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CHAPTER 7

It was another wonderful morning in New York. Maureen was, as usual, in the library searching for material for her undergraduate thesis. She had been working extremely hard on it from her very first year at the university. In the last few months, Maureen had toiled harder than ever. She had restrained from going out with her friends, calling her parents and even meeting Steve.

She had been engrossed in her world of books and reports which would help the thesis come alive. She had dark circles around her eyes and had thinned down to an unhealthy state. She had switched off her cell-phone and had thrown it over the corner of her room. When Steve had tried to call repeatedly, there was nothing but the computerized voice saying that the phne was switched off.

Steve was parched of happiness as he continuously tried to contact her. He had been spending hours at the library waiting for her to arrive, to just see her, hold her hand and see her smile. Steve was the best procrastinator, the world could find. He hadn’t touched his thesis work and was not even aware of what topic he had to research on. Ronny had called him for group work, a number of times, but he had shunned away the idea of working on the thesis papers so soon. Especially when he was in such a cranky mood, as Maureen had not even cared to call him.

He felt his life drain out of his body and was almost extinct of any kind of happiness. He was terribly scared if Maureen would lose her love for him and he felt all the more depressed and sorrowful. There were birds chirping out in his window sill, which he loved and showed delight to, but he never took notice of their beauty anymore.

He went for long walks in the park without Maureen by his side and spent long hours loitering around in silence and thoughts of his own. Ronny and his other friends had offered him company, many times, but he had never taken any of their offers. He sat there in the park with his memories of Maureen for company.

He had tried to contact her in several other ways too. He had asked her friends how she had been keeping and whether she spoke anything to them about him. But inwardly, he knew that their answer would be “I don’t know anything about it, Steve. I’m really sorry.”

One day, surprisingly, he found Maureen loitering by herself in the park. He was curious to talk with her, hold her and admire her beauty. Steve ran towards her and as he neared her, he could see a mirror image of himself, in her.


                                                                          ******

Steve had called it a day very early and mounted in his car to take a break from the buzzing world. He wanted to forget everything that had happened and chill out in solitude. It was very unusual of him to do this, as he sought out the company f his friends whenever he wanted to chill out.

After driving a while down the streets, he parked his car near a bustling drinks bar named “Barrel Town”. It was a prominent place in the center of the city which hosted parties and was also a lounge. Disco lights shone bright amidst the dark faceless crowd gyrating their bellies. There were the bar tenders drizzling away different beverages into cocktails and loud thumping music filled the air while heat spread through the hall.

Steve removed his coat and slouched onto a chair nearby the bar tender. As the bar tender reproachfully looked at him, he ordered a shot of martini and looked towards the packed crowd. He could find everybody in mad ecstacy, dancing their way out of life. He wanted to g out there with Maureen, hold her hand and dance his heart out. But there wasn’t any Maureen and there was no joy in his heart.

After a few shots of martini, Steve felt dizzy and disoriented. Surprisingly, there was a woman nearby who was looking at him. As he looked towards her, she smiled and neared him. She wore a chick red top and sexy yellow leggings revealing the shape of her slender thighs and her mahogany brown hair shone amidst the lights from the disco ball.

 “Wanna buy me a drink?” she asked and winked mischievously. 


TO BE CONTINUED...

Comments

  1. Good read :) Surprise after surprise..! When is next chapter :-o

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    Replies
    1. I hope I churn it out very soon ;) Thank you for reading dear! :)

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To write is to dwell

FEBRUARY 15th, 2012





















What writing means to me...

As lonely as a cloud, as boring as boredom itself, I was. I grew up as a typical child at school but a very hefty one, I am still the same. I managed to cheer people with my innocence but did not manage to make happy friends to last a lifetime because of my gross physique. I couldn't play as I had no playmates at home and my only hobby was to sit and watch tv.

When I was studying in kindergarten, I used to visit a nearby shop with my dad. My dad was busy shopping for groceries and I engaged myself in observing things around me. The people who had mixed emotions that outshone on their faces, an old man cycling with a lot of strain, probably getting back home, the lady vendor with her dirty saree pinned up to her waist and squatting on the floor, selling vegetables, the autowala bargaining with his potential customer, the green trees which arched high with its countless leaves, the flowers that smile at me on the road side, happy child…

I'm too shallow to write a verse

I'm too shallow to write a verse To wrap around the twists and turns To dwell unto my own, I do Living somebody else's life or my own? Shrouded under piles of thought, I scribble, thinking only of the applause.
I'm too shallow to write a verse or two To make ends meet, I'm too cuckoo. I'm not the classic, scratching blue wooing 'em, tearing 'em apart  with every word.
I'm not the one who rhymes nor the one with notes for those lyrics. I'm the one who scribbles blotching blue on all my troubles, roiling over moments back and forth, trying to string those stray words, into at least a doggerel. See, I don't make sense.  I told you, I'm too shallow to pen that sonnet, that ballad, that haiku, that refrain, that ode.
I'm forcing it out all that gibberish snowballed  unto mine, to chime and rhyme  but nevertheless I realise in time, I'm to shallow to be read over cheese and wine.