The Stamp Paper Scam, Real Story by Jayant Tinaikar, on Telgi's takedown & unveiling the scam of ₹30,000 Cr. READ NOW
The Stamp Paper Scam, Real Story by Jayant Tinaikar, on Telgi's takedown & unveiling the scam of ₹30,000 Cr. READ NOW

Rohit Das

Abstract Tragedy Inspirational


Rohit Das

Abstract Tragedy Inspirational

A Coffee Stained Diary And A Device

A Coffee Stained Diary And A Device

7 mins

It took innumerable scores of sunsets for memories to be etched in yellowed pages fluttering in the cradle of the breeze. It takes away a tiny scrap from those brittle souvenirs of emotions embedded within Alvin each time. He lies still, lost in the sands of time, with emotions intact, in spite of no new footsteps on the sand ever since Alastor came along. His master envisions the world in his hand only to look into the mirror and find himself holding Alastor. Alvin, with ceasing exuberance of his glorious days, flutters on, in harmony with the death bell. Knowing the master's in and out, he struggles to maintain his bits, scampering away with the words that define the miscellany of emotions that the master contains. Alas, his bounds have increased and Alastor shows him the world through the screen. A world, which nonetheless, knows him no better than Alvin. 

"You're turning grey by the hour eh? Poor little thing. Sand clock's gonna hit rock bottom soon! It's time you quit your envy and cherish your master's happiness with me", Alastor chuckles, charging up on the desk beside Alvin. This is the only time they meet, with Alvin negating his presence, knowing of what he has made of the master.

"It's not your lookout Alastor. I presume you turn grey a million times quicker, ending up beside me to revive again. Here I am, dead once my time comes. Perhaps a lot better than being reincarnated for the umpteenth time", Alvin sighs, pages lying still, turned to the portion bearing the master's trembled handwriting, as he penned down his pet's death. There were scribbled all over in the portion. Some places revealed Alvin's scars where the pen dug deep, while somewhere the ink was blotted, tear-stained.

"Argh! Such a ludicrous contempt for being rightfully treated as an outcast. I make the master happy, nitwit! All you do is tie him to his sorrows but what he wants now, is to savor his youthful joy. He loves ME, Alvin. Your brittle bits better shed away soon. I hate seeing your ugly pages every time I boot up for my master to smile again", retorts Alastor, vibrating vigorously in angst.

"I'm a diary Alastor. A place where sorrows are recognized and vented. Our master left void of pain because I carried it", Alvin's blots turn paler. "You're a cell phone. A virtual measure to seek a route where one can be pretentious enough to not recognize true emotions."

Alastor starts vibrating fiercely at the audacity of the hideous scrap, but before he can grunt in the ordeal, the master appears, pulling the plug out of the socket and exhaling in relief as he carries Alastor away with him. Alvin, not surprised anymore with the bereavement, starts fluttering again, wanting the sand to hit rock bottom soon. He hears the master gossiping with his friend, with the aid of Alastor.

"Perhaps, I really am unimportant", mutters Alvin, unsound.

It's hardly been two years since their Master, Harry, changed priorities after Alastor came along, and yet, he resorts to Alvin when the world strangles him. Perhaps, he's yet to know that Alastor is a part of the world. Devoid of personal emotions, all the witnesses are his agonies, curated by Alastor in social media. Days fly by as he scrolls into dawn. Served with pretense, Harry breaks down every now and then. It's quite magical how Alvin relieves him even when Harry scribbles gibberish throughout a page. Magic he's unable to conceive.

The day rolls into dusk, with furthered social conflict and virtual sentiments, as Alastor is sent to revive again.

"Worst part of the day served hot again" blabbers Alastor, irritated.

"Maybe you could recognize my efforts as well at times?", suggests Alastor as his pages flap in a flurry with a gust of wind, onto a coffee-stained memoir. Page number 547.

"Hahaha! Recognize the efforts of a coffee spilled scum who can't even be presentable for the Master?", roars Alastor in laughter and mockery.

"Google is inbuilt inside you, isn't it Alastor?"

"Yes of course! There's no information that I can't supply!", Alastor groans with arrogance.

"You could search up the proverb which says all that glitters is not gold."

"You know Alvin, ever since I laid my eyes on you, your audacity has amused me. It wouldn't take me a penny to burst in your master's hand if you don't shut your proclaimed wisdom already."

"It clears the haze knowing that it's never your servitude or friendship with Harry. It's your arrogance and rivalry with me. Don't you dare hurt him Alastor or.."

"Or what Alvin?", laughs Alastor frantically. "You're gonna flutter past me trying a jab?"

"I don't know. Don't hurt him Alastor. I'm sorry."

"Better. Also, what's with that stain? The date on your page is exactly the day the Master found me! Were you trying to stop him?" questions Alastor in distaste.

"No. He spilled it on me by accident while writing the words, 'The day I had been so impatiently waiting for has arrived. I can't wait to hold my OWN phone. Yesssss!' before going off with his parents to get you", Alvin narrates, going off into a fuzzy of agony, holding his choking voice in place.

"Poor old thing hahaha! You were just a leisure occupier. This clarifies how much I mean to him. 547 huh!? Almost two years and yet.. hahaha! I assume run to a thousand. Where are you now?"


Gutting in supreme merriment, Alastor rejoices, knowing that he'll be of paramount interest really soon.

"Clock's ticking grandie! I must say, you're holding your bits together pretty well. Perhaps the locked closet would help you further."

Alvin sighs. "Yes, Alastor."

With days scampering past human existence, Harry is meted out with the reality of the world and his fragrant social wall breaks down with resentment and realizations, adding toxicity to his life while subtracting his contact list frequently. Raging in sorrow and pain, he shivers while pouring himself a cup of coffee. Alastor starts ringing, catching Harry in tremor, as he picks up his best friend's call who hangs him up saying, "You've changed. You're not the Harry I knew. You're so absorbed in fakery, it disgusts me to my veins. You deserve every bit of it, Harry. Introspect yourself already! You interact with people you don't know hoping for sympathy? Are you this naive? Have you ever read your diary of late? Do you know the person you were? Gosh, you don't". The call died even before Harry could speak, numb to the core. He tightened his grip around his cup. In a flicker, it burst into pieces in his hand while the steaming coffee spilled all over Alastor, who could barely speak, fluctuating in excruciating pain.

Berserk in the turn of events, Harry stood still in a moment of oblivion, looking at Alastor, as blood dripped down his wounded palm. Tears rolling in symphony to his stone-cold face, he washed his hand and wiped Alastor, who was struggling to keep his breath, screen withering out. Harry wasn't in his senses anymore. He put Alastor next to Alvin and went to contemplate, rolling his eyes past the coffee-stained page of Alvin in an open gaze.

"Alastor!! Are you okay!? What's wrong with your screen?" asked Alvin, shocked to see his condition.

"Do-don't bother, fi-filth! Your master is a murderer!"

"It can't be! It must be accidental! What happened!"

"Sh-shut up!" retorted Alastor, abruptly stopped by the entry of Harry who sat on his desk with a straight face and started writing on Alvin, who knew his time was near"

Page 997, Alvin saw through his injured vision, rejoicing in shivers. Harry couldn't stop writing. Alvin, knowing the contents, shrieked in terror as Alastor, recovering, stifled his cries. "Yes, Alvin. You've served long enough." Alvin without paying heed, burst into further wails of horror and cries.

Page 1000.

Alvin's voice grew fainter along with the last words as Harry wrote them, yet still, quiet as an undisturbed vessel of water. "I love you, mom, and dad. I love you, Alvin. Perhaps you knew me more than anyone. You knew a Harry that is no more. Thank you."

Deaf to Alvin's muffled protests, Harry left the room.

"What on earth was that!?" demanded Alastor. "Your time has come. Before he closes you, tell me what is it!?"

"You won't need to know Alastor. Hope you get a great master ahead."

"What are you even saying!? I have Harry and now all he has is me!"

"I AM HARRY Alastor," whispered Alvin, turning weaker. "Your master wasn't Harry."

"Stop with the gibberish and tell me what's going on!"

"I was your master's reflection. I was every emotion of his, from the beginning to the end."

"To the end? Haha! Such a fool"

"To the end" exhaled Alvin. His last. 

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