Sunday, October 18, 2009

Bottle of Mercy

They sat gazing at each other's sea-engulfed horizon, not knowing which turn to take next. Wrong turns always led you on blue-eyed wheels. You never knew where they might deposit you.

Her handle on love was shaky at best, she reported. And he needed a filling up. So the drink was poured in.

A stray numismatist came up for the umpteenth time and demanded remuneration for his misfortune. The boy's pockets were devoid of change, much like his fate. He expressed regret by getting up, agitated. He wished to move on.

She walked. And he too walked. They realized they were getting further away from the red nosed reindeer. So they retraced steps. They sat on a nearby toadstool. And they talked of recurring bonds. He blanked out several times due to the toll the talk was taking on his forgotten mind. Chipping in with astute consolations from time to time, he kept his seat filled.

The chamber had been filling up with gases all the while. The novocain numbed his synapses these days. It was a good thing but sometimes, viruses gained free entry, availing of the paid leave granted to the security guards. He didn't realize the gaseous build up, but he sensed it through a feeling of depletion. She caught on.

Meanwhile, a bottle rose to fame. All eyes were on it whenever the shortest gust of gaseous wind blew in. And gases were heavily prone to being blown. They were not solids after all. Best to keep a bottle handy at all times.

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