Cynical

An ant crawls close. You push it away. It comes back, determined to cross the floor only in this direction. You push away, harder this time. Ten seconds later it's back again. You clench a fist and thump it hard....and throw away what's left of it.

Madness. Self-hatred. Squemish. Stand your ground. Take a deep breath. You'll not die, c'mon.

I'm not myself. I don't like it.


Unfinished...but started after so long....

The boy was unusually silent that morning. His favourite uncle was leaving and the very thought would fill up his dark, round eyes. He remembered his mother's words, 'Boys don't cry,' again and again but couldn't help shed a tear or two, as he sat in the courtyard, working out the math sums.

The Man checked his luggage one last time. The sky was overcast and the weather sullen. 'It shouldn't rain until I cross the mountains,' he thought, as he looked around one last time. Everyone in the household were carrying on with their work--even the little boy looked busy with his homework.

The mountains stretched from one end of the horizon to the other, encompassing 15 villages in its belly. Morning mist hung on the densly forested peaks, where only the largest birds could perch.

*

'Are you going away forever?' the little boy asked feebly.

The man thought for a moment and, not wanting to make him cry, assured, 'No, I shall return next winter.'

The Mist got denser every minute. The mountains stood cloaked in ....