Nocturnal

All the crazy things to write , that’s what gets decided when they come inside the brain , but when you start writing , oh boy, they are no more. What if you saw people on the street outside your house at three fifty in the morning, with torches. Imagine that – you are trying to sleep but can’t. Some random, stupid, may be uncompleted wishes (read ‘Should have asked her out….or’ Should I still?’ ‘What’s with the age thing anyway, doesn’t make much sense. Much? No sense’) and crazy thoughts, like how would a bullet from an ak 47 would feel hitting you and twisting its way inside the flesh would feel. This might sound like a dream of a sadist, but given the position acquired by this weapon in pop-psyche, its no wonder. Or if you really want a milder version, how about shooting someone else, or being a Special Forces member or something, and may be an MP5 or an M16 instead. Anyway, going a bit too wide of the middle stick here. So you are trying to sleep. The bed is perpendicular to the road, with your head to the wall and legs towards the street.

Scene 1
A quiet street, late at night…It’s a street in a residential area; houses on both sides…most of the houses are right on the steet without any porches or verandas. There are three guys in a house. Say post grad students.

(In the house)

Lights are out. All are asleep except one. He is twisting and turning, trying to stay still. Rest is not assured for him tonight. He hears some murmur outside. May be a dog sniffing at a bush. But those are footsteps, like feathers dropping on tin. The window is right behind him, He moves his head up, he can see the trees at the other side of the road, the leaves enjoying a late night breeze.Suddenly,the first flame appears, immediately followed by the other and then the next. The same view is on the other side. They are parallel running.
He is dumb founded. Not sure if scared, may be thrilled.
The torch bearers are clad in uniforms, ritual like. Kind of KKK, but not white, and certainly not with a pointed hood and a child in one arm. The faces are visible, but they have no vision. The vision is fixed somewhere ahead. They are drawn towards a larger flame it seems. Now there is a third row, walking in between the two lines….

They finally finish. He is still, playing it again and again. I could have taken that on video, given I had a camera. The beauty of it he can not deny. Will this occur again? May be. Goes back to the bed. His own response seems too cold for him. This is like none other, this is X Files stuff; well this ain’t Roswell either. He laughs at that one. Is an explanation necessary? Who cares who they were. Some cult which believes in not disturbing people by not making any noise. Oh but if some pudding hearted fool sees this at 4 o clock in the morning, he is going to think the British have come again to claim one of their biggest colonies back, and a Satyagraha is already underway.Hmmm.He might as well wake the entire street up and call up the fire brigade. Who knows.