Google Talk

"Could you bring some milk?"

This is the 6'th time that this question is repeating. She knows I am on the internet. She knows I am with my virtual friends, talking and joking around, laughing merrily, comforting each other through my fast moving finger tips, across the thin air, to a wireless box, to somewhere else through the jumbled wires, to some other eyes and minds which tickle them to laugh and smile and resonate with me. Why can't she stop pestering me? I can't stand this for long. either I have to shout or I have to go to the shop nearby and get some milk.

Shouting is too much effort. I slowly put aside my laptop, get up from my couch, take my vallet, and start slumbering to the door. I open the door. From the apartment next door, the girl in her twenties smiles at me. We've never talked, but we smile whenever we see. That's all.

I get out of my apartment, and start slowly walking through the narrow ally. A three year old kid, boy, is riding his tricycle. Blue eyed boy in his tricycle. Cute kid.

I cross the street. Two brothers, maybe 14 year olds, walks arm in arm, and they cross the road, each making sure that the other one is safe from speeding vehicles.

I get into the shop. The shop keeper is all smiles. Helper boy helps me with a bottle of fresh milk. Everyone smiles. I am their regular customer. Ofcourse they know me.

I walk out of the shop. But the sun is burning red. The air is so hot, so dry, so sickening. I can see that the shop keeper beating the helper boy, with his thick, gold watch wearing hands, slapping the boy's face for some crime he hasn't even committed. I can see the helper boy's red face, eyes filled with anger and sorrow and injustice and pain. Helpless helperboy. Trying to smile but crying.

I can see those same brothers, shouting at each other, fighting each other, trying to kill each other. Twisting and turning and getting on top of each other in this dried up sand, this dusty mud, while thousand mute spectators watching, without a word, without a sigh, with sleepy bored eyes. Kill each other. Like a silent movie.

I can see the small kid, who was in the tricylcle, now on some strangers lap, who's cuddling the kid, molesting the kid. His genitals paining, he can't do anything, the kid cries out loud, he can't speak, he can only feel the killing pain, on his small, tender body, crying out for help, crying and crying.

I climb up the steps to my apartment , running and sweating, and I can see my neighbour girl, in my bed, beneath my body, struggling against me. Kicking me, Sobbing against my throbbing body.

The world is simmering, boiling, screaming, howling in the streets, shutting you out with the constant, loud pitched, non stop noise, persistent screech. violent faces dancing with those bloody eyes, blood socked toungues, the world calls you to come, come, join our hands and dance this maddening oscillating vibrant blood red dance. The screaming becomes louder and louder and louder and louder and..

...bang

I shut the door, and lie on my couch. Silence fills me. Only the constant low voiced hum of air conditioning. Monitor is not too bright. Peace. A Google talk window pops up.

Raju: da, how are you?
Me: good, how are you.