Little by little

Sighing to myself, I step onto the customs line at the airport. It wasn’t a particularly long flight, being just under four hours, but it was in the middle of the night and I am not a fan of sleeping on airline seats. The economy seats seems to be getting more and more congested every time I fly.

But the benefit of a red-eye flight is the lack of lines. Most people would rather spend a little more money and get a more comfortable timings and deals with the line. Me; I can’t deal with lines at all. I just never got the appeal of standing around for so much time, with so many other people, all of them cramped together worse than tuna in a can because at least the tuna gets some breathing room. No, not here though. These people would rather spend hours grinding and rubbing against the same people they would be stuck with inside the giant metal dildo with wings rather than take a late night flight.

Not for me; I like flying at odd times on odd flights. Besides the minimal waiting time, there’s also the benefit of knowing that these people want as little to do with other people as me. No shoving, pushing or rubbing here. These people keep to the lines, stand apart and wait quietly.My kind of people.

It doesn’t take long for me to clear customs and collect by bags. I smile as I reach the arrivals lounge. The gigantic terminal walls limits my view of the outside to the cabs waiting on the asphalt to carry us wherever our hearts desire for whatever fares they desire. Looking up, I see the glass ceiling  and through it the inky black sky of the pre-dawn morning.

I slowly push my trolley towards the bathroom, whistling. Walking in, a cursory glance showed it to be empty. Not surprising really; another benefit of flights at this particular time. Very few people flying and most of them just trying to get home, or the closest to home in this city, as quick as they can.

Looking under the cubicle doors to ensure privacy, I lift my bag to the counter and open it up. Inside were two little shampoo bottles filled with clear liquids; one slightly viscous and the other with a more watery constitution. Setting them on the counter, I retrieve the other two packages in my bag. Looking at the door to check if anyone was coming in and satisfied that I’m alone, I climb onto the counter and reach up to the dropped ceiling above. Gingerly lifting the tile, I reach in and slowly pull out the device I had left there on my previous trip.

I step down and place it on the counter. Now came the tricky part: I had to be very careful to mix the nitric acid and the glycerine properly. One careless move and months of works would blow up in my face; quite literally. I take a deep breath and open the bottles. Slowing and carefully I mix the contents of the shampoo bottles in a container attached to the device I just retrieved.

When the mixture is stable and ready, I open the package and take out the waxy blocks inside. All this while my ears are pricked to check if any of the very few people in the airport are coming to use the facilities. Carefully I add the final ingredient to the mix and seal the container.

I finally let out a sigh of relief. That was the hard part, the rest of it was easy. I fix the container to the device and finish the wiring work. The finished product brings a smile to my face. I replace it back in the ceiling and close up my bag.

That was the last one. Finally, after months of doing this, all the pieces were in place and ready, all the devices had been set up and they were all just waiting. All it would take now is for someone to push the big red button to set off the show.

The sun had finally started coming up when I reach the gates and step outside. Hailing a cab, I put on my sunglasses and smile at the rising sun.

Once the cab was crossing out of the airprort into the city, I pull out my phone and open up a simple app. I tap the big red button and smile when I hear the boom in the distance. It feels so good to see something you’ve put in so much time, effort and planning into, pay off.

Someone had been very right when they had said that with enough soap you can blow up just about everything


The cost of a life

It’s dark. Seems like the power’s out again. Not that it matters to me. All I’ve seen for the past year is the same goddamn bit of ceiling and darkness. I couldn’t look at anything else unless someone else decided that I could. I hoped once again that my life support would give out and I would kick it. No such luck. I’ve been off the support for a while. Just a self sustaining vegetable now.

I had always hoped that if I ever found myself in this situation, someone would have the decency to off me. Unfortunately, I never got around to telling my family about it. Not really the easiest of topics to bring up on your biannual visits home.

I sometimes wish that that truck was moving either fast enough to kill me or slow enough to just break something and be done with it. Bit as my luck would have it, it was moving just at the right speed where it threw me off with enough force to merely break my neck and leave me in this state.

I don’t even remember what really happened. I was walking along the road, and a truck came barreling out of nowhere like a dog chasing a car. I just stood there and blinked a couple times.


Just like that it happened; in a flash. Wasn’t even trying to save a cute kid or a hot chick. Just walking along not paying attention to the world around me; the usual stuff.

Didn’t even get to complete my last words. And I had spent so much time thinking it up. Life’s a bitch as they say.

The driver came to apologise. Couldn’t really tell him that it’s cool, don’t worry about it. Wonder what was going through his head. Wonder where he is now and how he’s doing.

I wonder if he did anything dramatic. I hope he didn’t.

Mom cried when it happened. She cried a lot during those days. Not anymore. She stopped smiling too. She still talks, or tries to. She teIls me about her daily life, about my friends and distant family and sometimes about the stray dogs that live in our neighbourhood. She really doesn’t seem to know what else to do and I don’t know how long she can keep it up. It’s kinda hard to have a conversation with a wall. But it’s some kind of human interaction.

Dad kinda just comes here to watch movies with me. He was never really a movie buff and always picks the very obvious choices. Still fun though; beggars can’t be choosers and anything kinda works for me.

There is one thing that really bothers me though. Through all of this, there’s that one thing that keeps nagging at my mind. At times it seems to consume my thoughts and at other times it’s just a nagging, buzzing thought in the corner of my mind, but it’s always there. It’s probably the only thing I really miss. It’s not really anything big or great, but at times like these, it’s the little things that really matter.

Little things like being able to scratch my nuts. Seriously you will never know how much a man can miss scratching his nuts.


WARNING: The following short involves a scene that may be be disturbing to many people. If you are not comfortable with graphic scenes and content, please do look away

I was nervous. Very nervous. This was my first time doing something like this and there was an uncertainty within me.

My breath came in short, hard bursts. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest like an animal trapped in a cage pushing at the bars. My hands were sweaty and shaky. My eyes were unfocused and my vision hazy. My mind was racing; occupied by a single train of thought.

Should I do it?

No, not could I, but should I?

I knew I could do it. I wanted to do it; I had craved it for so long. My thought had been of nothing else in the weeks leading to this.

I had been careful and planned it all in advance. There were no loose ends, no witnesses; the warehouse was part of a district that had been abandoned years ago. No one else was around for a few miles, especially at this time of night; except of course the woman who was currently tied to the chair in front of me.

Even as bedraggled as she was, she looked beautiful. The makeup around her dark eyes smudged, not with tears but the same sweat that held her black velvety hair to her face. Her eyes were alive and full of anger and hate, even though her body was tired. The most exotically sensual vision of strength and beauty I had seen in a long time. It would be a shame, even a sin to destroy something so beautiful.

But it was her beauty that I had chosen her for. Such beauty and power was exactly what made her perfect. I did not know if I would another so suitable, so fitting. A work of power required a subject with strength.

But what if she was not right? What if there was someone more suited to such a work of art, a setting more fitting.

The more I thought, the more confused I was. I ran my hands through my hair. There was only one way to be certain, I thought as one hand moved down; slowly drifting from the back of my neck, over my torso, moving lower. My other hand moved gently through her hair, the dark locks soft and wet between my fingers. Every sensation was heightened, every sense sharpened. My entire body was tingling in anticipation.

As my hand neared the waist of my trousers, closer to its destination, I slowly pushed her head back; looking into the burning embers of her eyes. My mouth felt dry as my breathing became slower, deeper.

I saw realization in her eyes; realization that the time had come and that nothing would stop it from happening. But there was also a certain pride that she had not succumbed to her fear, not screamed for help or mercy, that she had fought her best to stop me. It brought a certain joy to see this. I had chosen well indeed.

I felt my hand reach my instrument, my tool; felt its length and its hardness. I gulped and gently bit my lower lip. It felt reassuring, calming to hold it in my hand. The doubts faded, my thoughts cleared. And I knew. Knew what I should do. What I had to do. An artist cannot hesitate, cannot falter in his vision.

Slowly, gently I released it from its bindings. My grip was firm but gentle. My fingers caressing it. It felt right, ready.

I eased the tip into her mouth; past her soft, luscious lips. She was accepting her fate. My breath shuddered and caught in my throat at the excitement that I felt.

I gazed into her eyes; still defiant, still burning. Even in her final moments she would not break. She truly was the perfect subject for my first work.

My heart raced. My breathing was fast and deep. All thought fading from my mind. We both closed our eyes as I slowly squeezed back on the trigger.

The sound of gunfire seemed to come from far off as my mind went blank; my breath stopped for a moment that seemed to last an eternity. A moment of pure ecstasy. All I saw was a bright light as the back of her head flew open like a dam exploding; chunks of blood, bone and brain flew out like a flock of birds in the evening sun, before splattering on the wall, a moment captured eternally in my mind.

A few flecks of blood fell on my face. I could feel them there; their warmth as I slowly returned to my senses. My breathing returned to normal. Tentatively I licked a drop of blood near my lips. The salty, metallic taste was refreshing and calming.

I slowly opened my eyes and removed my gun from her mouth, holstering it. I saw the pattern on the wall and smiled.

It was perfect. A perfect beginning.

I gently untied her. My work was not yet complete. It still needed a big finale. I started thinking of the possibilities as I carried her corpse out with me.