"Hello."
"Hey there. Aren't you at work yet?"
"Nope, I'm still in my car. You know me."
"Ah yes, of course. Five minutes late to class, five minutes late to the movie, five minutes late for play. No reason why you shouldn't be five minutes late to work as well!"
I heard the familiar chuckle, with genuine warmth in it. "So why isn't Miss Punctuality at work yet?" I riposted.
"I ... took the day off."
A few more minutes of idle conversation. As was the case often, I could sense an aura of depression behind her tone. But our unwritten rule was to not talk about painful topics. "Why spoil a rare good mood by talking about the bad? " she would say, "Leave it be." It was the same when we were friends in school. It was the same when our academic careers diverged, and we stayed in touch by phone. It was the same when we went on with our separate married and professional lives, but never went without talking longer than a month. It was just the way she was.
"Thank you," she said suddenly and unexpectedly, "Thank you for being the one constant good thing in my life."
I was moved. "Why do you persist with things that don't work out?" I said impulsively, "Change your life. Start over. Get a divorce."
"Please. I don't want to talk about it."
Silence.
"Goodbye," she said, with unusual tenderness.
"Goodbye."
I shut the phone and frowned. It was unusual for her to call at this time of the morning; she always called in the evenings, when she knew she wouldn't be disturbing me at work and we would have more time to talk. And there was something about the inflection of the Goodbye, and the unexpected Thank you...
My heart was suddenly seized with dread and I floored the gas pedal.
I rang the bell, and tried the door when there was no answer. It opened noiselessly.
Slit wrists. A pool of blood on the floor.
I gasped in shock and dialled 911. I was composed as I explained the situation, but my hands shook when I felt her neck for a pulse.
I sat on my knees and bowed my head as my tears mingled with the blood on the floor. I already knew... I was five minutes too late.
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12 comments:
heart wrenching... well written... i sincerely hope its fiction
Sunshine,
Don't worry, its 100% fictitious :)
I wanted to write it as a poem, but couldn't get a rhythm so I made it a short story... doesn't quite read very well this way, too short and too abrupt... maybe I'll have better luck next time...
I actually like the short length and the abruptness of it all.. Very well written... I was 10 minutes later to make the cut for the comment before the response... :)
Eeeeks... I was hoping for :
Suddenly she opens her eyes and screams " APRIL FOOL "..
:) well written..the pace is amazing..and ending it with 5 minutes too late.. super..
Regards
Your greatest fan and critic
Vc
I like...lots of derived punch in a short space, good
~alraqs
B-a-l,
Glad you liked it!
Vc,
I'm sure thats exactly how you would have ended it :)
Alraqs,
:)
It was short but perfect...very sharply told..and such a gloomy tale! (sigh!)
Yep the 2nd last line was good. But should have had a more heart rending ending like "I already knew... I was two years (or whatever was the period that she supposedly had a bad marriage) too late."
hi pacha,
that's a nice one. Since when did you start writing short stories like this... anyway, great stuff. are more in the pipeline???
Perspective,
Me too *sigh*
Kaushik,
Next time, I'll try a happier tale!
Kirthi,
C'mon... the 5 minutes thing fits in with the earlier conversation!
Sankar,
Uahahahaa... I tried a fantasy short story earlier, it came out very average... you might find it in my archives, it was also titled "A Short Story"
But yes, I defy want to write more short fiction...
Ok whatever. You are the hero who creates and destroys characters in your story...But five minutes would have been way too obvious. Two (ok lets make that five in keeping with that number) years would have added several layers to their relation.
What is all this heart wrenching melodrama...che che che..
man don't guilt trip being late like this :)...
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