Space Truckin’
What’s it going to be then, eh?
The three of us were sitting in the pub that evening. He came along with his girl friend. She was very pretty and had everything, nice figure and all. He had landed up a cushion job in some place, all very nice with some cool pay-packet and all.
The two of them were very happy. They were sipping on their beers and smoking their cigarettes. I asked, if any one of them knew how to make smoke-rings. They said, no. I always tried making it but then I don’t even know how to take a proper drag. I never told any one that I don’t know how to smoke them ciggies properly. It makes me sound all foolish. I rarely smoke and even less of a drinker I am.
I wasn’t feeling all that okay that night. I loosened up my tie, I was not in the office anymore, I could do that. This corporate dress code is real killer, stuffs me like anything. All those suits and ties-pins and shoes and cuff-links and all. This is not Amerika goddammit! In these summers I feel like a black blot, the heat is just so much.
Maybe the heat had gotten to me. At that moment I just wanted to beat up somebody and I mean a real good beating. Like they do in those gory Jap films. Like eeking out the eyeballs with my fingers. Crunching some balls under my boots. I felt like taking out someone’s uvul…or whatever is it called, that thing which hangs at the back of one’s throat, by getting a knife inside, twisting it real bad and taking out all the tongue and blood; and felt like stabbing someone in the mouth again and again and again. I wanted to see someone cry real bad, beg for my mercy and cry, and I wanted to see him die. Bit by bit and crying and splutting blood. Trying to crawl away but I would hold him back, I would step on his face, I would squish his lips under my boots and make him eat dirt, all very good. I don’t know what was happening to me. I just wanted to kill, to be violent. To smash up those glass tables and those glaring dance-floor lights, something. Something.
Then they came back, they were all tired and all sweating after the dance. He said something in her ear and she started giggling. They were like laughing and falling over each other, spilling beer all over, all very happy. Very good. They were about to get married and get settled and have kids and all. Like settled.
It must be real nice to get settled. Everything falls into its normal place. You have kids, you send them to schools, you wake them up everyday, you get them dressed, you worry about their homeworks, you worry about that bully in the class. Then they grow up, you get calls from their teachers that your kid is not doing all too well or maybe he is doing too well, you feel proud or you feel angry and ashamed and embarrased. Your kid grows up even more, he gets into drugs or maybe into street gangs or maybe into MMS making or maybe into studies or maybe into nothing at all. You worry even more, you worry about their future, you worry about your future. You worry: will he land up with a cushion job, will he climb up the ladder real quick, will he take care of you when you get old, you worry.
You get settled, you work till you retire, you take a well deserved break after that. Then you come back to your home, you have got all the books to read, all the telly to watch, all the gossips to idle. Then you just sit at your home and find fault with everyone, right from your newspaper vendor and your local grocer and that sales girl in the Mall to your doctor and your fellow morning walkers and the establishment and everyone. You do all this while your wife keeps on yacking at you, your kids don’t listen to you and you keep talking to you.
Then you grow real old like you cannot move on your own and everything. By this time you have had a hip-replacement a by-pass and many other things, you eat many medicines. The medicines have no effect because you know you are going to be dead soon. Then you start shitting and pissing in your bed, you get a nurse if you are rich or you get your wife to clean up your mess if she is not already dead or you have your kids doing the stuff for you if they are any good or you just keep lying in your own shit and piss all full of stink and all. Then you start talking to God, you feel real close to him, you ask him to take you away. But He doesn’t, and when you feel like you are feeling all nice and happy, you die. That’s it, that’s the end of it all.
Now I was feeling real sick, so I just stood up and said goodbyes all round and went outside. I went to the car-park and sat in my fireball red convertible and drove away into space. I could see the Venus shining bright on my right.
Isaiah says:
This is inspired by \’A Clockwork Orange\’, the novel. It also happens to be the 500th post on this blog.
July 27th, 2006 at 01:23 am
Uttam Bhat says:
Ur da next Stephen king mate!:D
July 27th, 2006 at 03:46 am
Neha says:
Stephen King??? Grow up pls. its high time.
July 27th, 2006 at 10:38 am
Isaiah says:
Thank you Neha, thank u Uttam…but i’ve read only one of his books and that too was a long time back.
July 27th, 2006 at 01:50 pm
saasha says:
cool nice ur gettin 2 b saasha
keep up d goood wok who knows u wld be saasha 1 day
July 28th, 2006 at 02:03 am
Kunal Goel says:
stop writing immediately if it’ll lead to becoming saasha.
July 28th, 2006 at 04:15 am
Isaiah says:
Stop Writing!! I have shunned it aleady…there’s nothing worse than being cyrus, oops! saasha…
July 28th, 2006 at 02:06 pm
Deepa says:
i think i know the characters..;-)
nice writing though…
take care…
July 28th, 2006 at 03:17 pm
Isaiah says:
The characters look familiar but they weren’t intended to look so…maybe my subconscious took over…anyways thanks!!
July 28th, 2006 at 03:32 pm
S.Bharti says:
It was really good work..
I appreciate your writing…
keep it up!!!
October 27th, 2007 at 11:57 am
carrie says:
(a) Its a “cushy” job.
The writing style of Isaiah appears to change from earlier pieces. Is it because of the influence of the inspiration or because Isaiah has evolved?
July 27th, 2008 at 09:03 pm