An old man is waiting, yet his shivering hands…. \(delete)
The image of an old man on a rainy day is… \(delete)
Droplets of rain hits an unusual visitor…. \(delete)
I can’t even start a goddamn story. Memories resemble an anchor slicing the horizon of a sea.
The phone buzzed and a screen displayed as Vinod-Publisher. A familiar voice,
“Hello, champ. You do wanna hear a great news, don’t you? ”
I continued the silence.
“Rastogi, Are you on crack ?”
“Uh..No. Why do you ask? ”
“Oh, boy.Your rough party was all over the news. Anyway, Our book topped the amazon’s list, pal. We have a lot of work to do.”
This voice seems very familiar to him. Without a doubt, he asked it loud and clear,
“ Who wrote it? ”
With a heavy gasp, his tone became cautious,
“Who knows it? ”
“No one, I just need to know ”
“Come on, this argument needs to end. A conclusion has been made.”
“Say it, one more time.”
“Okay. I didn’t know who wrote it. I chose your market name to publish a writing. As I said you before, we can share a lot of money.”
With a delay of seconds,
“ Look, we ain’t done harm. Besides, ”
Audio clip of this conversation can go viral within seconds. Only if either of them might have recorded it and most importantly, to press ‘send’. A bundle of newspapers lies near to him. Every review he read, every critic he knew mentioned the book as an art of thinking. He saw everything that can possibly come from a success. Only that he didn’t write it.
He knows that he might lose everything. Everything that gave him enough comfort to lead a life except he didn’t own it.
It ain’t a right way.
He pressed the ‘send’ button.
After few years,
February 4th, 2020.
Second… It can’t be more thrilling than it is. A front-line soldier may not know his last second or A prisoner may not have a chance to use his last second. To whom Life truly mean is a person who knows the true perspective of happiness and thereby to own it. My story is all about one true journey…