Like bright sunshine on
A cold bleak autumn morning
stands the outsider.
Moment of Truth
11 years ago
Sunday, 18 April 2010
Saturday, 6 March 2010
Thursday, 11 February 2010
Haikus
Haikus are traditional Japanese poems arranged in three phrases consisting of 5,7 and 5 syllables each. Short yet powerful, they are in my opinion, one of the most expressive forms of poetry. The strength of a haiku lies in its ability to evoke with very few words a picture in the reader's mind. The more vivid the picture...and the more room there is for interpretation, the better the haiku! While Japanese haikus generally contain a reference to a particular season, modern day English ones often deviate from this rule.
This muse was inspired by Taruna's blog on the subject - so thank you to her! The ones below are arranged roughly in the order in which I like them. Read on and feel free to interpret!
1.
The entrances packed
Empty space in the middle -
Peak hour city bus.
2.
Speeding down the road,
Throbbing anger in my veins -
Deer in my headlights.
3.
Distant flash of red
hood, a silent scolding - you
should have held on, dear.
4.
Thin frost on spring buds -
Old man, young boy study each
other across years.
This muse was inspired by Taruna's blog on the subject - so thank you to her! The ones below are arranged roughly in the order in which I like them. Read on and feel free to interpret!
1.
The entrances packed
Empty space in the middle -
Peak hour city bus.
2.
Speeding down the road,
Throbbing anger in my veins -
Deer in my headlights.
3.
Distant flash of red
hood, a silent scolding - you
should have held on, dear.
4.
Thin frost on spring buds -
Old man, young boy study each
other across years.
Sunday, 17 January 2010
The Only Thing
There are some feelings that, the instant pen is put to paper, vanish like the soul of a dying man. And yet it is in our nature to strive unceasingly to express them. To what purpose, I do not know. Here's my latest, on one such feeling and I hope it conveys atleast a fraction of what it was meant to. As a clarification - the subject in this particular poem is unknown ;).
The Only Thing
The jingle of coins in my wallet
The crispness of a fresh shirt on my back
A plate to eat out of, a grand roof over my head
Of food, water and riches I had plenty yet strove for more
For hunger still gnawed and the throat remained parched
And nothing could fill me, quench my thirst or make me whole
The concern on the face of a close friend
The happiness of coming home to a pet
The pleasant chaos of the household, those journeys to faraway places
Of vibrant memories I suffered from no shortage yet searched for more
For the mind still felt empty as an overturned pot
And nothing could fill me, quench my thirst or make me whole
The tang of sea breeze on my lips
The happy tiredness from walking aimless miles
The fullness of a satisfying meal
Sights and sounds to last a lifetime I did witness yet thirsted for more
For the heart still cried like a baby for want of attention
And nothing could fill me, quench my thirst or make me whole
But the mind brims with happiness today
And the heart beats strong and true
For I found discarded, lost amongst all that I knew
The only thing that could never be fully known, never understood
The only thing that could fill me, quench my thirst and make me whole -
You.
The Only Thing
The jingle of coins in my wallet
The crispness of a fresh shirt on my back
A plate to eat out of, a grand roof over my head
Of food, water and riches I had plenty yet strove for more
For hunger still gnawed and the throat remained parched
And nothing could fill me, quench my thirst or make me whole
The concern on the face of a close friend
The happiness of coming home to a pet
The pleasant chaos of the household, those journeys to faraway places
Of vibrant memories I suffered from no shortage yet searched for more
For the mind still felt empty as an overturned pot
And nothing could fill me, quench my thirst or make me whole
The tang of sea breeze on my lips
The happy tiredness from walking aimless miles
The fullness of a satisfying meal
Sights and sounds to last a lifetime I did witness yet thirsted for more
For the heart still cried like a baby for want of attention
And nothing could fill me, quench my thirst or make me whole
But the mind brims with happiness today
And the heart beats strong and true
For I found discarded, lost amongst all that I knew
The only thing that could never be fully known, never understood
The only thing that could fill me, quench my thirst and make me whole -
You.
Sunday, 27 September 2009
And so it came to pass
And the world had changed
imperceptibly
until one day it was time
A time of peace
and of pandemonium
when the soul was rent by happiness
and splintered by pain
and uncertainty
And slowly it faded
like a waking dream
though the haze
still remained
Wednesday, 12 August 2009
Ilyich and the Clouds
The clouds flitted by over Ilyich’s head and he watched them drift lazily, travelling where the wind took them. The gnawing feeling in his belly had come back this morning after a long period of absence and he tried ignoring it, concentrating on the shapes the clouds above him made. It had rained in the morning and there were still some angry ones that showered droplets down him. Tired after a hard day’s work at digging the furrows, he decided to take a short break before heading home. Now a strapping young lad of fifteen, Ilyich had been working on his father’s farm since he was ten. This was far earlier than usual in the village and had raised many an eyebrow, but Ilyich proved his father right. An intelligent and observant boy he would do his chores completely and well. Having been brought up amongst them, Ilyich’s friends were the animals, the wind and the clouds. In his free time he would spend long hours walking in the woods and picking berries and mushrooms, or sitting in the barnyard watching the chickens feed. All in all, he was a boy who made his parents proud. If there was one failing Ilyich had, it was that he was in a sense, self-absorbed. He would never mingle with the other boys and girls in the village and despite their numerous attempts at getting him to join them he would turn a deaf ear to their pleas. He refused to rejoice in their happiness or console them in their sorrow. Ilyich was content with himself, his pastimes and his toys. Although for a long while, a few of them would still look expectantly as he walked up the road past their houses, or came into town to collect the weekly mail, soon most of the boys and girls in the village gave up on him considering him a strange lad best left alone. All this suited Ilyich just fine while he was still a child. As he turned thirteen however, he became aware of a gnawing feeling in his belly, a sense that something was missing. However, by this time, Ilyich had started getting quite busy on the farm helping out his old man and the feeling did not trouble him much, until today.
Now, as he lay on the grass still damp from the morning’s shower, his hands forming a pillow beneath his head, and the sunlight teasing his face between sporadic drizzle, Ilyich once again became aware of that feeling. At first he tried thinking of what was troubling him but his mind soon tired of the chase and wandered off into the past. He started thinking of his childhood and how quickly it had been spent. Of the partridge nest he had come across during one of his walks in the woods and the fury of the mother who sensed a threat to her little ones. Of the times he had spent, watching his mother feed the chicken and the way they fought over the grains falling from her hand. By and by, Ilyich became aware of something quite strange. He realized that every time he dwelled on a happy thought, a burdened cloud above him would shower down some droplets. And every time his mind was weighed down with a sad thought, like the time his pet parrot died, there would be a thin cloud that let the sun through, so it warmed his face. He noticed that this happened for most of his thoughts, and also that the happier his thoughts were, the heavier it rained! Though he enjoyed the feel of raindrops on his cheeks, at one point – when thinking of the time his parents got him a puppy for Christmas – there was such a heavy downpour that Ilyich decided enough was enough and got up to go home. As that heavy shower now showed no signs of abating, he decided to take a short cut through the woods. Walking along, he came across a clearing occupied by an old man, who on closer investigation, turned out to be the ‘Wise Old Man’ as he was popularly - and sometimes jocularly - known in the village. And he looked wise indeed, as he sat there in meditation, his eyes closed and his long white beard reaching down to his knees. Ilyich had heard rumours that he was more than a 100 years old, but looking at him one would have thought he was no older than 50. Though he had no reason to, something made Ilyich approach him, cautiously and on tip-toe, not wanting to wake him and half-fearing the consequences of doing so.
As he came closer however, the old man opened his eyes, looked at him fully and said “Come on young man, don’t be afraid. Tell me – what is troubling you?” Whether it was the reassuring melody of the man’s voice or the deep, deep look in his eyes, we will not know, but Ilyich responded “O Wise Father, for I know you are wise indeed – I observed a strange thing today that’s been troubling me no end. I was lying in the farm – after finishing my work, of course – and noticed that the clouds above me behaved according to my thoughts – that they rained on me when my thoughts were happy, but were light and thin when my thoughts were sad and heavy. Could you please tell me what this means?” The wise man smiled gently and replied “Son, it is quite simple. You have made friends of the wind and the clouds. They are but souls and hearts like us and were following the basic principle that all things follow. When a burdened cloud sensed that your heart was light, it shed some of its load on you, secure in the knowledge that you would not be troubled by it. On the other hand, when your heart was heavy and clouded, a light cloud would spread even thinner, that you received the sunlight and felt more at peace. It is the same, with the other boys and girls in the village whom you have until now shunned. Go, mingle with them, share your joys and sorrows, and you will feel complete. And so saying, the old wise man closed his eyes and was lost once again in deep thoughts about heaven knows what. Ilyich went on his way, a curious lightness in his heart as he determined to follow the wise old man's advice.
Sure enough, on doing so the gnawing in his belly vanished and Ilyich was no longer considered a stranger in his own town. Many years later however, as he flitted from friend to friend in his pursuit of happiness, he realised that occasionally, he missed the clouds and the wind. He felt, though vaguely, another kind of longing creeping into him, this time in his heart. A longing to be free...free of the relentless cycle of give and take. And mixed in with this feeling was a small twinge of regret that he had come across that wise old man...
Now, as he lay on the grass still damp from the morning’s shower, his hands forming a pillow beneath his head, and the sunlight teasing his face between sporadic drizzle, Ilyich once again became aware of that feeling. At first he tried thinking of what was troubling him but his mind soon tired of the chase and wandered off into the past. He started thinking of his childhood and how quickly it had been spent. Of the partridge nest he had come across during one of his walks in the woods and the fury of the mother who sensed a threat to her little ones. Of the times he had spent, watching his mother feed the chicken and the way they fought over the grains falling from her hand. By and by, Ilyich became aware of something quite strange. He realized that every time he dwelled on a happy thought, a burdened cloud above him would shower down some droplets. And every time his mind was weighed down with a sad thought, like the time his pet parrot died, there would be a thin cloud that let the sun through, so it warmed his face. He noticed that this happened for most of his thoughts, and also that the happier his thoughts were, the heavier it rained! Though he enjoyed the feel of raindrops on his cheeks, at one point – when thinking of the time his parents got him a puppy for Christmas – there was such a heavy downpour that Ilyich decided enough was enough and got up to go home. As that heavy shower now showed no signs of abating, he decided to take a short cut through the woods. Walking along, he came across a clearing occupied by an old man, who on closer investigation, turned out to be the ‘Wise Old Man’ as he was popularly - and sometimes jocularly - known in the village. And he looked wise indeed, as he sat there in meditation, his eyes closed and his long white beard reaching down to his knees. Ilyich had heard rumours that he was more than a 100 years old, but looking at him one would have thought he was no older than 50. Though he had no reason to, something made Ilyich approach him, cautiously and on tip-toe, not wanting to wake him and half-fearing the consequences of doing so.
As he came closer however, the old man opened his eyes, looked at him fully and said “Come on young man, don’t be afraid. Tell me – what is troubling you?” Whether it was the reassuring melody of the man’s voice or the deep, deep look in his eyes, we will not know, but Ilyich responded “O Wise Father, for I know you are wise indeed – I observed a strange thing today that’s been troubling me no end. I was lying in the farm – after finishing my work, of course – and noticed that the clouds above me behaved according to my thoughts – that they rained on me when my thoughts were happy, but were light and thin when my thoughts were sad and heavy. Could you please tell me what this means?” The wise man smiled gently and replied “Son, it is quite simple. You have made friends of the wind and the clouds. They are but souls and hearts like us and were following the basic principle that all things follow. When a burdened cloud sensed that your heart was light, it shed some of its load on you, secure in the knowledge that you would not be troubled by it. On the other hand, when your heart was heavy and clouded, a light cloud would spread even thinner, that you received the sunlight and felt more at peace. It is the same, with the other boys and girls in the village whom you have until now shunned. Go, mingle with them, share your joys and sorrows, and you will feel complete. And so saying, the old wise man closed his eyes and was lost once again in deep thoughts about heaven knows what. Ilyich went on his way, a curious lightness in his heart as he determined to follow the wise old man's advice.
Sure enough, on doing so the gnawing in his belly vanished and Ilyich was no longer considered a stranger in his own town. Many years later however, as he flitted from friend to friend in his pursuit of happiness, he realised that occasionally, he missed the clouds and the wind. He felt, though vaguely, another kind of longing creeping into him, this time in his heart. A longing to be free...free of the relentless cycle of give and take. And mixed in with this feeling was a small twinge of regret that he had come across that wise old man...
Friday, 13 March 2009
Deja Vu - Another (very) Short Story
Well...here's one more that I penned a month or so ago, to keep the blog alive while we wait for my esteemed blog-mate to come back from his sabbatical! ;) Hope you like it :)
Statutory warning: This story I must admit, is a bit weird and is, thankfully, not autobiographical!
Click. Ker-pluk. Matt awoke with a start as his door gently swung open and shut. He stared at it for a second, trying to ignore the frisson of fear running down his spine. The laptop’s screen was blank. Which of course meant he’d been dozing for more than 10 minutes, which in turn meant he needed another coffee. He jiggled the mouse and was faintly surprised and irritated to find the screen come alive with his Facebook page. “Guess I’m not the first guy to fall asleep while ‘Facebooking’,” he thought while refreshing the page to see if any of his 200 odd friends had decided to drop him a line. The clock showed 7.15pm and Southampton had seen its sunset two hours ago. A feeble halogen lamp half-heartedly threw some light on the lone car parked outside. It was a quiet night, like most other nights were in this busy month of January. The only sound he could make out was the distant but unceasing rumble of cars on the M-27, punctuated by an occasional thump as a neighbour moved about. The page had refreshed and, to his gratification indicated a couple of messages in his inbox. He opened it and caught up on the three-way conversation between him, his flat-mate Justine and their friend Lisa.
Justine- today at 5.46pm- “Hey Lisa, wie gehts?! I am planning to make some Soufflé this evening…want to come home, say 7pm?
Reply x Delete
Lisa- today at 5.57pm- “Ich bin gut, und du? Ah, Soufflé the original French way sounds very nice! I was planning to make some Zwiebelkuchen…maybe I bring it over and we can eat together?
Matt do you want to join us, it will be great fun?”
Reply x Delete
Matt sat back and stared out the window. On the one hand, he felt inclined to take up the invitation, confident that he wouldn’t be able to do much studying anyway this evening. On the other, it was a cold night and an entire day spent at home had made him extremely lethargic and a bit anti-social. Nothing seemed more tempting to him at the moment than a cup of hot chocolate, a blanket and a novel...
He was jerked back to wakefulness by the chatter of voices and the clang of a vessel being dropped. He got up from his desk and peered through a crack in his door into the kitchen. Through the closed glass door of the kitchen he could just make out Justine breaking some eggs. He kept watching from where he was, for some reason not wanting to intrude upon the scene. A few seconds later Lisa came into view, holding a knife in her left hand and a peeled onion in her right. She put the onion down on the counter and said something to Justine. Matt strained his ears but couldn’t catch the words. It must have been quite funny though, for the next instant both of them broke into laughter while gesturing at the knife. Justine reached into a shelf and pulled out another knife. They then started sparring playfully, grinning all the time as Matt continued watching, inexplicably entranced. The knives met with a ringing sound as both of them tried imitating moves they’d seen on countless late-night action movies. Lisa feinted to her right and then brought her knife in sharply across to Justin’s right cheek. Matt shivered slightly, not just because he was scared of knives, especially when they came anywhere within 5 inches of his face, but mainly because of Justine’s reaction- she was laughing, enjoying every minute of it, every thrust and parry! With a kind of nervousness inexorably creeping upon him he watched as she tried maneouvering herself so she could get a go at Lisa’s neck. And this was when things started to get bizarre. The change was in fact so subtle and smooth that for a few seconds Matt did not realize that something had gone horribly awry. As he continued standing there, a mute but deeply affected spectator to the charade that was being played out in the kitchen, it dawned on him. Right before his eyes the two girls had morphed- from two normal people having a good time to two angry, menacing beasts intent upon one thing only- first blood. Ten feet in front of him they stood, their grins frozen, turned into angry grimaces, the laughter gone from their eyes, replaced by the cold glazed look of killers. Petrified and rooted to the spot, Matt watched wordlessly as the knives came ever closer to their marks, wielded no longer by two normal, college-going girls but by some bizarre caricatures that seemed to have leapt out of the pages of a cheap comic strip. He opened his mouth to scream as they started grappling with each other but all that came out was a squeak. In a flash, the two girls turned towards the door. They spied him through the glass and as he watched horrified, they walked or rather marched towards him in unison, the grins still plastered on their faces. Lisa opened the kitchen door and said. “Matt do you want to join us, it will be great fun?” Stunned, Matt backed up as he heard Justine’s rejoinder- “We can force Matt to join us though it looks like he doesn’t really want to…” Suddenly, out of nowhere, he found his voice and screamed and screamed again as they advanced towards him, their knives raised….
Click. Ker-pluk. Matt awoke with a start as his door gently swung open and shut. He stared at it for a second trying to ignore the frisson of fear running down his spine. The laptop screen was blank. Which meant he had been dozing for more than 10 minutes… No…no…this couldn’t be right! Matt usually revelled in the sense of deja-vu, in the sense of re-living something that felt so real yet had never happened. It was one of those quirks of the human body, one of its occasional faults that only served to highlight the wonder that it actually was. But not this way…
He jiggled his mouse and found himself staring at his Facebook page. The clock showed 7.15pm. A thin line of sweat formed on his brow. He looked outside the window, onto the parking lot, its single halogen lamp half-heartedly throwing light on the car parked under it. The chill ran down his spine again as he reloaded the page. “Inbox (3)” said the top bar. Thank goodness…there was a new message! The déjà vu was over! He permitted himself a cynical smile. He must have dozed off after reading that message and then had that horrible dream. Staring outside vacantly at the shadows cast by a lone sycamore he decided he had probably watched one too many of those Tarantino productions. He was jerked back to wakefulness by the chatter of voices and the clang of a vessel being dropped. It was only then that it dawned on Matt that something was indeed very, very wrong. Suddenly uncertain that he had rid himself of his ’experience,’ he opened his Inbox and read the conversation that was going on between him, Lisa and Justine.
Justine- today at 5.46pm- “Hey Lisa, wie gehts?! I am planning to make some Soufflé this evening…want to come home, say 7pm?
Reply x Delete
Lisa- today at 5.57pm- “Ich bin gut, und du? Ah, Soufflé the original French way sounds very nice! I was planning to make some Zwiebelkuchen…maybe I bring it over and we can eat together?
Matt do you want to join us, it will be great fun?”
Reply x Delete
Justine- today at 6.03pm- “Hey cool, that’s fine! 7pm at my place…and we can force Matt to join us though it looks like he doesn’t really want to :P
Reply x Delete
The room suddenly became stuffy and suffocating. He sat there, staring at the words in front of him, feeling a leaden weight press down on him…Getting up, he peered into the kitchen through the crack in his door, knowing what he was going to see and yet irresistibly drawn forward like a moth is drawn to a flame. From where he was he could just make out Justine breaking some eggs. A few seconds later, Lisa came into view, holding a knife in her left hand, a peeled onion in her right. She set the onion down on the counter and said something to Justine. This time Matt should have been prepared, but he still couldn’t hear what was said. It must have been quite funny though, for the next instant both of them broke into laughter while gesturing at the knife. Justine reached into a shelf and pulled out another knife…
This time Matt didn’t wait. He screamed out loud sending his fear echoing down the narrow corridor.
Click. Ker-pluk. Matt awoke with a start as his door gently swung open and shut…
Statutory warning: This story I must admit, is a bit weird and is, thankfully, not autobiographical!
Click. Ker-pluk. Matt awoke with a start as his door gently swung open and shut. He stared at it for a second, trying to ignore the frisson of fear running down his spine. The laptop’s screen was blank. Which of course meant he’d been dozing for more than 10 minutes, which in turn meant he needed another coffee. He jiggled the mouse and was faintly surprised and irritated to find the screen come alive with his Facebook page. “Guess I’m not the first guy to fall asleep while ‘Facebooking’,” he thought while refreshing the page to see if any of his 200 odd friends had decided to drop him a line. The clock showed 7.15pm and Southampton had seen its sunset two hours ago. A feeble halogen lamp half-heartedly threw some light on the lone car parked outside. It was a quiet night, like most other nights were in this busy month of January. The only sound he could make out was the distant but unceasing rumble of cars on the M-27, punctuated by an occasional thump as a neighbour moved about. The page had refreshed and, to his gratification indicated a couple of messages in his inbox. He opened it and caught up on the three-way conversation between him, his flat-mate Justine and their friend Lisa.
Justine- today at 5.46pm- “Hey Lisa, wie gehts?! I am planning to make some Soufflé this evening…want to come home, say 7pm?
Reply x Delete
Lisa- today at 5.57pm- “Ich bin gut, und du? Ah, Soufflé the original French way sounds very nice! I was planning to make some Zwiebelkuchen…maybe I bring it over and we can eat together?
Matt do you want to join us, it will be great fun?”
Reply x Delete
Matt sat back and stared out the window. On the one hand, he felt inclined to take up the invitation, confident that he wouldn’t be able to do much studying anyway this evening. On the other, it was a cold night and an entire day spent at home had made him extremely lethargic and a bit anti-social. Nothing seemed more tempting to him at the moment than a cup of hot chocolate, a blanket and a novel...
He was jerked back to wakefulness by the chatter of voices and the clang of a vessel being dropped. He got up from his desk and peered through a crack in his door into the kitchen. Through the closed glass door of the kitchen he could just make out Justine breaking some eggs. He kept watching from where he was, for some reason not wanting to intrude upon the scene. A few seconds later Lisa came into view, holding a knife in her left hand and a peeled onion in her right. She put the onion down on the counter and said something to Justine. Matt strained his ears but couldn’t catch the words. It must have been quite funny though, for the next instant both of them broke into laughter while gesturing at the knife. Justine reached into a shelf and pulled out another knife. They then started sparring playfully, grinning all the time as Matt continued watching, inexplicably entranced. The knives met with a ringing sound as both of them tried imitating moves they’d seen on countless late-night action movies. Lisa feinted to her right and then brought her knife in sharply across to Justin’s right cheek. Matt shivered slightly, not just because he was scared of knives, especially when they came anywhere within 5 inches of his face, but mainly because of Justine’s reaction- she was laughing, enjoying every minute of it, every thrust and parry! With a kind of nervousness inexorably creeping upon him he watched as she tried maneouvering herself so she could get a go at Lisa’s neck. And this was when things started to get bizarre. The change was in fact so subtle and smooth that for a few seconds Matt did not realize that something had gone horribly awry. As he continued standing there, a mute but deeply affected spectator to the charade that was being played out in the kitchen, it dawned on him. Right before his eyes the two girls had morphed- from two normal people having a good time to two angry, menacing beasts intent upon one thing only- first blood. Ten feet in front of him they stood, their grins frozen, turned into angry grimaces, the laughter gone from their eyes, replaced by the cold glazed look of killers. Petrified and rooted to the spot, Matt watched wordlessly as the knives came ever closer to their marks, wielded no longer by two normal, college-going girls but by some bizarre caricatures that seemed to have leapt out of the pages of a cheap comic strip. He opened his mouth to scream as they started grappling with each other but all that came out was a squeak. In a flash, the two girls turned towards the door. They spied him through the glass and as he watched horrified, they walked or rather marched towards him in unison, the grins still plastered on their faces. Lisa opened the kitchen door and said. “Matt do you want to join us, it will be great fun?” Stunned, Matt backed up as he heard Justine’s rejoinder- “We can force Matt to join us though it looks like he doesn’t really want to…” Suddenly, out of nowhere, he found his voice and screamed and screamed again as they advanced towards him, their knives raised….
Click. Ker-pluk. Matt awoke with a start as his door gently swung open and shut. He stared at it for a second trying to ignore the frisson of fear running down his spine. The laptop screen was blank. Which meant he had been dozing for more than 10 minutes… No…no…this couldn’t be right! Matt usually revelled in the sense of deja-vu, in the sense of re-living something that felt so real yet had never happened. It was one of those quirks of the human body, one of its occasional faults that only served to highlight the wonder that it actually was. But not this way…
He jiggled his mouse and found himself staring at his Facebook page. The clock showed 7.15pm. A thin line of sweat formed on his brow. He looked outside the window, onto the parking lot, its single halogen lamp half-heartedly throwing light on the car parked under it. The chill ran down his spine again as he reloaded the page. “Inbox (3)” said the top bar. Thank goodness…there was a new message! The déjà vu was over! He permitted himself a cynical smile. He must have dozed off after reading that message and then had that horrible dream. Staring outside vacantly at the shadows cast by a lone sycamore he decided he had probably watched one too many of those Tarantino productions. He was jerked back to wakefulness by the chatter of voices and the clang of a vessel being dropped. It was only then that it dawned on Matt that something was indeed very, very wrong. Suddenly uncertain that he had rid himself of his ’experience,’ he opened his Inbox and read the conversation that was going on between him, Lisa and Justine.
Justine- today at 5.46pm- “Hey Lisa, wie gehts?! I am planning to make some Soufflé this evening…want to come home, say 7pm?
Reply x Delete
Lisa- today at 5.57pm- “Ich bin gut, und du? Ah, Soufflé the original French way sounds very nice! I was planning to make some Zwiebelkuchen…maybe I bring it over and we can eat together?
Matt do you want to join us, it will be great fun?”
Reply x Delete
Justine- today at 6.03pm- “Hey cool, that’s fine! 7pm at my place…and we can force Matt to join us though it looks like he doesn’t really want to :P
Reply x Delete
The room suddenly became stuffy and suffocating. He sat there, staring at the words in front of him, feeling a leaden weight press down on him…Getting up, he peered into the kitchen through the crack in his door, knowing what he was going to see and yet irresistibly drawn forward like a moth is drawn to a flame. From where he was he could just make out Justine breaking some eggs. A few seconds later, Lisa came into view, holding a knife in her left hand, a peeled onion in her right. She set the onion down on the counter and said something to Justine. This time Matt should have been prepared, but he still couldn’t hear what was said. It must have been quite funny though, for the next instant both of them broke into laughter while gesturing at the knife. Justine reached into a shelf and pulled out another knife…
This time Matt didn’t wait. He screamed out loud sending his fear echoing down the narrow corridor.
Click. Ker-pluk. Matt awoke with a start as his door gently swung open and shut…
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