1

 

My eyebrows creased in frustration. The knot was a hard one to master but I sure as hell wasn’t going to leave it alone.

It was raining all day and my knot obsession wasn’t very progressive with the power shortage and whatnot. My parents were in the next room sleeping, even though it was midafternoon. They found my obsession with knots rather weird. After all, one does not simply “want to learn how to tie knots without no context whatsoever.” At least, that’s what they said. But knots made sense to me. Some infernal power in me wanted to know how to tie and untie all kinds of knots in the world. It was initially just a passing interest, but gradually I became hooked.

Being twenty-one years old, I was expected to find a job and move out of my parents’ place- not by my parents, but by the general public. My parents were quite the opposite. They were not pleased with the idea of me being an entity independent of them, which is why even after completing my college degree I remain jobless. It is peculiar, but I guess I must adjust with what they want, given they spent their life savings getting me here.

The rain had lessened into a drizzle. I sighed, putting away my knot. My life seemed great from the outside, but it really was not. Then again, I guess there are people living in shittier conditions than me. But from time to time, I cannot help but whine about the toxicity around me. My family was toxic in an overprotective, possessive manner. I had a best friend, but we stopped interacting much after high school. A few messages here and there, but that was pretty much it. All my current “friends” were toxic. It was obvious by the was they only talked to me before or during exams- to ask me for my notes or to demand that I show them my answers, which I was okay with had they not decided to ditch me afterward. Luck was almost never on my side, except for academics. Though that too had ultimately led me to bad luck. I had no choice whatsoever in the college or degree that I had opted for. It was like I was living my life for those around me.

I stood up from my chair, popped my knuckles and moved to the bed. Just as I plopped rather unceremoniously on it, I heard a shout. Then I heard another. The shouts were followed by a pause, which was then followed by a full-fledged verbal fight.

This book is entirely a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Dedicated to Me, Myself and I. 

For the dark days. In the hope that one day it may change.

 

Somewhere in Chicago, at two in the anti-meridian, two men were talking amongst themselves inconspicuously. They wore suits and ties, looking rather sharp, prim and out of place in the forest. Some twenty or thirty yards in front of them walked a man, unbeknownst to the fact that he was being followed. The man in the front wore a suit too, but it was blue, unlike those of his stalkers. The man seemed composed and normal, as if he was used to walking in the woods alone at two hours past midnight. But only he knew that he was pale and trembling within, filled with fear from head to toe. The only sign of fear that he exhibited was when he looked back once, his eyes searching for something- or maybe someone, as if he doubted if he was alone. The attempt was in vain, though, since the two men had blended into the night as if they had vanished and never had been there.

The man continued onward for some time, his stalkers following him watchfully, aware of his every move and talking among themselves in hushed whispers. The scene continued uneventfully until one of the black suits pulled something out of his pocket. The item in question seemed to glint in the dark. Before you ask, no, it was not a knife. It was a handkerchief. Dipped in chloroform. The black suited men advanced toward their unsuspecting prey and pounced. The man struggled but seemed to weaken his efforts gradually. After about two minutes or so, the men removed the handkerchief, leaving the man barely conscious. One of the two men took out a knife from his inner coat pocket and proceeded to cut the man’s chest with the precision and accuracy of a master surgeon. The other watched, his eyes fixated at the gruesome scene, as the former tore open the man’s chest, whose breathing had, by now, become labored. The patient started whining as the men went through their autopsy, slowly removing parts of his body and storing it in coolers they had previously hid behind a bush. The man slowly accepted his fate and gave in to death.

The men continued to work in silence. They cleaned everything up efficiently, not spilling a drop of blood on the forest floor. They used a tiny machine to drain out the blood in the body, which they stored in what seemed like plastic bags. Sewing back the body, the first man got up. The second, However, spent a minute looking at the morbid scene.

“Why him?”

“He messed with the wrong people.”

“What, the government?”

The man who was standing remained silent.

“Are you not of the government yourself?”

“They said he too had many questions.”

The curious man started to ask something else, but wisely decided to keep his trap shut. The two men turned back, their torsos straight, military trained, as they marched back the way they came.

Little did they know they would soon have nothing to go back to.