"And as they gasped for their last breaths, shared a kiss of death, they knew it wouldn't be long before their still, lifeless bodies lay deep down there, below that deep blue veil of ocean. But they were happy, they knew they'd never part anymore. Lovers till death, and after..." My story was almost complete. I just need a final fag to approve it.
"You know, fuck you man. I don't wanna die, neither do I want her to die."
The voice in the dark, supposedly lonely room startled me, there wasn't supposed to be any other living object inside the room other than me. So you see it's obvious that a voice not belonging to me would definitely scare me.
" Wh-who is this?"
"Why, don't you recognise me? I am one of the "forlorn" lovers, your creation, your masterpiece!"
The sarcasm was obvious even behind the panting but loud voice.
"Err, what is this, some kinda' trick or something?"
I turned around, and the faint light from the monitor screen made the silhouette visible. A drenched silhouette, as was obvious from the pool of water getting formed quickly on the floor. I understood I was dreaming, and I decided to play on with the game.
"Umm, so you're like, this imaginary character, the one about whom I'm writing about at present? That's what you mean to say?"
"Yes, father."
"Father?"
"Well , since you are my creator, so you are my father, in that sense. A father who is about to drown his son in the cold ocean along with his beloved."
"You mean your sister, right?" I chuckled.
"Erm, yeah, I, I guess so."
"So, you're totally into incest, I see. What a proud father I must be!" It was my turn now to hit him with an overdose of acrimony.
"I don't care if it's incest, or shit! I love her, do you get that, man?" The reference to incest had obviously infuriated him. I laughed wholeheartedly inside, it gives you such a moral boost when you take a dig at someone. Even if he is your own creation.
"So why exactly are you shouting, 'son'? I'm making you immortal, by killing you." That didn't sound right.
"Why shouldn't I? You are just sitting there like a big baboon and killing me and my love. You're just murdering us! Who gives you the right?! What the fuck do you think you're doing!"
"Err, well, I am the writer here, so shouldn't I really have the right to do whatever I want with my story?"
"Well, no, I mean, I see you're point, but you really can't just kill us of like that! What about the life we still have left to live, to love, to make love? You just waste us if you kill us!" Aww, the kid sounds emotional. A bit.
"Someone is eager to get laid, I see. Well, you see 'son', the story demands that you two must die. Only then will the greater good of love be understandable to the reader. You two shall emblaze the concept of true love again in the heart of today's generation! You two shall be my masterpiece! My Magnum Opus, my El Magnifico, etc etc." I was lying, this was just another one of my commissioned projects. I get over with this crappy story, and I get some extra cash for week. That's it.
"Yes, definitely, especially when the masterpiece is just another among the thousand renditions of that same old crappy Homeo Juliet drama. Man, why did old Shaks have to write that piece, he was doing so well with his historical novels and stuff."
"Erm, err, I agree the ending is the same, but, err, it isn't exactly Romeo Juliet revisited or anything." The hell it was. Who'd have time enough to think about new concepts to write about every week? Not me, I was just in this business because it paid good, sometimes.
"I don't care, 'father'! What is important is that you are letting two young lovers die! That's blasphemy, you get me?"
"Okay. Why do you exactly care what happens with you in the future. You're just a goddamn storybook character. You die, I write some extra shitty dialogues, and bang, the story is over. The reader closes the book, and goes to the bathroom to pee, or goes to get a fag. That's it. The end of you, and me." Okay, I shouldn't have tagged myself along with him.
"I don't care! I don't care if the reader goes away to philospohise about love, or just plain masturbate. I want my happy ending, just like everyone else!"
"Well, guess what sunshine, life ain't all about happy endings. There's more to it." Yeah, right, a shitty apartment, a shitty girlfriend, a shitty job, a shitty cheese sandwich, and constipation, that's the "more" to my life.
"You forgot 'father', I'm a storybook character, and I want my happy ending, goddammit. I've left her out there in the open sea, alone. She must be really cold by now. So you, mister, will right now bring a cruise ship or something, take us onboard, and get us into some honeymoon suite or something." Ahh, young love.
"It's placed in the 19th century, and in a really stormy Bay of Bengal, you just can't expect a cruise ship, can you?"
"You get us a cruise ship right now, OR. ELSE."
The figure now started walking towards me with zombie steps. I couldn't see his face clearly. I guess I didn't really imagine their faces while writing.
"Erm, wha-what are you doing? I'm your father. You can't do th-" He was strangling me now, and boy, did he have powerful wrists. But I didn't remember making him so strong, on the contrary he was supposed to be nimble and tender. What the heck, I guess the power of love, and libido carves even the softest ones into the hardest, no pun intended there.
"Awright, awright, I-i-i'll do it, I'll d-do it." The hold lightened.
"Good. Very good. Angul bakano is always the best pontha I see. Now, you'll get us into that cruiseship, take us back home, give us a royal wedding. And you will publish this story. And if you dare change a single line, father, that'd be last line of your life. Ashi apatoto" The shadow went away. It wasn't a dream, I could feel my sore throat still ache. I changed the ending and wrote it just the way he wanted it to be. I won't be taking risks anymore, they might just be setting down some committee already with all those characters which I killed. Inquiry commissions are the best way to banshofy people nowadays, as you know already. And boy, I know better now about messing with my sons and daughters. Also, I have to get this piece published, though that'd surely mean the end of my career. No one gets away with such absurd pieces. But, but wait a minute. My hope can be those, half-intellectual, full-ass critics, who just might agree to promote this to be some new entry into the literary faction of absurdity, and save my face, and my income, and the rest of my life, in return for some good old scotch.
"You know, fuck you man. I don't wanna die, neither do I want her to die."
The voice in the dark, supposedly lonely room startled me, there wasn't supposed to be any other living object inside the room other than me. So you see it's obvious that a voice not belonging to me would definitely scare me.
" Wh-who is this?"
"Why, don't you recognise me? I am one of the "forlorn" lovers, your creation, your masterpiece!"
The sarcasm was obvious even behind the panting but loud voice.
"Err, what is this, some kinda' trick or something?"
I turned around, and the faint light from the monitor screen made the silhouette visible. A drenched silhouette, as was obvious from the pool of water getting formed quickly on the floor. I understood I was dreaming, and I decided to play on with the game.
"Umm, so you're like, this imaginary character, the one about whom I'm writing about at present? That's what you mean to say?"
"Yes, father."
"Father?"
"Well , since you are my creator, so you are my father, in that sense. A father who is about to drown his son in the cold ocean along with his beloved."
"You mean your sister, right?" I chuckled.
"Erm, yeah, I, I guess so."
"So, you're totally into incest, I see. What a proud father I must be!" It was my turn now to hit him with an overdose of acrimony.
"I don't care if it's incest, or shit! I love her, do you get that, man?" The reference to incest had obviously infuriated him. I laughed wholeheartedly inside, it gives you such a moral boost when you take a dig at someone. Even if he is your own creation.
"So why exactly are you shouting, 'son'? I'm making you immortal, by killing you." That didn't sound right.
"Why shouldn't I? You are just sitting there like a big baboon and killing me and my love. You're just murdering us! Who gives you the right?! What the fuck do you think you're doing!"
"Err, well, I am the writer here, so shouldn't I really have the right to do whatever I want with my story?"
"Well, no, I mean, I see you're point, but you really can't just kill us of like that! What about the life we still have left to live, to love, to make love? You just waste us if you kill us!" Aww, the kid sounds emotional. A bit.
"Someone is eager to get laid, I see. Well, you see 'son', the story demands that you two must die. Only then will the greater good of love be understandable to the reader. You two shall emblaze the concept of true love again in the heart of today's generation! You two shall be my masterpiece! My Magnum Opus, my El Magnifico, etc etc." I was lying, this was just another one of my commissioned projects. I get over with this crappy story, and I get some extra cash for week. That's it.
"Yes, definitely, especially when the masterpiece is just another among the thousand renditions of that same old crappy Homeo Juliet drama. Man, why did old Shaks have to write that piece, he was doing so well with his historical novels and stuff."
"Erm, err, I agree the ending is the same, but, err, it isn't exactly Romeo Juliet revisited or anything." The hell it was. Who'd have time enough to think about new concepts to write about every week? Not me, I was just in this business because it paid good, sometimes.
"I don't care, 'father'! What is important is that you are letting two young lovers die! That's blasphemy, you get me?"
"Okay. Why do you exactly care what happens with you in the future. You're just a goddamn storybook character. You die, I write some extra shitty dialogues, and bang, the story is over. The reader closes the book, and goes to the bathroom to pee, or goes to get a fag. That's it. The end of you, and me." Okay, I shouldn't have tagged myself along with him.
"I don't care! I don't care if the reader goes away to philospohise about love, or just plain masturbate. I want my happy ending, just like everyone else!"
"Well, guess what sunshine, life ain't all about happy endings. There's more to it." Yeah, right, a shitty apartment, a shitty girlfriend, a shitty job, a shitty cheese sandwich, and constipation, that's the "more" to my life.
"You forgot 'father', I'm a storybook character, and I want my happy ending, goddammit. I've left her out there in the open sea, alone. She must be really cold by now. So you, mister, will right now bring a cruise ship or something, take us onboard, and get us into some honeymoon suite or something." Ahh, young love.
"It's placed in the 19th century, and in a really stormy Bay of Bengal, you just can't expect a cruise ship, can you?"
"You get us a cruise ship right now, OR. ELSE."
The figure now started walking towards me with zombie steps. I couldn't see his face clearly. I guess I didn't really imagine their faces while writing.
"Erm, wha-what are you doing? I'm your father. You can't do th-" He was strangling me now, and boy, did he have powerful wrists. But I didn't remember making him so strong, on the contrary he was supposed to be nimble and tender. What the heck, I guess the power of love, and libido carves even the softest ones into the hardest, no pun intended there.
"Awright, awright, I-i-i'll do it, I'll d-do it." The hold lightened.
"Good. Very good. Angul bakano is always the best pontha I see. Now, you'll get us into that cruiseship, take us back home, give us a royal wedding. And you will publish this story. And if you dare change a single line, father, that'd be last line of your life. Ashi apatoto" The shadow went away. It wasn't a dream, I could feel my sore throat still ache. I changed the ending and wrote it just the way he wanted it to be. I won't be taking risks anymore, they might just be setting down some committee already with all those characters which I killed. Inquiry commissions are the best way to banshofy people nowadays, as you know already. And boy, I know better now about messing with my sons and daughters. Also, I have to get this piece published, though that'd surely mean the end of my career. No one gets away with such absurd pieces. But, but wait a minute. My hope can be those, half-intellectual, full-ass critics, who just might agree to promote this to be some new entry into the literary faction of absurdity, and save my face, and my income, and the rest of my life, in return for some good old scotch.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Sadly, the critics didn't think this to be some crazy ass modernist piece, they just tagged me intellectually dead. And so, ended my career as the creator. Sigh, one should never mess with his creations.
Well written.Some places got overdone and were repititive,but that apart overall a pretty nice piece of work.The use of bangla at places ,which have become like your signature..I shall not comment on that.
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