eFiction India eFiction India Vol.02 Issue.09 | Page 35

STORIES

slapped the mosquito. He missed. He sat up
straight and rubbed his soft tired eyes. There
was no commotion, the landscape was still.
The atmosphere felt heavy. The stillness of
the surrounding was suffocating. He grew
tense, he started to think.
The enemy could be anywhere
They may surprise us
This war, when is it going to end
War war war
Keeps people so busy
After the war we might feel jobless
After the war
I am going to…
I am going to…
What am I going to do?
Warm orange liquid swalooshed around
his joints, his body was washed in the
warm, orange, viscous, honey-like liquid,
eyes shut, warm breath flowing, he was
sleeping, he dreamed. The viscous, orange
liquid vibrated with a deep but low sound.
Farming. Yes, with the money he had saved,
he could buy some land in the country side
and start his own farm. Farming, yes, he
will till his own land, buy his seeds, irrigate
them and harvest them. The countryside.
Lush flowing cornfield in front of his eyes.
Soft and smooth fingers caressed his ears;
the fingers went up and down and around
playing with his earlobes. Comfort. He will
sell his crops, make some money and soon
things will be alright.
Buzz buzz buzz
The mosquito sings
Buzz buzz buzz
The radio speaks
Speaks with calculated emotion and
control. Due to the recent economic crisis,
the prices of crops are falling drastically. The
radio loves to speak. Due to unpredictable
climatic changes many farmers suffer as their
crops die due to lack of rainfall.

and he choked on it. He was awake. The
liquid froze into prickly crystals of irritation. He woke up itching the spot irritably. He took quick breaths. A farmer can
live a quiet and happy life. Grow old and
die, as easily as he can kill himself. No one
could say for sure. The farmer couldn’t say
for sure.
Whine whine whine
Whine whine buzz
Buzz buzz buzz
The mosquito moves round and round
Buzz whine whine
The mosquito moves
He had to move too. After the war he had
to move. Chimneys grew out of his chest
and puffed out intoxicating smoke. Slowly
and easily. He was asleep, lost in the uncertain motion of smokes. Uncertain waves he
surfed as he rose up and up. Looking down
on him was the camera of his department
store. He worked at a department store
on a busy street. A nice, calm neighbourhood. People moved like ships sailing on
an ocean, they came and went out. It was
rhythmic and they moved with the rhythm.
Everything moved with the rhythm. He
moved with them.
Buzz buzz buzz
The Mosquito comes again.
Buzz buzz buzzad
Machines roaring construction destruction
Buzz buzz buzz
The mosquito comes closer.
Machines make big malls. Machines crush
small business owners. Machines increase
standards of living, machines crush other
lives.
Buzz buzz boom
Poor people cry. Poor people rob and shoot.

Buzz whine zip

Buzz buzz ka-ching

The mosquito drinks again, with its black
straw, silently, mechanically. Needles of
whispers spread across his arm originating
from the mosquito’s feeding site. It begins
to itch. Slap. He missed again. The orange
liquid now rushed to his nose and lungs,

An emptied cashier, shot customers. Thin,
dry hair, shot out of his nose and the tear
ducts below the eyes and out of his throat.
He choked, tears flowed out of his eyes.
The hair wriggled and kept growing. It
suffocated and rubbed his insides with its

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serrated edges. Frustration and uncertainty.
He slapped at the mosquito. His palm met
with a palpable wetness. He lifted his hand
to see his success. There was none. The sensation had miraculously disappeared. He
got up, body aching, trembling with fury.
For a second he regretted the fact that the
mosquito didn’t have enough flesh on it for
him to inflict the proper amount of torture
that he had in his mind. He gazed at the surroundings, it was like a morgue. He could
not even make out whether his unit was stationed below. He wondered for a while if
there was a unit at all. When his eyes were
open, everything was still, nothing moved.
Nothing crashed. Everything was dead. The
surety of escaping a crash was tempting and
even relaxing. But the stillness was stifling,
it was a hammer trying to force his way out
of his nose.
When he closed his eyes, things moved,
incidents took place, there was life, there
was movement. And things also crashed as
often as things moved, it was like falling
down from a cliff and not knowing when
one would meet the ground. Rusted nails
jumped and danced in his chest.
Close your eyes
NO! Keep them open
You can’t take it, shut them up
Close them, open them, close them, Open.
A blink is too short a time and space. He
sat down again and chose motion.
He was working as a labourer, at a train
repair station. Hard work and meagre
income, but still there was motion, there
was life. He worked hard, there was little
food but it was enough. There was alcohol,
there was company. Animals did it wit