope of finding a way to slip it out of here so that somebody out there finds it and comes rescue me. What I experienced in the past two days cannot be expressed in words.

            Two other men in black entered the room I was placed in after sunrise and strapped me down on a stretcher and carried me to an empty chamber that smelled of old people and cat food. I was unaware of what was to happen, but I remained calm. That’s when the toad-faced motherfucker entered the room with a maniacal grin and blinked his sideways eyelids. That’s when I got the feeling like before. That’s when it was all clear!

          THEY HAD BEEN PLANNING THIS EVER SINCE THAT DAY!

           He placed me in a contraption. I was completely paralyzed. Then they took out this huge pipe that was injected in the back of my skull. I started hallucinating. I saw my worst fears. My worst nightmares. All my monsters, right there, in front of me. The contraption induced nightmares. The toad telepathically tried to convey to me that all this was just a part of an experiment for the future of humanity’s existence and evolution. I saw it all. How our world would end. How humanity would be ruled by a higher, more advance race of entities.

         FOR TWO FUCKIN DAYS! I SPENT HALLUCINATING ABOUT SHIT THAT’S GONNA END OUR WORLD! NOT A PLEASANT EXPERIENCE!

            When my mind was exhausted from being stimulated for two days at a stretch, they sedated me and placed me back in a cell, this time with soundproofed walls. I was finally let out two days later where I met the others.

Yes, there were others who were going through this. They were rich in character and full of hope, despite of what they were being experimented on and how their state of mind was. I was given water and a basket of fruits. I didn’t interact much. I still have a lot going, a lot to deal with.

I THINK I’M TURNING FUCKIN INSANE!

              I don’t know what they’re gonna do to us. I’ve already dried my tear ducts. There’s no point in convincing my parents because they think I’m loony, anyway. With a story like this, I don’t expect anyone to believe me, but convincing everyone how our future is necessary and practically impossible. Please, if you’re out there, and have read this, know this that what I have to say is the complete truth. Legit shit. I’m no loony. I’m just disturbed.

YOU HAVE TO BELIEVE ME.

 

              Vincent was not the first one to have mentioned a similar experience. There were other patients, too; from asylums all over the world. They all described the same amphibious-looking being who used to experiment on them while being telepathically connected. They spoke of other beings at times that were “definitely not human.” They all spoke about the same light that made them forget what they needed to remember. The message from “the creators”, and what would be the fate of mankind.

Hypnosis and regression was studied about these people who were once termed ‘mentally ill’ and it was discovered that it all had to do with one higher truth.

Because the end of the world had just begun.