Drunken

The baby was crying, screaming it's little guts out. The father sat dizzy from the thirteenth peg he had just gulped down. He looked out to his wife, nowhere to be seen in the kitchen. He shouted out, adding to the baby's cries.

No Response.

More pegs were made, three bottles had fallen to this man's addiction. His wife seemed to have forgotten of his existence. But his hazed mind was far away from these troubles. His intoxication had reached a new level. After the twentieth peg, his insides gave up. The floor was in ruins.

After a terrible pain in his stomach, he rushed to the bathroom for unknown reasons. Maybe his mind was trained for these situations. He rushed and spilled his stomach out into the ceramic pot, not noticing his wife that hung from the kitchen fan.

After the third gag, he lay unconscious on the floor. The last thing he remembered was the horrifying silence.

The baby had ceased its crying.

Strange Ending

The wind gushed and the clouds roared. The weatherman said a storm was rising. If he did not reach home on time, he might never. His work had ended earlier; his boss was more paranoid than anyone else. However, his boss had a driver and a car waiting to serve his needs. His colleagues ran just like him, but their buses were frequent. His bus had a terrible frequency.

People were closing shop, others were hurrying home. The homeless tried to look for a tentative shelter. The animals were nowhere to be seen. Smart bitches, he thought. He looked around at the systematic chaos that presented itself. Religion had forgotten its enmity and rivals helped secure each other. Everyone seemed to be prepared, except him.

The road was emptier than before. Isolation seemed to be creeping in. He had to leave.

He decided that he would spend some extra bucks and travel by rickshaws. But as every Indian knows, these bastards never listen.

One rickshaw rushed away. He grew frantic. The skies began to wet the earth.

Another ignored his cries. He abused passionately.

A third said an unjustified no. He kicked the rickshaw as it sped away.

The fourth one's breaks failed.

The isolated road gathered pedestrians to help him, but he realised that the storm wouldn't be his bane. The people carried him to a shelter, an ambulance was called for. The driver of the rickshaw was beaten for his faults. The clouds roared and the rain had finally begun its heavy downpour.

He was convinced that his end would come. Either by the storm, or the accident.

Death had a strange way to find things. A mosquito landed on his wound.

Karma

"What is it honey?" he asked. He thought he'd heard his wife call out to him.

When no reply came, he thought it was nothing. Then it all crashed down on him. His house, his life, all engulfed by the flames inside his mind. Another migraine.

He fell down on the carpet and writhed in pain. The TV show host laughed at one of the gags and the recorded audiences giggled as well. 

Clutching his hair, almost ripping it off he rolled trying to understand why the pain felt different. That is when the crimson dripped down his cheek. He noticed the pool of red forming below his head. There had to be something wrong. How was this possible.

He looked up, and a silhouette stared back at him.

As she bent down, he saw the bruised face of his wife, eyes bloodshot. In her hands, she gripped a spade from their garden.

"HOW DARE YOU?" he screamed. If the neighbours ever found out, his name would be cast down. Their family would be in shame.

In reply, she kept staring at him. He had never seen her enraged. Every time she did something wrong, she would clam up and accept his beatings. That was the way society had raised them. Their parents did it, and their grandparents. But was it true? Or was it a delusion that only he lived in?

"I'm done!" she whispered, barely enough for him to understand.

A divorce was shunned upon in their society. His migraine worsened. And the moment he realised that the migraine was actually the hurt from the wound he had tried to ignore, the spade came crashing down on him.

One hit, his vision was hazy. Second and the pain worsened. Third, and his life flashed before him, numbing his senses. A Fourth and unable to bear the excruciating pain, he fell unconscious.

As life left his body, from the passage between life and death, he heard the faint laughter of victory.

His societal prisoner was finally free.

He had Won

He walked alone, on a desolate street, thoughts of joy churning through his mind. The sky was gloomy but his mind afresh. Filled with emotions of jolly, his feet carried him towards his destination. Stars revolved around his head, as angels and demons danced to salute him. His was a victory of pride and honor. He had earned it. He had been in utter disgrace and now, he had won.

He was a lad from a happy family. No worries or troubles even meddled with his peace. But then came that little idiot of a boy. What was his name? Aah well, it’s not necessary anymore. That Idiot, as he would always refer to him, made his college life miserable. It was his first day in college when this Idiot met him. Idiot was a senior and so, he respected him. But little did he know, that this Idiot, meant to rag him.

Well, that was in the past. That Idiot was dead now. And he killed him.

Yes, this boy who we are reading about, walking towards his destination, well, yes. He killed him.

His destination?

Insanity. Yes, it was insanity. You didn’t believe that this story was going somewhere good did you? Oh well, too bad. He grinned as he walked towards insanity.

A tiny door opened in a house at the end of the street and a wrinkled gray hand gestured him inside. He walked in. Inside was an abyss with nothingness surrounding him, with a silent deathly aura and an aroma of filth and reeking flesh. He kept smiling. He had won.

A million spider webs shot at him, entangling his limbs and body into yielding. He knelt down as huge hairy apes slapped him red and raw. He kept smiling. He had won.

Why they asked. No reply. He kept smiling. He had won.

Was it so bad? The Idiot had driven him to insanity. Yes, it was the Idiot who had tortured his whole living mental state, so much that he resorted to a mind of blood rather than beauty. Can ragging actually take you to such extreme limits?

I don’t know. Ask him! Ask him all you want. All he will do is smile. But of course, what can we say?

He had won. 

The Tragedy of Haraki

So, I came across this awesome blog a last week. It is called Terrible Minds by Chuck Wendig. I'm pretty sure many of you have heard of him. His blog is epic. Every week, I saw, he puts up challenges for his followers. This week's challenge was a Flash Fiction challenge. We had to choose 5 characters out of the given list of 150 and write a 1500 word story with them. The characters that I chose were:

1. The slothful, unheroic teacher.
2. The fear-ridden, short-tempered theologian.
3. The unathletic, boastful gigolo who belongs to a secret organisation
4. The athletic, tired, arrogant bounty hunter with no hope.
5. The laid-back champion who hates children.

Using them, I wrote this piece. Leave a comment (Seriously, the comment box works..... try it out.)

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The Tragedy of Haraki

            He lay there in his arms. Entangled after a passionate lovemaking that was charged by the hour. He needed that pleasure to recede the pain that was a residue of his previous mission.

            Haraki, the most infamous bounty hunter of the Kingdom had, for the first time in his eighty-seven years of bloodshed business, fucked up. The mission was simple: Kill Lord Liphun. Unfortunately, Haraki had murdered the wrong target; he had murdered Lord Liphun’s daughter. To make matters worse, she was his only daughter. Liphun’s goons would be looking for him all over the Kingdom. He had to leave. His uncalled exile was staring him in the face with an evil grin.

            Gigi put his hand around Haraki and said, “Haraki, are you still worried about Liphun?”

            Haraki looked at Gigi with weary eyes. Gigi was a male whore who had been Haraki’s son’s best friend since they were young. His son, Hiro had followed his father’s footsteps into bounty hunting. He died with an arrow through his mouth. From that very day, when Haraki saw his son’s headless body exhibited as a sign of warning by the Khimota Clan, the most notorious bandits of the Kingdom, Haraki had vowed to avenge his son. After the loss of his son, he had found refuge in his Gigi’s arms; Gigi, a male whore who lived a comfortable life at the Toad’s Inn.

            Haraki’s choice of passion was unknown to most except Gigi. And Gigi, not many knew, was part of the Royal Birds Association. The King, after growing threat of terrorist attacks, had planted many and more agents across the lands to spy and covertly maintain peace. Gigi had been responsible for many unexplainable deaths in the Kingdom. Many of those deaths were because he was weak. He could not run or escape, giving him only one choice, to kill. Haraki, on the other hand, chose to kill over running away. But this time, he had no choice but to run.

            “Haraki,” said Gigi with his soft soothing voice, “Don’t worry. I have spoken to Master Yema. He will meet you today at the Inn tonight. He will help you leave the Kingdom. Maybe you can find more work in the Southlands.”

            Haraki lifted himself off the bed and walked over to the pitcher with sour ale, “Thank you Gigi. I have no words to express my gratitude.”

            Gigi got up and put on his whore’s robes, “No need to thank me yet Haraki. Wait till the job is done.”

            Gigi left without getting paid. Haraki stayed in his solitude as the morning sun crossed from East to West, setting the day to dusk. All day Haraki had spent studying the maps of the Kingdom to see how he could escape to the Southlands. Along with those thoughts came thoughts of Lord Liphun.

            Liphun was a Lord who had come to the Kingdom from the northern frontiers. Haraki was uncertain when he was offered to kill the man; he had no knowledge of the man’s roots. All Haraki knew of Liphun was that after the Charcoal War of the Northern Frontier, Lord Liphun had risen to fame for his heroic feat. Haraki had no idea as to what the man even looked like. He should have refused. But the bounty offered was far too hefty to ignore. It was a bad move from the veteran that he was.

            He dressed himself and went down to a room that Gigi had asked him to visit at dusk. He knocked on the door as he reached the locked room. A big well-built man opened the door. Behind him sat an Old man in a bed while another small man sitting next to him spoke of something that seemed to interest him a lot.

            “…And when the Scholar Tenal studied the specimens that were found at Klie Springs, they gave exact evidence of the beliefs of the Wolf God of Wereim are in fact wonders of note. The patterns of growth of plants and…”

            “Wait a minute Hoshan,” said the Old man with ghostly white hair, “I believe the man we were looking for has arrived.”

            “I was reaching the most intriguing part of the find!!” said an exasperated Hoshan.

            “Haraki?” asked the Old man, “I am Master Yema. This is my friend, Hoshan. Hoshan here is a scholar who is an expert in theology.”

            “Theology?” asked a tired Haraki, “I have abandoned the faith. No god has ever helped me. Only this,” he tapped his greatsword.

            “You don’t believe in Gods?” said a startled Hoshan.

            “I don’t,” said Haraki, “I also believe that by studying God, you are wasting your time. Learn to use a sword and maybe you will do better. Look at your…”

            “DON’T TELL ME WHAT TO DO KAFIR!!!” yelled Hoshan, “YOU BETTER NOT PISS ME OFF!!! ELSE YOU WILL…”

            The Big man cupped Hoshan’s mouth, “Excuse our friend here. He has a bad temper, especially when you insult his work.” He left the man alone who cussed Haraki more. The third man seemed to be made of better worth, “My name is Roland, it is nice to meet you Haraki. I have heard tales of your feats. I believe this is the first time you have fucked up in a long career.”

            “Roland here is a champion of Reek’s Ring of Blood. He works for our organization.” Master Yema explained.

            “I’m sorry for being frank, but I am in a bit of a bad situation.”

            “We know,” said Master Yema, “And you have no clue how evil your sin has been.”

            “He killed Liphun’s daughter!” said Roland, “If I were him I would have done the same.”

            “I believe you never have had children of your own,” said Haraki, “If you did, you would understand the pain. I have lost a son. I can imagine the horror that Liphun must be going through.”

            “I may have fathered bastards out of whores,” said Roland, “But I don’t want any children. I hate the look of them. They’re sick and helpless. They’re no good in our dog-eat….”

            “You killed a child?” whispered Hoshan alarmingly, “That is the worst of sins! You will be punished.” Hoshan had a genuine look of horror in his eyes. Haraki realized that Gods were not only his profession but also his passion.

            “Haraki,” said Master Yema sitting up on his bed. He looked at Haraki lazily and said, “Do you know who Lord Liphun is?”

            Haraki shook his head.

            “Lord Liphun is your son.”

            A wave passed through Haraki’s spine that shook his mind and threw him out of breath, “Hiro?” He whispered his dead son’s name with a look of disbelief, “You’re lying! I saw his dead body.”

            “You saw a headless body. Did you care to examine it?” asked Master Yema.

            Haraki was so moved by his son’s death that he could not bring himself to see the dead body that hung from a tree, for more than a few moments.

            “The real Lord Liphun’s body hung from the tree that you saw. Hiro is part of our Association. It was his mission to infiltrate the Northern Frontier. He killed a lesser lord named Liphun, assumed his self and won glory for the adopted name. No one knows of this secret other than some members of the Association.”

            Terror and horror laughed at Haraki as the magnitude of his crime began to unveil itself.

            “You...” stammered Hoshan, “You have killed your own? Kin slayer!!! KIN SLAYER!!!”

            Tears welled up in Haraki’s eyes as Lord Yema explained the details of Hiro’s mission. He explained how Hiro had progressed over the years. But all Haraki could think of was that his son was alive. It pricked him that his son had not once cared to inform him. What made the situation worse was that he had finally caught his son’s attention by killing his own granddaughter.

            As thoughts churned in his head, loud shouts began to echo from the Inn below.

            A cowardly Hoshan said with a terrified voice, “Is that…”

            “That must be Liphun,” said Roland, “Doesn’t he know that the man he is looking to murder is his own father?”

            Master Yema shook his head lazily, “I don’t think so. Roland, take care of him.”

            “NO!!” yelled Haraki, “I don’t want any harm to fall on my son.”

            “I won’t kill him! Don’t worry!”

            “No,” said Haraki stubbornly, “I want to see my son.”

            The men in the room tried to stop the Bounty hunter but they failed to keep him in. Even the Champion proved unequal to Haraki’s strength.

            The weight on Haraki’s heart made his steps heavy as he walked towards the Inn. He could hear Hiro’s voice scream, “WHERE IS THE KILLER? BRING HIM OUT HERE NOW!!! I DEMAND IT!!!”

            Haraki presented himself with open arms and a heavy heart. Hiro looked at his father. Tears welled up as father and son looked at each other after ages. Time had changed their appearance, but they were yet the same. Swords were drawn, ready to spill blood on the Inn’s unclean floor. A son who was supposed to be dead. A father who had killed his own granddaughter. It is absurd how Fate laughs at us. Even the darkest and most evil of stories have complexities that only Fate and Time could understand. Haraki and Hiro looked at each other for the last time. One of them would be dead. The Gods’ sacred rules were neglected on that night that saw one of Fate’s most cruel canards.

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The Lone Man In The Dark

Complete Darkness, darkness stood everywhere. The chill in the forest that night was too deathly. The stench of the wet soil rose and added to the horror of the night. Critters of the dark, rodents and flying pests lay still making their own hymns as a man ran through the wet dark road.
‘Damn. Damn.’ He muttered under his breath as he ran with all his might. His eyes had grown accustomed to the dark a while ago but it didn’t help much. The night was too sly and the man could only make out dark figures in his way. The aroma of wet tree bark, leaves with tiny insects on them, buzzing and chirping every once a while filled in to the scary aura of the forest this man was in.
After a while, he stood under a tree to catch his breath. He looked back the way he came from. Nothing there. He was sweating, his clothes were glued to his body and his face was red with exhaustion. His clothes were all soiled, his face bruised, but the darkness in the night refused to give away any color to his pain.
Suddenly he heard a noise behind him, from where he came from.
‘NO!!’ he mouthed the words and began to run again. As he ran he looked at his watch. He looked at the glowing numbers. ‘Damn, only 20 minutes’ he said, ‘Not far enough. They are going to get me.’
His body ached, his lungs burned with tiredness. He couldn’t make it. He needed more time. He kept running but then, he tripped over a wild root extending on the forest road. Flat on his face, he fell in muck. Face covered in the cold damp mud he lifted himself up and wiped his face. It didn’t help much but he did notice something.
To his right, behind a tree there was an opening, a cave.
He looked behind and decided to go inside. Just as he stepped into the cave, lightning struck and it began to pour again, the clouds weeping, as if they too were terrified of that night.
He kept walking, feeling his way around the cave until he reached a big flat rock. He sat on it and took his wet shirt off. He used it to wipe the mud off his face and hands. He looked around. The view wasn’t very clear but he could see multiple passages in the cave. This was one labyrinth and he decided to wait and relax.
Suddenly a chill passed down his spine and the hairs on the back of his neck rose straight. He felt pain in his stomach, pain pulsing through his body. He eyed his watch
“NO!!!” he screamed, “NOT NOW!!!”
He fell to all fours and he couldn’t bear the excruciating pain, “NOT NOW!!!PLEASE!!!”
The pain was unbearable and then he was shocked.
Literally shocked. The man was shocked and he fell unconscious. He was tied to an electric chair. The
background had changed to that of an old hospital ward. Two ward boys came and checked the man. A doctor stood behind them, writing something on his pad.
“Listen,” said the Doctor, “I want this man tied up. He will be released only if his therapy helps him make progress.”
The ward boys listened began to unfasten his binds.
“This man is a very dangerous patient.” She said, “He is a schizophrenic and his case is very serious. He believes that he is an undercover agent working for the Government Intelligence. Lock him up and make sure he doesn’t break out of his cell. I don’t want another nurse dead.”
The ward boys put the man on a stretcher and took him away. The doctor wiped her forehead and began to walk out of the room. As she left, a nurse switched off the light in the room.

Complete Darkness.