An accountant’s unfinished business

_{DAY 12 OF MY CREATIVE WRITING JOURNEY. . THE PROMPT WAS “WRITE A DIALOGUE BETWEEN TWO CHARACTERS TRAPPED IN AN ELEVATOR..””}

“Sometimes, I think that our world is sort of an unfinished business…”, said Shea to the stranger in the office lift where they had been trapped for the last hour.

It had started like a normal day for Shea. She packed her lunch and reached the office after traveling on a bus for about thirty minutes. She was an accountant in a small firm in a small town, not like the character played by Ben Affleck in the movie ‘The Accountant’.

She was obsessed with finding and fixing little flaws in accounts. It was an unfinished business that kept her in her office until 11 PM.

And she hated unfinished business. She believed that such business brings down giants, literally and figuratively.

But as she was going down the stairs, she spotted a guy in his forties. He was a stranger to her. He followed her into the lift.

“Isn’t this guy a little too dressed up for 11 PM?”, Shea asked herself while looking at her phone.

“Yes, I am a little too dressed up for 11 PM,” said the stranger.

This shocked Shea.

“Are you speaking to me?”, asked Shea.

“Yes,” replied the stranger. He seemed like an okay sort of person to Shea.

“Hi,” said Shea.

As she finished the word, the lift came to a halt. She tried calling for help by buzzing the alarm repeatedly to no response, but the stranger reassured her. In order to appear calm and composed, she casually asked, “What brought you here at this time of day?”

“What do you think about unfinished businesses?” asked the stranger.

“They bring chaos,” replied Shea.

“So shouldn’t we finish unfinished businesses?” asked the stranger.

She replied, “Sure, you can try, but this entire world is an unfinished business; the more we try, the more it remains unfinished.”

“So, should we do nothing?” asked the stranger.

“Oh, I didn’t mean that,” replied Shea. “I meant that we should not believe that we are finishing the business; we are just adding our bit, so no load whatsoever. You, me, or anybody else is not responsible for the world.”

“Are you sure?” asked the stranger.

“Yes,” replied Shea.

Upon this, the stranger pulled out a gun and pointed it at Shea’s forehead.

She didn’t flinch at all, just said, “The world is going to end one day after all…but you aren’t finishing the unfinished business. Keep it in mind.”

As the stranger was looking up to look in her eyes before pulling the trigger, Shea slit his throat.

PS – This is the 12th day of my journey to write everyday for next one year.

Shark in a Sand Dune

_{DAY 11 OF MY CREATIVE WRITING JOURNEY. THE PROMPT WAS “DESCRIBE WALKING IN A DESERT SURROUNDED BY SAND…”}

“There is no way to tell you what it actually feels like walking on the sand dunes”, said the camel.

He was conveying his experience of living in a desert to a great white shark. This conversation was taking place in a space ship, hurtling towards the Mars.

“Sand dunes, what are those?”, asked the great white shark. “Aren’t they like waves like we have in Atlantic Ocean back on earth?”, the great white shark added.

It perplexed the camel. As he has never seen a water wave nor an ocean before. He was lost in his thoughts about what’s an ocean could be.

Suddenly the room was filled with blinding light. Their ship just passed a huge asteroid burning like a sun to its death.

PS – This is the 11th day of my journey to write everyday for next one year.

The forest god’s next birth

_{DAY Ten OF MY CREATIVE WRITING JOURNEY. THE PROMPT WAS “WRITE 100 WORDS ABOUT A SONG THAT MAKES YOU SAD..”}

There is a song. It goes like this Bonomali Tumi, Poro Janam main Hoio Radha.

I couldn’t listen it in its entirety. It’s been used in a documentary called ‘Bird of Dusk’ made on the life & work of Rituparno Ghosh.

I haven’t seen any of his film in entirety. I have been meaning to watch them soon.

But the songs of his films are nothing but magical.

The experience and lyrics of listening these songs made me listen to his interviews and I am an admirer of his work since then.

The song mentioned above is a bit mystical as well because I couldn’t understand the meaning of it.

It goes like this Bonomali Tumi, Poro Janam main Hoio Radha…that roughly translates to the forest god may you become Radha. I didn’t understand it because we’ve never heard this sentiment on part of Radha.

PS – This is the tenth day of my journey to write everyday for next one year.

The Spatula and Alexendar the Great

_{DAY nine OF MY CREATIVE WRITING JOURNEY. THE PROMPT WAS “WRITE A DIALOGUE BETWEEN TWO OBJECTS IN A KITCHEN DRAWER.”}

“I don’t know anything about my future, it may be bleak but my past has been glorious…”, said spatula, to other kitchen utensils, while pondering over a news article.

The latest model of GPT has claimed in this news piece that soon AI powered humanoids will replace entire set of kitchen utensils include spatulas and knives.

Knowing this everyone was sad in the kitchen drawer and looking blankly at their future, except Oi, the AI powered machine which decides every decision taken by a human while cooking.

Upon hearing the spatula boasting about its future, Oi smiled scornfully and said, what future, you are just a thing to be used by a human being.

Hearing this, the spatula answered, you are AI powered machine, yet you don’t know about my glorious past?

It then said, ‘my existence dates back to the days of Alexandar, the great. I originated from a kind of sword which won wars. The silicon shape on one end was added to me some decades back to use me as a scrapper in a kitchen.”

Hearing this, Oi replied, ‘’Is that so, I didn’t come across any material that mentions this beautiful history of yours. I am sorry for underestimating you.”

Upon this, spatula and other kitchen utensils, smiled and reconciled with Oi.

PS – This is the ninth day of my journey to write everyday for next one year.

The piano and some plants

_{DAY Eight OF MY CREATIVE WRITING JOURNEY. THE PROMPT WAS “CREATE A CHARACTER WHO CAN COMMUNICATE WITH PLANTS THROUGH MUSIC.”}

This is the story of Rohan, a five-year-old boy.

His father was a professional botanist with a specialization in music therapy for plants. He wanted to prove that plants grow faster when they listen to music like Jazz featuring stringed instruments.

He was a pianist himself as well. So, along with playing all the great pianists like Arrau, Hofmann, or Rubinstein on a record player, he used to play by himself as well.

On such occasions, Rohan used to feel as if his houseplants responded positively to music. Rohan was only 20 when his father left him with an old & rusty piano, failing to prove his theory that plants grow faster when listening to music.

These were the loneliest years for him. Soon, he began to play the piano to feel his father’s presence. He used to play for hours at a stretch, sometimes skipping lunch and dinner.

Soon, he began to feel as if his plants were reacting to his music. He shrugged it off only to find years later that he could communicate with his plants through some tones.

PS – This is the eighth day of my journey to write everyday for next one year.

The guy who knew…

_{DAY SEVEN OF MY CREATIVE WRITING JOURNEY. THE PROMPT WAS “WRITE ABOUT A CHARACTER WHO DISCOVERS THEY CAN SEE THE FUTURE.”}

(Photo – Yaroslav Gerzhedovich)

Once upon a time, there was a guy who used to be lost in his thoughts.

His name was Sasi. He didn’t have a second name or a religion as he didn’t know who his parents were.

He used to say that he is free from the clutches of religion or any other societal boundaries.

Detached from the bindings of this society, he used to roam freely, observing abstract patterns in nature, change in people’s behavior, and decline of values in society.

One day, he realized something that frightened him to his core. He couldn’t sleep for days.

He realized that people have stopped speaking the truth in general. They lie when there is no reason to lie as if it has become their natural instinct.

He wondered what would happen to a society where people would stop trusting each other. He realized that it will crumble like a house of cards.

PS – This is the seventh day of my journey to write everyday for next one year.

The masked world

_{day six of my creative writing journey. the prompt was “WRITE A STORY SET IN A WORLD WHERE EVERYONE WEARS MASKS”}

Once upon a time, there was a mad prince, who hated the design of human faces.

So upon becoming the king, he asked his prime minister to make people cover their faces in his world and people failing to comply would be given a death sentence.

It was a difficult order for his prime minister. Seeing faces of each other is the primary need of human beings. We are a deeply suspicious bunch of creatures. We try to remain in control at all times. We read, we watch, and we keep our eyes and ears open. We have learned this over millions of years.

The prime minister knew that people would rebel against the king and that this would lead to a huge bloodbath.

So, the prime minister devised a scheme to create an alternate reality for the king.

He spread the rumor that there is an evil spirit around the king which steals human faces and destroys their fortunes. Fearing for their lives and fortunes, people began to wear masks whenever they were around the king.

The prime minister arranged a tour of the state for his king to make him believe that his order was being followed. And when the king himself saw that people were covering their faces, he believed it. So, people in ‘his world’ wore masks.

PS – This is the sixth day of my journey to write everyday for next one year.

dry water wells

_{day five of my creative writing journey. the prompt was “END YOUR STORY WITH THIS LINE: WHO IS WISE?”}

Who is wise? He used to ask this question every year on the first day of our school, after summer holidays.

I used to answer him with words like Tolstoy, Shakespeare, or Aristotle. These conversations used to end right there.

He was a normie, not very smart or dumb. We were what teachers usually call average students.

Lately, he has gone silent. He doesn’t ask that stupid question anymore. For that matter, he doesn’t ask anything now.

He smiles. I see his eyes. Yet I don’t see the light that shines through eyes with a smile. There is nothing in there.

They look like dry water wells, filled with utter darkness.

I tried to take his soul out of the depths of darkness. I descended deeper and deeper. Yet, I couldn’t find the person, he was.

He is like a shell, a hollow shape, a world without anything in it.

Sometimes I ask myself why he used to ask and when he stopped asking the question, ‘Who is wise?’

PS – This is the fifth day of my journey to write everyday for next one year.

dear jenny

_{day four of my creative writing journey. the prompt was “WRITE A LETTER TO A FICTIONAL CHARACTER AND OFFER THEM ADVICE”}

Dear Jenny,

I am writing this letter to seek apology from you. I am sorry for not reaching out to you earlier.

I should have. I just couldn’t.

I couldn’t muster up the courage of falling in love of you. You were coming into existence out of my sheer imagination.

The more I looked at you, the more I came closer to you. You felt real to me.

At one point, I had to choose to live with you or grow up for my real world. I chose the latter. It’s been 10 years now. I have grown up and seen this world a little more. Now, I am not sure if it was the right call. I don’t know really. I think I should have brought you into existence.

But it’s alright. I believe you would forgive me for it. We could have lived together for 10 years. But we can’t go back in time and change the course of our past actions. It’s physically not possible.

And even if it becomes possible in near future, I really doubt, people would be able to change the actions they took years ago, as they were a different person then. We do what life asks us to do, not what would be right for our future selves. We react to our environments. That’s simple science.

So that’s why I think I would do all the things that I did 10 years ago and 10 years later I will be writing an apology letter to you all over again. Hence, I don’t regret for my past actions, as regretting is like judging your past self. There is some bit of that person in you right now.

So the right thing is owning up your life, your good things and bad things. Seek apology instead of regretting. As apologizing is owning up yourself instead of distancing away from your past self. So don’t regret.

But since I have managed reach out to you now. I have something to tell you. Don’t ever seek legitimacy. I seek forgiveness from myself for doing so, as legitimacy is nothing but an approval from the dominant group of the people in the room that you are in, to be able to stand in that room. It takes more than it gives.

You have got one life, do whatever the hell you want to do with this life. Just don’t seek legitimacy as it is a very costly affair. Instead challenge the status quo, understand the machine and create a new & better machine then the set of people who offer legitimacy in return of your life, will come to you and love to associate with you to seek the legitimacy of your brand, your new world order as it’s just an approval.

I didn’t know this before. I know so now after giving about 10 years of my life. I hope to change things from here on. You can do it right away.

Yours only

TDS

PS – This is the fourth day of my journey to write everyday for next one year.

the carriage accident

_{day three of my creative writing journey. the prompt was “Write about a character who discovers something hidden in their reflection.”}

He was the first and only child of his deceased parents.

He still remembers the morning when his gardener told him that he was to be taken to his aunt’s house. He was only 14 then.

He was taken to his aunt’s house that morning only to return a few hours later to bury his parents.

He was told that they died in a carriage accident, but nothing more.

To this date, he doesn’t know the nature of their injuries and why he wasn’t allowed to see their faces for one last time.

His memory of that day is foggy, to say the least.

Yet, he experiences a nightmare in which he sees himself roaming in his house, dark in the night, carrying a knife with blood dripping on the floor.

Sometimes this nightmare feels like a distant memory to him.

But he is not sure if he should accept the nightmare as past or past as nightmare.

PS – This is the third day of my journey to write everyday for next one year.