55 not-so-fiction


apart from the fact that i am rapidly (yes i used the word “rapidly” as opposed to the “gradually” a couple of posts ago) inflating to the point where people have started describing me as, and i quote, ‘the fat, balding guy who looks a little like olesugun obasanjo’ – with due cause i might add – and that the bmi indicator widget no longer flatters me with “mildly overweight” nothing much worth reporting is happening. not that that was worth reporting either but then you get my point. i’m here to write, you’re here to read so get real. no one really writes “i met maria sharapova” or “monica bellucci” and expects you to believe it. its not the done thing.

that of course is if you disregard the fact that my own humble blog was visited by a poet i have been quoting all over orkut. no not t s elliot – that would be too much of a stretch – i refer of course to stephen cree of polytetrafluoroethylene fame who now has a blog of his own on blogger with a humour rating that rivals that of our favorite stand up artist, sami shah. aaaaand he has become one of the very few people to actually subscribe to my own posts via the help from the feedblitz thing on the left of the screen.

way cool.

to get to something that has been weighing on my mind and by that i definitely mean its a case of the unfunnies we have the sad story of the suicide bombing that rocked karachi a few weeks ago. none of the newsstories i read focussed on the more dramatic aspects of the event itself, and of course why should they? gore is aplenty. you don’t need the dramatics. the papers are selling anyway.

so the recent itch of 55 fiction has bitten again – and here comes my take on what might have happened.

I – the allama

“surprisingly low turnout today. i wonder what it is about peaceful coexistence that turns people off so much?”

his attention is distracted by the young man approaching unusually quickly – and in that instant of enlightenment everything becomes clear. “they knew it was my time.”

the explosion is a rude loud blast heard after its felt.

II – the guard

he had already turned back when the sound of running footsteps made him spin instinctively toward its source. “no! no! no!” is his silent scream as he runs towards the killer, knowing he’ll never get there on time.

“who will take sarah to school tomorrow?”

the explosion interrupts him before he can frame an answer.

III – the nephew

he hears the identifying double beep of the horn before they enter the street. he rushes down the steps and waits at the door as his uncle pauses at the gate. he can’t wait to tell him the results of his finals.

the blast that follows is more final than any exam he ever gave.

IV – the bomber

“this is the moment of truth” he realizes as he steps forward. “this is for heaven and the hereafter”, seeing the lie even as he pulls the cord that blows him to bits.

the last picture in his eyes is his mother’s face.

the one who’s cancer treatment bills can only be covered this way.


One Response to “55 not-so-fiction”

  1. wow..realli grippin dude

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