For a change, I am updating a short story. It would be in three parts. The response to the first part would decide, whether and how the consequent parts would come, if at all.....Let me know, your feedbacks....
The Black Rose - I
[ this is rough draft of the story]
...it did not stop bugging him. Ranjit just lay, in his bed changing sides. It didn't help either. The thought process was swallowing his being, undermining his existence, eating him up, and overworking his grey cells.
How could he allow such things to happen to himself. It was nothing as he had planned, or he thought as it would happen. EVEN In the rarity of chain of events, Ranjit could not have fathomed, his life would lead him where he lay now. Perturbed, disturbed, hallucinated, and clouds of uncertainty, doubts hovering all around him.
Unable to take anymore, he got up from his used-to-be-comfortable bed. Went straight into the kitchen, picked the Sprite bottle after many thoughts, of the many cold drink bottles, in which he used to store water, and imagining the Green bottle to be a moss on stone, lying at the lake end, gulped down the half of 1.5L. As if, that would bring him back, get his gray cells back to sanity, and world. He lit the stove kept there, and put on it Sauce-pan to make coffee. Pouring a large mug of water, followed by a three teaspoon of coffee. He liked it that way, strong and dominating. Once at, Costa Coffee, he had drank strong Black Coffee, with Mandira. Mandira, out of curiosity of taste, had took one sip, only to slurp it all out. Vapours were going out of sauce-pan at a speed which could not catch up with the pace of, sanity going out of Ranjit. As the aroma spread and reached his nostril, the sauce-pan content was neatly filtered out in his favorite Sky Blue/Black mug, and a Navy Cut lit. Aaah...how much he liked the deadly combination. Caffeine and Nicotine. How much Ranjit craved for both, especially after having had a long session of making out. He was performer in bed, or atleast so she said, in so many ways.
The sky in its vastness, on a dark Amavsya night was not giving anything. the aura was lull, breeze, even had seemed to left him tonight. How dull, he thought! Success and failure, is nothing, but the attitude of mind toward your own aspirations. Half of it is what you perceive, and Half is what others perceive and make you perceive. Its a relative equation with your mind. Sipping coffee, after a deep puff....sitting on terrace, he contemplated the point of his life. He could not see anything; Such darkness prevailed, in night and his life!!!
His eye glands gave up, and he cried. He inserted his hands, meanwhile, in his Jeans pocket, took out a paper, which looked like a letter, and a blade. Ranjit carefully, yet without giving it a second thought.....simply slashed his wrist, in a fury. Such deep was the cut, that, within an instant....a blood started drizzling on the floor, and he felt with a thud.
Along with his body, and pool of blood, lay across a suicide letter addressed to the world, in which he blamed none, and praised all, except himself. Written in a concise manner, it said...that his purpose in the world had ended. He would remain indebted to one and all, for being a part of his life....
The night had enveloped deep dark mysteries. And therein, lay the body of Ranjit, pulses coming to an end, His body getting excessively cold....
Here is the sequel to it, The Black Rose- II
Here is the sequel to it, The Black Rose- II
