Sleep

 

In the by-lanes of Delhi, amongst the besotted alleys that plague the locality, stands a rickety wooden structure. It almost passes off as an ancient ruin, save for the fact that instead of the customary djinns that guard all such warp-holes to the nether realm, it is in fact inhabited by a tormented soul, an old termagant, and a squeamish little girl

 

For some unfathomable reason, at random intervals, this mad woman chooses to introduce the little girl's frame to a nine-foot long whip that lashes out with ferocity, and tastes the little girl's blood with every kiss.

 

Whip. Welt. Wail.

Whip. Welt. Wail.

Whip. Welt. Wail.

 

This is the daily routine of the hag and the child. The tormented soul has a little more of the same ennui.

 

He wakes up to the wails of the girl, the hag's venomous hisses, and the crack of the whip.

Whip. Welt. Wail.

He then proceeds to have a quick shower, left over tea, and then, to his place of work.

Come six and he stumbles wearily to his home, and as he climbs the stairs, he can again hear the girl's screams.

 

Whip. Welt. Wail.

 

Over the few scraps of food, the girl's incessant cries, and these walls painted with fear that close around him, he tries to make some sense, and realizes that the cigarette is the only remedy.

 

A Cigarette- The patent soporific that takes a lot of time to work but puts you to sleep. Soft, deep sleep, a never ending slumber, stretching on through eternity.

 

He stretches out on the floor, and stares at the ceiling, trying to drift off into the darkness…

 

The wails start again. He checks his watch, and it's an ungodly hour.

He makes a list of the things he needs:

 

Cotton.

Tape.

Knife.

Cigarettes

Matches

And a can of petrol.

 

 

The door is ajar. The hag sleeps on the floor, exhausted from her labor. In a corner, lies the little girl, comatose.

 

He walks over to the hag.

Her moth is open, and drool oozes from between her teeth, making a small puddle at the side of her face…

 

The hag wakes up in agony, and tries to scream. She can make no sound…sticking out from the floor boards is a blade that passes through her throat, and pries open her teeth. She tries to move, but her hands and feet are bound by tape.

 

Out of the corner of her eyes, she spies the little girl, bound and gagged, and ties to a post.

 

The place reeks of petrol.

 

A movement catches her eye…in a dark corner, somebody lights a cigarette.

 

The match glides in an arc, and falls on the floor. The baptism by fire begins.

 

He stretches out on the floor, amidst the flames, the rot, and the hag and the child, and welcomes the rare visitor.

 

The long, much awaited Sleep.

 

The Evil Penguins

The night was lovely, dark and deep. The moon was under a diaphanous haze. A slow wind played against the leaves, brushing them up, and gave a rustling orgasm to the trees.
Under one such tree, leaning against the cold wind, and much aghast, stood Supraman.
His orange cape billowed, his polka-dotted boxers caught the wind, and his hair blew against his face.
From his dark corner, he could see his enemy.
It had started many years ago, of course, as all such things do, and escaped detection for many a year.
Until now, that is.

The moment Supraman had seen them, he knew a dark conspiracy had begun. He had watched haplessly as they grew in numbers.
He had watched haplessly as they became a common sight.
Not anymore.

Almost mocking him, stood tall his enemy.
Its yellow beak caught the moon, its black and white body glistened, but the most offensive sight were the scrawny letters on his chest: “Feed Me!”
The penguin stood tall.

Supraman was the only one who knew the evil designs of the Penguins. Such hatred, such malice could only be found in such utterly disgusting creatures as they. They flapped their ugly feet in a most derogatory manner, clacking their beaks, communicating their evil desires in a language only they could understand.
For years, they had fooled the humans into believing that they were harmless and cute…Imagine that-CUTE!
Bah.
They fooled humans into believing they only ate fish. They had eaten all the Human population long ago, no wonder they were reduced to eating fish.

That was the start.
Deprived of humans, they sought to replenish their stock by taking over the world.
It wasn’t easy, of course. The humans were more dangerous now, having acquired guns, tanks and rockets and missiles and what not.

Thus began an insidious plot to take the world without the loss of penguin life.
The skilled penguins noted that the human society was in fact dominated by another kind…smaller and weaker, by itself unarmed, and even then, totally in control. They dominated the economics, the politics, households, and industries…everything you could imagine. Children, the humans called them.

To control humans, one needed to control children.

The conniving Penguins soon found out a weakness in the children-their lust for all things shiny and cute.
Anyone in their right senses would find a penguin abominable, if not outrightly repulsive, and so a major image make-over was needed.
This was achieved by blackmailing the head of a certain TV Cartoon Channel agency. That, and hypnotism.

Soon, the TV channel was broadcasting the foulest of all Penguin propaganda- Pingu.
Pingu, through ingenious sub-conscious hypnotism, and his foul antics, won the hearts of the children worldwide.
The result is for all to see.

Penguin paraphernalia made their inroads into everything.
Like this park.
This Penguin was disguised as a Trash-receptacle.
Its true purpose was far more sinister- through its open mouth, the penguin served as an intra-dimensional space warp, through which Humans would be channeled to Antarctica- the homeland of penguins ever since their spaceship crashed there.

They had forgotten one thing though: the world still had hope in Supraman!

He had waited long enough.
Now was the time to act.
In one fluid motion, Supraman leapt from his hiding place, his legs outstretched in what was to be a fatal kick.
The air rang with his scream “Die! Evile Penguin!”

The kick connected.

The penguin flew, the garbage falling behind in a parabolic arc.

He was still madly laughing when the guards took him down for vandalism.