I have been finding myself a lot more OC these days. I have plenty of other things that currently require my attention, but when I read the themes in a short story competition my mind materialized a story which I was forced to put into words. I quite enjoyed the topics in this competition; rarely do we see such nice topics/themes. But the date for this competition is long past nor would I have qualified or submitted an entry. Spent a sleepless night meant for studying writing this, hopefully it is nice.
-------------------------------------------------------------
Waiting at the signal, I noticed that he looked unusually rushed today. We always managed to reach this signal at the same time, every day. Though I had many principles in life that had evolved and changed, punctuality was one thing that always remained. I was late only when fashionable lateness was required. He too seemed to be stickler for time and now our morning meetings had become inevitable. As strangers we ignored each other initially but as these meetings repeated, we nodded in acknowledgement. Slowly, we progressed to smiling at each other. He was a tall, dark, middle aged man with glasses, neatly combed hair and dressed in office attire. My guess was he took the 8’ Ó clock bus to the city from the bus stop 15 meters away from the signal, but I never looked back to see him actually do so. Today as the signal turned green, he hurried across the road when a heavy breeze blew away one of the papers he held loosely. When I picked up the paper, he was already out of hearing distance and the signal had started blinking red. In my confusion, I crossed the signal and then decided it was too late to chase after him, I pushed forward to school.
--------------------------------------------------------------
I reached for the snack box in my bag minutes before the school bell had rung (always punctual) and along with it came the paper I picked up this morning. At a glance I noticed that the A4 sheet was covered in words, upon taking a closer look, it resembled a story/script. With a little bit of imagination, I derived at stories within a story, written in style most engaging. I passed the paper around when my friends asked what I was staring at so intently. As they read the sheet, one looked more mesmerized than the other. The writing style kept us expectant for the next page. My respect for the middle-aged man had multiplied folds. I took charge of the paper and ironed out the creases and placed it neatly among my books. While walking home, my bag seemed more precious and tons heavier than it did that morning.
--------------------------------------------------------------
With a job to accomplish, an earlier start to the day was necessary. I sprinted to the signal and waited…He arrived at his usual time and flashed a difficult smile at me from across the road. After what seemed like a long wait, the signal changed from red to green. He crossed the wide road and avoided further eye contact. Like a lion watching its prey, I waited for the man to reach my side of the road and I stretched out the piece of paper. His face changed from a question mark to a warm smile. Being an opportunist, I struck a deal for returning the paper. I was to have the rest of the story in return for my favor. I knew I was being unreasonable and he realized that too. But after some thought, he handed the thick folder of un-copyrighted manuscript to me. I should have guessed, he would have stored another copy elsewhere and didn’t need to tolerate my unreasonable request but he seemed to trust me. I held the folder close to my heart and walked to school.
-------------------------------------------------------------------
Jumping onto the bed with the folder, I began to absorb every word written. I laughed, smiled, cried, pondered and got involved and attached to the script. 374 pages of reading through the night and I was awestruck. That night I slept with a grin on my face.
Next morning I woke up with a heavy heart. I had promised to return the manuscript back to Mr. Shivam, but was so attached to that I did not want to part with it. I slyly placed my fan mail at the end of the manuscript and walked. My dramatic dream of a kiss to his hands was replaced with genuine praises and hearty congratulations when I did meet him.
Days, weeks and months passed, I hadn’t seen him at the crossing ever after. Again one day when I crossed the signal we crossed paths again. He stopped me to hand over a book. Smelling the scent of new print, I opened the pages. I had received a personalized copy signed by the author himself and on the back cover I found familiar words from my fan mail written below critics and reviews from the New York Times. Thrilled, I thanked him for the book as he crossed the road.
-------------------------------------------------------------
Waiting at the signal, I noticed that he looked unusually rushed today. We always managed to reach this signal at the same time, every day. Though I had many principles in life that had evolved and changed, punctuality was one thing that always remained. I was late only when fashionable lateness was required. He too seemed to be stickler for time and now our morning meetings had become inevitable. As strangers we ignored each other initially but as these meetings repeated, we nodded in acknowledgement. Slowly, we progressed to smiling at each other. He was a tall, dark, middle aged man with glasses, neatly combed hair and dressed in office attire. My guess was he took the 8’ Ó clock bus to the city from the bus stop 15 meters away from the signal, but I never looked back to see him actually do so. Today as the signal turned green, he hurried across the road when a heavy breeze blew away one of the papers he held loosely. When I picked up the paper, he was already out of hearing distance and the signal had started blinking red. In my confusion, I crossed the signal and then decided it was too late to chase after him, I pushed forward to school.
--------------------------------------------------------------
I reached for the snack box in my bag minutes before the school bell had rung (always punctual) and along with it came the paper I picked up this morning. At a glance I noticed that the A4 sheet was covered in words, upon taking a closer look, it resembled a story/script. With a little bit of imagination, I derived at stories within a story, written in style most engaging. I passed the paper around when my friends asked what I was staring at so intently. As they read the sheet, one looked more mesmerized than the other. The writing style kept us expectant for the next page. My respect for the middle-aged man had multiplied folds. I took charge of the paper and ironed out the creases and placed it neatly among my books. While walking home, my bag seemed more precious and tons heavier than it did that morning.
--------------------------------------------------------------
With a job to accomplish, an earlier start to the day was necessary. I sprinted to the signal and waited…He arrived at his usual time and flashed a difficult smile at me from across the road. After what seemed like a long wait, the signal changed from red to green. He crossed the wide road and avoided further eye contact. Like a lion watching its prey, I waited for the man to reach my side of the road and I stretched out the piece of paper. His face changed from a question mark to a warm smile. Being an opportunist, I struck a deal for returning the paper. I was to have the rest of the story in return for my favor. I knew I was being unreasonable and he realized that too. But after some thought, he handed the thick folder of un-copyrighted manuscript to me. I should have guessed, he would have stored another copy elsewhere and didn’t need to tolerate my unreasonable request but he seemed to trust me. I held the folder close to my heart and walked to school.
-------------------------------------------------------------------
Jumping onto the bed with the folder, I began to absorb every word written. I laughed, smiled, cried, pondered and got involved and attached to the script. 374 pages of reading through the night and I was awestruck. That night I slept with a grin on my face.
Next morning I woke up with a heavy heart. I had promised to return the manuscript back to Mr. Shivam, but was so attached to that I did not want to part with it. I slyly placed my fan mail at the end of the manuscript and walked. My dramatic dream of a kiss to his hands was replaced with genuine praises and hearty congratulations when I did meet him.
Days, weeks and months passed, I hadn’t seen him at the crossing ever after. Again one day when I crossed the signal we crossed paths again. He stopped me to hand over a book. Smelling the scent of new print, I opened the pages. I had received a personalized copy signed by the author himself and on the back cover I found familiar words from my fan mail written below critics and reviews from the New York Times. Thrilled, I thanked him for the book as he crossed the road.
