Through the window, Suhev watched as the dark red clouds floated overhead cutting past the pink and purple sky, and allowed himself a gentle nod. He drew a heavy breath rubbed his hands as the hot breath steamed his freezing fingers. Then sank his head on the soft pillow and stretched his hands. Above him hung the heavy ceiling.
There was a time in my early years, very early years, when I was frightened to death of poverty. That was when I was a little schoolboy who was frightened of anything and everything that was a little out of place.
My heart was thundering with excitement at the prospect of escaping the inanimate and dull Kathmandu to a fresh, vibrant Jhapa My brother had bought a ticket for me which I tucked it into my jacket pocket and took it to bed with me, holding it as if it were the golden ticket from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.
The heavens roar thunderously above, the trees bend here and there with a colossal crashing sound, the water of the damp earth gushes into the rooms as they overflow from a gutter, the rainwater poke at the roof, the wind rocks the house, the windows rattle as the finger-like branches snap at it fiercely, villagers shout frantically as they run to their houses, animals cry as the water barges into their shelter, the clouds scuttle unbearably low in the pink and purple sky. The weather is tumultuous and everything feels heavy.
The reader, you are certainly alive and well, I, the writer, however, am at least a decade gone into the deep unalterable slumber to convince the reader that I am indeed dead. I wish to show you a trick. A deep booming manly voice with a horrific hoarseness will be narrating right behind your eardrums and reverberate all over your skull the following narrative, while rattling and clinking of the bones will occasionally add terror in your head. The night was dark, stormy and violent.
Two precious years lost in that dreadful college. In tumultuous times I was, thus I went in, keen to learn something, to challenge my views, broaden my intellectual horizons, to a “prestigious college” but it turned out to be a scam school organized by villagers to pocket some money for their new business, and in my quest for knowledge the village school turned out to be as useful as a fork in a sugar bowl.
I’m walking alone in the night. Alone on the empty street. A strange light is hovering above me. My shadow is dancing around me- along with the shadows of the trees. The wind is whistling past the leaves and an insect is shrieking. There is a strange hissing sound but that’s probably coming from my nose. Other than that there is silence. Chilling Silence.
The drizzle of rain was poking at the tin roof in a steady rhythm. The clock was striking and ticking. Abruptly I awoke as my chin hit my chest and the book fell from my hands to my thighs. The window swung open- cool, chilly breeze burst in- and I felt a refreshing shudder pass through me. Jitters of rain entered sprinkled into the floor near the window. The rainwater was dripping down the tin roof into the plastic jar I’d kept to collect. I could feel the house pulsing.
The wind stirred and the blue polythene bag rolled and riffed with it. Being tossed around by wind and mud, the wrinkled plastic bag floated with the wind brushing its hands slowly against the floor and then it suddenly soared into the sky.
The air was filled with the sweet scent of nature and the forest was so very peaceful. The richness of the air flew to our nostrils and filled our hearts and lungs with awe and wonder of the nature that surrounded us. The fresh breeze whistled swiftly to our direction and whipped at our faces- mocking us.
Rohan pulled the trigger. The bullet burst out from the gun at the speed of 200m/h. Tore through the shoulder of Kamal, and was entrenched to the wall of the cave. The gunshot reverberated across the forest. They birds flew to the sky.
Mahavir sat on the chair with his head sunken deep into his hands and elbows drooped on his knees. His head was heavy and so were his eyes. His head rose from his hands, he exhaled and pushing the chair back - stood up - and stretched. The walls of the room were white - as white as ivory: without stain of any kind on it. Pure white and sterile.
Kriti sat abruptly on her bed, frightened. She gripped the thin bed sheets tightly with her trembling hands. Her bed sheet was drenched in sweat. The window just above her was flinging in and out. The hot summer night wind was gushing into the room. The squeaking sound of the window was very unnerving. Hovering above her were strange shadows dancing on the ceiling. She jumped on her bed and quickly fastened the window.