The Demon's Laugh

I've been away. From writing, from reading anything useful, from being productive at all. I've spent the last month slacking, watching Game of Thrones, reading novels, and most of all, sleeping. And as the first month of my two-and-a-half-months' long holidays comes to an end, the alarm clock sounds. "Do something," it says, over and over again. Here I am, 'doing something.' 

Like me, this blog has been hibernating, and I need to write. To fulfill this twofold purpose, I begin my next blog post. I'm not being productive at all, though. This is something I wrote a long time ago. Something I wanted to share. I fancied myself as someone who loved to write. As it turns out, I have barely scratched the surface of the world of writing. I tried to write fiction and fell flat on my face. This is my second attempt, please do bear with me.

A little background on this short story. The institute had a creative writing session, which I attended. They asked us to write the base for a play. There were four themes, and while I do not remember them all, the one I chose was 'Yeh Padosi Bhi Na!' So, here goes:

The Demon's Laugh

She looked beautiful, dressed in a light blue Salwar Suit. She was nervous, and couldn't look into my eyes. Small pleasures, I thought; I couldn't have said what I wanted to, had she been staring at me. What the heck, I figured, closed my eyes, clenched my fist and blurted out, 'Will you marry me?'

A hint of a smile flickered on her face, or was it? Definitely a smile, I thought, as it grew. In seconds that felt like years, the smile widened into a grin and then to a laugh. The laugh grew too, louder and louder as my jaw dropped. She was mocking me. Her voice then turned manlier, like one of those judges on the stand-up comedy show. Kill me, kill me now, I said to myself. I blacked out in an instant, thankful for having escaped from that nightmare. And it was just that.

I lay on my bed, I had woken up with a start. Unluckily for me, the laughter hadn't stopped. It still went strong, loud and clear. As the last threads of sleep faded, recognition kicked in.

'Damn you, Shakti!' I swore, as loud as I could. Nothing changed.

Shakti Dhillon, as a punishment for the sins of my last life, was my neighbor. Ofttimes, he invited half a dozen friends over, God knows how late in the night, got drunk, and made a racket.

I had thought of countless ways to silence this fellow. Some as kind as requesting him gently, and some as harsh as calling the cops on him. In my head I had figured out more, ahem, permanent solutions. Slitting the throat neat, strangling him with a chain till his screams died out, right up to torching him alive. How I wish I could see him running up and down the street, while aflame, hands flailing like they could drop any moment. Now that I think of it, I might have watched a lot of violent movies.

'Never anger a drunk Sardar,' warned my colleague whenever I complained about Shakti and expressed my desire of giving him a piece of my mind. But this had been the last straw. Waking me up when I'm dreaming of her?! Not even a drunk Sardar could get away with that. I kicked away my blanket, raced to the kitchen and picked up the largest knife I could find. Thank God for big knives, I thought, as I felt full of guts with the 6 inch steel in my hand.

I barged in, through Shakti's open door, right up to where he lay lazily on his couch. He was startled, and so was his entourage. I summoned my badass voice, after wondering for a split second if I had one. 'You will zip this bigass mouth of yours when I'm sleeping, Dhillon, or else!' I bellowed, pointing the edge of the knife right beneath his chin, 'or else I will make sure it stays shut forever!'

He shivered; or it seemed to me as if he did. For my satisfaction, I'd even say, a tear escaped from his eye. I turned on my heel, left immediately, without so much as a glance towards his company. I couldn't stop and see if my words had made an impact. On my way out, I thought I heard a low pitched 'sorry.'

The next morning, I saw Shakti. In a small voice, he asked how I had slept.

'Like a log!' I replied, 'but the doctor says I might have started sleepwalking.'