Quick – Chapter 7

She was there, turned into a fairy, flying about in the room. I could sniff blood around, and taste it on my lips as well, a salty taste; and then I woke up.

“Too much whisky, eh?”

“No, not much. That was only a quarter.”

“Yeah, and you’ve slept for four hours, on my bed, alone.”


“Yeah. I’ve got a message from the headquarters. You are to be killed.”


“Can’t you hear me, boy?”

“I can.”

“Good then. But I am not gonna kill you, so soon at least. Tell me what you know of this business.”


“Tell me what you know.”

“Nothing. I thought you were to break it to me.”

“Yeah. Too late though.”

“You know I can’t understand a penny of what you speak right now.”

“You’ve got a new life boy. A new name, a new identity.”


“Stay here, and you will know soon. Bye.”


Quick – Chapter 2

It was exactly eight-thirty in the morning when I reached her house. I knocked at the door, and heard the barks of a dog. First impression, bad. I hate pet dogs. They start barking as soon as they hear a knock on the door, and then they come out and look at you, and start barking more. If the owner asks it not to, then it will come and start sniffing you. Street dogs are way better, they like to mind their own business. I love street dogs. I also love free breakfast, which was why I was here so early today.

The house was a rather small house, and I had expected much more of it given the way she’d invited me. Beside the door, there was a small fireplace, which hadn’t been touched for centuries. Then there was a sofa, a small one, which could seat two people who were, may be, on a diet. A rack of utensils right above it, a stove behind the sofa, and after ten or twenty inches, there was the bed. A window on the other wall, and a door which led to a tiny washroom. That was all.

We had breakfast on her bed, which was already half covered with a pillow, mattress and a laptop. So she did not have a television and did not have a landline phone, but she had a laptop. Cool. Breakfast was tidy, with unlimited toast and unlimited coffee. She spoke a lot. She asked me where I was from, what I did, why I had come here, how long I was to be here, what my parents do and a lot more even before I could ask her what her surname was. I got a call from home and by the time I was back, she had cleaned the bed and was working on the laptop.

“So..”, I said.


“So what next?”

“Nothing, I don’t know. Listen I am a bit busy today, so can’t go out. May be we could meet next weekend. I am extremely sorry.”




So she’d waited all through breakfast, only to say she was busy? Somehow things weren’t summing up together.

It’s Yours

When the metal is hot, strike it you must,
But strike it only to the proportion just,
Or it may bend and then cool down,
And will never straighten itself again,
How much ever you may frown.
Just the correct amount of words and smiles,
And the counted number of silent expressions,
May sometimes just be enough to explain,
To the concerned one your confession,
And you may confess or you may not,
Keep it within yourself for years,
Or blurt it out and then wish you hadn’t
Allowed the words to reach her ears.
It is difficult to decide sometimes,
Which of the either is more painful,
To not say something you wish you had,
Or to say something you wish you hadn’t.
But sometimes or often it may so happen,
That out of stupid and silly mistakes,
You may get what you for long wanted,
And grab it before someone else it takes.
So grab your share today and now,
You never know if for you it is meant,
Or otherwise for years thinking you should have done it,
You would think about it and only repent.