Silwal, The Vampire Slayer

Ashish Silwal looked at the old house in the distance. That old rundown house contained a special object, an armour, a prototype that could probably save humanity from their impending demise. It was the last hope, and it was his job to get it. However, there was a slight problem. Between him and the house, there was a hoard of vampires, thirsty for his blood.

Ashish took a deep breath. He was one of the few people who had been blessed with special powers when the vampires arrived. Nobody knows where the vampires or the powers came from, but no one had the time to ask as they were busy fighting the vampires. However, those with power were few, and humanity was facing defeat after defeat. So, in order to reverse this tide of battle, the humans had created an armour, but the vampires had taken hold of it. So, Ashish, as a member of the Special Corps., was assigned this mission of retrieving it, and he knew he could not fail.

The young vampire slayer took out his customized pistol with silver bullets. With a kick to the ground, he jumped in the air and started shooting at the vampires, guided by the moonlight. One by one the blood suckers fell. The vampires tried to bite him, but he was too fast for them. He kept shooting until he ran out of bullets. However there were still a dozen vampires left, and they quickly surrounded him. They thought he was doomed, but with a smile, he threw away the gun and took off his glasses. But this pair of glasses were peculiar, for the frame was made of silver.

Ashish winked at a vampire and moulded the glass frame into a dart. This was his blessing, his power. He could manipulate silver, one of the few weakness of the vampires. With a swing of his hand, the dart flew into the air, and in a flash, the remaining vampires were dead.

He walked into the house to claim his prize. He opened the chest in the centre of the hall. Here it was, the armour, humanity’s last hope. However, what he saw left Ashish speechless. There was no awesome way of describing the armour, for it looked like a raincoat.

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The Old Lady

The old lady sat on the footpath smoking a cigarette. In front of her was a piece of tarpaulin, and on top of it wad a big pile of gooseberries. She was sitting there to sell them, and this was her source of incomeher daily routine. She did not remember how long had it been since she started selling them on that footpath, but she knew it had been long. For she had been there when the giant building behind her was called the Royal Nepal Airlines Corporation, and it had been about ten years since the Royals were removed.

She used to sell gooseberries in Ason, the busiest place in Kathmandu, Nepal, for retail shopping. However she had to move because the local shopkeepers didn’t like her setting shop outside their doorsteps. She was walking away from that place, when she had discovered the giant building, and the bus park in front of it. The mass of people flowing in and out had motivated her to set up her makeshift  shop there. For some time her business bloomed. She didn’t have land to grow gooseberries, so she had to buy them in order to sale, but the profit was big enough for her to not care.

Many years had passed since those days. For some reason, the number of people in the bus park went up, but her customers went down. Forget the profit, she could barely make money needed to survive the day. On bad days, there were no customers at all, and she had to go to bed with an empty stomach. Today was one of those bad days.

She had been sitting in that bus park since nine in the morning, but her income was dead, so she should be mourning. She looked at the pile of gooseberries in front of her. It was not the best she had ever sold, but she did not have the money to buy better ones. It was getting late, and no matter how many people passed by, no one seemed to notice her. Dejected, she started packing her berries. Looks like her family would go to bed hungry today too. No, she thought. She had to manage some money, some loan, for she could not let her family down.

Her train of thought was interrupted by a young boy in a college dress. He seemed to be interested in the gooseberries. He asked if they were for sale. She apologised and said they were not that good. He said he didn’t mind, and bought some and walked away.

The old lady didn’t know where he came from, or where he would go, but she knew one thing, and that was, she had some money to take home.

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The Red Landline Phone

“But why?”, she asked, holding back her tears, barely holding the phone, but there was no reply. Her love had cut the call without replying. She stood there, her silence interrupted only by the distinct beep of the landline phone.

She was devastated. Her Romeo had broken up with her, saying that she was not her Juliet anymore. He didn’t give any other reason for leaving her, and on top of that, he had done it over the phone. This was just too much. She spinned the dial of the telephone to get a reply, because he was leaving her without saying why. However, he didn’t pick up, no matter how many times she tried. She sat down, unable to comprehend the situation. What had she done wrong? She didn’t know. She had loved him unconditionally, and he did too, at least she believed so. They had been together for years, and now he had left her in tears.

The worst part was that he didn’t give a reason. Was she really that worthless, that he didn’t think it was necessary to tell her why? She didn’t know. She only knew she loved him, but he didn’t love her, and this made her cry. Maybe it was her fault, she started blaming herself. Maybe she was no good, she thought, as she remembered all the quarrels and the fights they fought. Whose fault had it been then? It was probably hers, she thought. No, it was definitely her fault, thats why he left her, she concluded, her heart getting weaker with the growing pain.

This was too much. She couldn’t take it anymore. There was no end to this and she didn’t know where to go, or at whom to shout. So, she found a solution to get all the pain out. She took a knife and cut her wrist open with a slight moan, her blood coloring the floor red, just like the landline phone.

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Three Things I do Well

Its really difficult to pick three things I do well, but when I think about it, there seem to be three things that I am so good at, that I tend to do them instinctively. They are almost like second nature to me, and I execute them perfectly, either consciously or unconsciously. They are: 1) Dodging questions 2) Messing things up (especially friendships) and 3) Daydreaming.

I believe I am really good at dodging questions when I am in a tight spot. I do it so well that not only do I deviate a question with an irrelevant reply, I make it seem as if its the right direction for some time too. I tend to dodge difficult questions and get away with it unscathed. Well, except in my exams. This trick, sadly, doesn’t seem to do so well in exams.

The second thing I am an overachiever in is messing things up. I take something, and try to make it better, but in the end I over do it, and turn it into a hot, ugly mess. I have a tendency of messing up friendships. I try making it better, and although I often succeed, I would be lying if I said that I don’t have a big pile of broken friendships.

The final thing I am good at is daydreaming. I am so good at it that I do it with my eyes wide open, staring into the abyss that doesn’t even exist.(Actually thats how everyone does it, I guess.) I can do it anywhere, anytime. The teacher will be teaching in front of the class, and I would be in a dream where the class is interrupted by an alien invasion, and we all end up fighting them off with newly found superpowers. I could be at the dinner table, and my mind would be dreaming a scenario that has a negative ninety percent chance of actually occurring in real life.

So am I weird? Well, a certain friend told me I definitely am. Is that a bad thing? I don’t think so. Will I stop doing these things from now? I probably won’t. Afterall, these are three things I do really well.

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Tales of War

“Enemy forces are continuing their attack. The brave men of our national military are doing their best to stop their advance. The Prime Minister urges us to stay strong and united in these times of peril.”

The breaking news on the radio could be barely heard over the sounds of bullets in the distant. The young woman sat in the middle of the room holding her daughter tight. There were some girls crying in a corner. Two old men were praying to God, asking for forgiveness for their sins in this life. The young mother too, started praying, asking God to protect her husband in the frontlines.

“Mama, what is happening?”, her daughter, who would turn five this spring, asked.

“It will be alright.”, she replied, as planes dropped bombs in the distance.

“Mama, where is Papa?”, her daughter asked again, with eyes full of innocence.

She could not reply. He was in the military, and was fighting in the frontlines. It had been over two months since she last got any news of him. She didn’t even know where he was right now, alive or in the afterlife. She didn’t know if he would ever return to sing a lullaby to their little girl like before, who expectantly waited for him to come back. She looked at her daughter who was still waiting for a reply. She would have to answer this question with a lie again.

Her reply was muffled by the sound of an explosion nearby.

“Mama, what was that? Why is everyone running? I am scared. I want to go to Papa.”, the little girl screamed with tears in her eyes.

“Its all right, dear.”, her mother said, holding her close to her chest. “Papa will return soon.”, she said, as enemy aircrafts flew over them.

“You know what? Lets play a game.”, the young mother said, with a broken smile. “Close your eyes and count to three.”

The little girl closed her eyes and started counting.

“One… Two…”

There was no three.

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The Vendor

The old man looked at the young customer standing in front of him. He was standing there, with the payment in his outstretched hand. This was a familiar moment for the vendor, a scene that had repeated itself thousands of time in his life, but for some reason, he felt the script was a little different today.

He had faced many customers over the years. Some were talkative,and some were quiet. Some were rich, and others were richer. No matter how they were, they all had one thing in common. They all had an aura around them, a vibe that they were better than him, and be was a lowly vendor who was beneath them. He never understood why they had to be so rude, but it happened so often that he grew accustomed to it.

However, right now, it was different. The young man gave off no such aura, and the old vendor felt something he hadn’t felt in a long, long time coming from the man in front of him- politeness. He didn’t speak much, but the old man was happy to encounter such a person.

“The world needs more people like you.”, the vendor said with a smile, while receiving the payment. “God looks after good people like you. May he bless you with success.”

“Thank you. I hope he hears you.”, the young atheist replied with a smile, and walked away.

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Facing her Father

He looked at her house from afar. He was going to ask her father for her hand, but he was too nervous to get out of his car. What if he said no? What to do then? Where to go? What if her father thought he was a prick? Just thinking about it made him feel sick. He felt his sweat turning cold, but he knew it was now or never, and he had to be bold. He took a deep breathe and got out of his car, ready to face this battle, no more afraid to get a scar. He knocked on the door, her father answered. He invited him inside, but he got to the point. “Will you let me marry your daughter?”, he said, expecting a slaughter. Surprisingly her father said yes. It went unexpectedly easy, and he wondered why earlier he felt like a mess.

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Your Mom Called

“Hey, its your mother.”, the personal assistant said, while holding on to the call that had just come through.

“Oh.”, replied Richard. “Just tell her I am busy right now. I will call her later.”, he said.

“Yes sir.”, his assistant replied.

“Don’t get me wrong,”, Richie said to himself, “its not that I hate her or anything. I absolutely adore her. Its just that I find her interest in my life, a little too suffocating.”

Richard loved his mother. He just didn’t find it necessary to answer all of her questions and calls. He was a believer of personal space and a very busy man. His mother would call every now and then to check on him, as if he was little boy who was going to school for the first time, and he found this a little annoying. He liked that she cared, but he didn’t like how much she cared. He saw it as unnecessary.

Richie used to answer his mother’s calls at the end of the day, every now and then, but it soon felt too bothersome. That plan was failing. He soon started letting his assistant answer the calls. His assistant had become his perfect backup for this job. The assistant would answer the call, and inform him, and would give a reply according to his instructions. Most of the time it would be an excuse that Richie was busy. Very soon, the assistant stopped bothering him about what to reply. He already knew the drill.

Richard would go around doing his work. His assistant would handle all of his mother’s calls, and at the end of the day, tell him about it. This system felt perfect for Richie, and he got really used to it. Soon, the calls from his mom were less frequent, and he felt the system worked pretty well.

But right now, as he stood outside of the ICU, he regretted this system. His mother was inside, fighting for her life, and as he realised the probability of losing her, he realised all the calls he had ignored and skipped. He was angry at himself for not talking to her directly when he had the chance, but instead relying on his stupid assistant. His mother had probably called recently, and he didn’t even know what she had said. He felt a deep pain in his heart.

“Please God, help me…”, Richard prayed, his thoughts scattered all over the place.

His chain of thought was interrupted by the sudden vibration of his smartphone. He answered the call. It was his assistant.

“Sir”, it was his assistant, ” Today, your mom called. She wanted to ask if you would like to have dinner with her tonight. She also asked me to tell you that She loves you.”

Richard dropped his smartphone, accompanied by tears from his eyes, the pain in his heart too strong for him to keep it inside anymore.

This is the continuation of the story that started with “No backup”. Please do read that story too.
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No Backup

“Its always good to have a backup.” Richard said, tossing a coin. “Everything has a backup. It will help you actually succeed, unlike prayers. “, he preached, as the coin landed on the table.

His friends nodded in agreement. No, they were not really his friends. Richard just viewed them as an accessory, a bunch of people he liked to hang out with. He wasn’t attached to them, nor was he addicted to them. If they left him, he had another bunch like them ready. After all, he was a man who felt the need to have backup for everything.

“Sir, here is the bill.”, the waiter put the bill on the table.

“Richie, I guess its your turn to pay.”, one of his ‘friends’ asked.

“Sure.”, Richie replied as he opened his wallet. There was not enough cash in it. It barely covered half the payment. 

Richard sighed.

Richard Symphony Palmer, better known as Richie among his peers, was a man who had a backup for everything. He was ready for any situation, and if they fell apart, he was ready for that too, as if he was expecting it. You could call him a pessimist for this, but he was simply obsessed with backup.

This obsession started back when he was in primary school, where he was a great and hardworking student, but one day had been punished severely for failing to submit an assignment because his notebook got torn. Ever since then he started having a backup. It made him feel safe. There was a running joke among his peers that even his backup had a backup. Nobody knows if this is true, but no one dared to say it to his face because Richie had always managed to overcome his obstacle and succeed due to his obsession with backup.

“Not enough cash, Richie?,” one of the ‘friends’ asked. 

“Yeah.”, Richie said in a small voice. “Good thing I always have a backup plan.” he said, as he handed the waiter his credit card.

“Its always good to have a plan B.”, he said with a grin. The whole table burst into laughter.

Their laughter was brought to an abrupt halt by the ringing of his phone. He answered the call, still smiling, tossing a coin into the air. However, before the coin could touch the ground, Richie was out of the restaurant dashing towards the nearest bus stop.

That call came an hour ago. He was standing in front of the reception in the hospital ten minutes ago. Right now, he was standing outside the ICU.

“Please God, let her live.”, he prayed for the first time in his mature life, as Richard the man who wholeheartedly believed in backups and plan Bs, realised he had no backup ready to replace his mother.

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Someone who had made me feel good about myself

It was about a year and half ago. I had failed in my grade twelve board exams. Unlike the time when I had failed in grade eleven, this time it had hit me real hard. I was really down and depressed. On top of that when I failed the supplementary exams, it was a really dark time for me. Although my family and friends were there to support me and consolidate me and managed to make me feel better, I still felt bad about myself. Then, one day, I started talking with her. (chatting actually.)

None of my class mates from high school knew about my results. She was the first person I told. There was nothing special betweenus, but I decided to trust her on an instinct. I knew she could keep a secret, so I spilled most of mine. We started chatting and this continued on for awhile, and it developed into a somewhat weird friendship. She is not one of my closest friend, but she is the one I trust the most. Just talking with her initially motivated me and made me happy and helped me get through darker times. I might never be able to repay this debt. For this, I would like to genuinely thank her. Although she is abroad now pursuing her education, she still remains one of the nicest friends I ever had. Even if we don’t talk anymore, like we used to do, for me, she will always be a valuable friend.

I am grateful to all my family members and friends that have been there for me, and motivated me, I want to dedicate this writing to that potterhead who somehow managed to make me feel good about myself, in one of my darkest times. So thank you, and I hope one day, you will read this and laugh at this idiot.

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