Citizen Journalist

He heard her scream.

Not just once. Twice he heard her.

The first call to alert anyone nearby (as they were advised to do), followed a few seconds later by the unrehearsed, desperate scream for help.

He would remember his hurried steps, which had not once slowed down, but quickened instead. He was scurrying, scurrying for cover, he thought. The notion was ridiculous, but one he could not get away from even after he was out of earshot of the incident. Of whatever nature it was.

Turning the key in the lock, his breathing only grew faster. Silly again, he thought to himself, as if it was he under threat. A random girl! Who knew her? She probably deserved it!

In labored breathing and fast pulse, he ignored the bitterness in his mind, as he threw his coat to the rack and entered the living room.

The children were sitting in front of the television, the white noise and the white lights making hallucinations in their rapt minds and casting shadows in the furniture behind them. He sat down on the couch to join his family.

His pulse slowed down again. His breaths became normal. This is good. I'm okay now. Just needed this.

Fighting Fighting

“Do you think they … ?”


“Of course. It’s a first principle. Everyone knows that!”


“But wouldn’t it be a little silly to do that? I mean, one can’t typecast them as frivolous, fruity fools, can one?”


“One can. Nice thing that, by the way. Let me try. Shallow, silly sociophiles.”


“Is that a even a word? Sociophiles?”


“You behave like an idiot, again. Has that ever stopped me? Now you go.”


“Hmm. Extreme ear eroders.”


“Not bad. Insipid, incessantly insensible idiotine!”


“Okay! Mindnumbingly … hey, just wait. Stop this. I was making a point. Can I continue?”


“It is a delightful topic. You may, you may. Don’t stop on my account. When we meet, every now and then, over a mug or two of this and that, it is a natural law that your wonderful life be the topic of conversation. How dare I? HOW DARE I?”


“Oh yes. Of course, how could I forget? So self-centred of me. I do this every time.”


“But am I good friend. Even to a Narcissus as you. So, yes, do carry on.”


“Thank you. So, you’re saying they do? All the time? Every day?”


“Not all the time. No, that would be impractical. But yes, whenever they assemble in groups of 4 or 5, and there is nothing much to do. Then, they do.”


“But that’s all the time, isn’t it? I mean, when do girls ever have anything to do?”


“That is a fair point. Your brilliance radiates a halo around your head. I would kiss your feet were you one of those who take regular baths.”


“Right. Later. Thus, seeing as how they’re constantly free and up to no real good, you’re saying girls do get together and…?”


“My friend. My good friend. You must trust me. It is so. I say this not in jest, nor to trick you in any way. It is the truth. And nothing but.”


“So they fight, do they? All the time, whenever they’re free? Jumping up and down the beds? Laughing and giggling like soft, mad children smug in the woolly cotton brains of infancy? The Doors. Hehe.”


“Yes. Armed with pillows.”


“Lingerie?”


“Yes.”


“All the time?”


“It’s a beautiful world.”

None Really

With great power, comes great responsibility.

That applies to the power of freedom as well. If your facebook page says "Political Views: none" but can proclaim loudly which Bollywood actor you will grow up to become, or whether you're a bloodsucking vampire or an evil genius, there is something wrong there.

There will be no foreboding. There will be no chimes, or bells in a stormy night. We will be overpowered silently. Worse perhaps, we will ask to be overpowered.

Man of Action

Sitting lonely.

Forlorn.

Except for your thoughts. Resounding off the walls.

Coupling. And stringing together plans.

It is time to act now.

Get up. Flush. Recapture your life tonight.

The Network