Notes From The Parallel
By Mrugank Indurkar
Francis wakes up at 6 in the morning and he is already dressed in his beige suit. He picks up his Rolex, puts it on the floor and breaks it with a violent hit. His right hand is covered with blood; he licks it…He steps out of his house. It is a bright sunny day; the sun is on his face, it is shimmering like an angel. He starts walking and goes to a shop called ‘Anything’…“What do you want my child?” asks the old man with a shaky voice.
“I want a gun, sir.”
“Well I am not sure of a gun, but I do have something that shines like a sun and talks entrails.”
The old man takes out a beautiful silver knife from his back pocket.
Francis looks at it closely, “Okay. I’ll take it. How much does it cost?”
“A thank you,” the old man speaks loudly.
And so he thanks the old man.
“Okay. You are welcome.” They shake hands and Francis leaves the shop and starts walking towards somewhere, where hundreds of men are strolling through the streets. He calls a woman and the woman produces herself in front of him. “You know, a life without a purpose would be a life with purpose,” Francis gives a thrilling smile.
“Sure. Hey! Can you kill me?”
“Yep, I can.”
Francis takes out his beautiful knife and sticks it into her stomach. The people don’t care and smile at the woman, and the woman smiles back. And Francis starts walking again towards somewhere…
Wasim stands up and walks around in his bedroom, he walks around for a few minutes. Then, he enters his hall and walks towards his locker. He dials the combination 18.104.22.168., using different fingers, and the locker starts working like a machine and in the end, unlocks itself and produces Fyodor Dostoevsky’s Poor Folk And The Gambler, like it has been there for years, like he has been saving it for the right time. He takes the book and the machine locks itself again. He sits in a chair and makes himself comfortable. After making all the arrangements, he starts reading from the last page. It reads, “No; to-morrow all shall be ended! …” He keeps on reading for another 24 hours. He keeps the book on the table and yawns for 3-4 seconds, then he clenches his fist, punches it in the air and shouts in slow motion “people iiiiis…a pooooor folk… and the puppeteer…is the gambler… play it with me, sir!…let me show you how…” he stops shouting and starts reading again…only this time, from the first page.
Maria is 34 and she has no breasts. She is wearing a black gown and wayfarers on her eyes. She picks up some stones and begins throwing one stone after another and keeps staring at the water where the stones have been falling. The stones remain on the water’s surface. And then they sink, creating an echo in the air that would remain in Maria’s heart forever. She keeps counting the stones that she has been throwing and every time the stone falls down into the water she jumps to see what is beneath the waters. A man is standing close by, watching her throwing stones so beautifully; her hands moving swiftly, like she is in his dreams and her hands are falling away. Maria starts throwing stones at him while shouting “You are not supposed to watch this, go sleep, stupid! Your arrangement has been done”. The man starts bleeding and runs away… Francis is walking towards Maria. He takes off his coat, then his shirt, his trousers. He is still walking and on the other side, Maria takes off her gown and runs towards Francis. They exchange their clothes and Francis wears the gown and Maria wears the suit. “So how’d it go?” Francis puts a hand on her cheeks.
“It went really well. He saw us, you know?”
“Well, he’ll wake up and won’t remember us.”
Wasim comes out of his house and watches the monstrous waves, he watches a boy drowning and shouting “No; to-morrow all shall be ended”… Wasim calls out for Francis and Maria and they come running. “We shall make this universe coluorless for it may end soon,” Wasim starts crying. They start by emptying the river, inhaling the clouds and digging the earth.
Mrugank Indurkar is a writer from Pune. An accidental writer and a wannabe filmmaker and a small time theatre actor, he kills his spare time imagining a conversation with Martin Scorsese.
For more stories, read Café Dissensus Everyday, the blog of Café Dissensus Magazine.