Calicut, British India

04:23 AM

12.01.1901

” tock tock slap…clunk “

” tock slap slap slap.. “

” zrrrr. “

‘argh! fusions of restlessness are combining with this early morning. taking no call to fade into this damn morning.’

deteriorated thoughts of his writer repute.

typewriter making too much noises, though less than theirs and their bed made up of Burma teak.

‘ call me a rhapsody bathtub and suckle all the fiction out of me. make the foam bath my haunted past in it. ‘ he whispers to himself.

Melantha. On the couch. pouring out the last cigarette.

No lipstick, just a deep dark stare at him with a lick.

” clink !“. Burns the boudoir cigarette.

‘I am staring at her lips. Oh! I see them in monochrome. oh is the light?’

‘ Is it the jazz he needs from my mouth at an uneven beat in this morning hours?’

‘ What’s going in her head?

Oh I remember. I hunted that leopard in one of the forests of Madras Presidency.’

” tock tock tick tock.. “

” slap slap slap..clunk! “

‘ oh where’s this glorious art. This Melantha? ‘

Below the table, dark and red eyes with no sleep. eleven cigarettes in ten hours. this one is of a major requirement as less sleep is leading to some helpful work by knees getting dirty.

‘aches should be licked, tickled and sucked. oh yes, wiped also for a longer period.’

‘ah! no. this shouldn’t be leading to your speaking into the mike now’

‘Oh what! the hunt. this is my new hunt.’ A mouth eager to write.

Evil and a cold Grin. The fingers rhyming plot of his hunt of three years back that still haunts him. Hence this endless night till morning and now Melantha’s establishments on her knees.

” zrzrz”

‘ go easy on fingers. i will not though, it’s my mouth..so..’

unzipped. unresolved semi hardness. Melantha’s warm palm on a methodological pace.

“srrpsprs”

‘ oh Jesus. oh. That night was a tremendous etymology of what I couldn’t have thought of and the images of so called ghosts appearing from the jungle. Oh there’s the leopard. ah! no omit the moans. damn.‘

eyes at him. face on a pace.

His eyes nowhere, as if possessed by her tongue. Left hand managing doing something like grabbing on Melantha’s head.

” agh! agh! srrpsrs “

amidst the slow smokes and ashes off, fast gobbles and lockings happening. morning is so black and the upcoming much of white for her.

No. he isn’t able to write. Already two sentences are jumbled up into a new scripture that can’t exist.

And no. He just became a bathtub of an olden Victorian cottage that morning and was at last, on the couch. Couch had some wet and humid scenery. Wink is all he could see from Melantha before dreaming the hunt again.

” ting “

5:00 AM

* boudoir cigarette: brand of cigarette from Adkin & sons. London. *

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