Crossed Lines

And then he woke up! people say you can remember your dreams little bit so there he was wondering what was happening with him in dreams…being macho in swimming pool filled with girls, getting a mail from the girl who exaggeratedly broke his heart sent a link to vote NAMO as Time person of the year (surprised in the dream too!!), in a dilemma at friend’s birthday party (thinking I need to quit these things, these are killing me).This was not it…he tried to remember hard but lost to complexities of human minds.
He started his laptop to see the time meanwhile thinking God, I need to find my mobile, my father must be angry with me for not talking with him for a long time. It was 6:45 AM, little late than he wanted to…but did he actually decided any particular time? He thought let’s just start, will decide a particular time later. For a few days, after getting kick in the face from everywhere and most painful form inside, he was thinking to change himself. He wanted to be a Forrest Gump, An ultra runner like the way he was in his childhood days…running more than hundred round of a roughly twenty five meter ground. For more motivation he was going to put picture from the Forrest Gump column on his wall filled with his loved cinematic and beautiful game posters.
He didn’t need a smoke to open his eyes completely; he looked like a fighter…fresh, determined, confused, stranger on a foursquare but fighting inside. For the whole night, mosquitoes had bugged him and his dreams so he decided that he is not going to open his windows completely for any reason…he hated mosquitoes; the worst blood sucking creature who love to take away our dreams. There should be a national law with no bugging to people sleeping in any chance .He came out of such thoughts when one last small creature died on his face while disturbing no dream sequence. He decided to brush his teeth’s and then to eat the last banana…secret passage to fitness and body muscle.
He must have drunk a lot of water before sleep since he had to go to pee with brush and tongue cleaner in one hand. Then there he was, standing in front of bathroom mirror like an infant who is just going to open his eyes and see the colorful world in all sense.
He started brushing and thoughts came pouring in random order with the sense of relevancy and sometimes without irrelevancy. I am looking shit with my hair in this manner…my hair is only good thing on me, I suck and nobody cares for me and why would they? There are no free lunches and I have got nothing. I have got a small mark near the left nose, it look sexy that’s why girls like to stare me…who are you kidding? You know the truth; you are a realist and not a sadist. I am doomed, I am finished but I can’t do anything. If I start form now, future will be good, Oh my nose is too shiny and whitish, I may have read somewhere that it’s for lucky and good future people but I have got bad future. There is no pimple on my face now, my friend’s advice to throw water every time must have worked or I need to take some medicines. I am going to talk to my family and good friends today and going to turn tide as my way. It’s too tough, will try to do this from tomorrow. Why am I awake? Morning sleeps are awesome. No way, I want to get that muscular body of Forrest Gump column guy. Life is awesome; I am going to give a flying kiss to the mirror in which I look incredibly handsome with my hair settled. Is there blood in the spit, my life is over, nothing good is happening with me. I need to smash my face on mirror. Is it blood or is it my lack of sleep? This must be personal record for me in front of the mirror. I should come here regularly to know my true self who is lost somewhere in the quest to position him as per society needs…and *they couldn’t live happily ever after…
A poker face emerged from the bathroom with brush and paste in one hand and the inner holding lurking outside. His eyes pointed to the ground tough to decide if he had tidy hair or untidy hair. It looked like he had tried to cross some line but couldn’t decide. But he is surely going for it or completely leaving it very soon. Injury time had started for that thinking small creature.
Meanwhile, a warm bed, a sport shoe without socks, a bright morning sun was betting on something with fumes of laughter, rejection and sheepishness.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s