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Himanshu Prajapat

Horror Crime Others

4.7  

Himanshu Prajapat

Horror Crime Others

The Unknown

The Unknown

4 mins
382


Not all writers have a vision, few just go by the instincts each day brick by brick. They have stories surfacing in their head, and I tell you some of them are nasty, at least in their head. When it converts into letters and words not always it will have a greater significance as vivid it is in their mind. My name is a storyteller, yes it sounds weird in your world storyteller should be the person who becomes a storyteller however not all writers have storytellers per se, I am the only evidence who is speaking to you, the first voice and the first-hand narrator. I keep him busy with weird ideas and illogical explanation of the world. Sorry I forgot to mention him, pale eyes, slim body, kind of a face which is sleepy and looks bit outlandish – is that the right word I just used and I forgot to mention a puckered face. He keeps himself busy with books, games and fantasy girls, girls he can never get.


Ya that’s right he keeps staring at them like a moth. Never quite understood the hormonal challenges because I do not have a body I am just a fragment of the mind or to put it more subtly Like an (IA). In a way he looks tired, like a war dog, almost bad with charming girls although he can lure them with words he never learned this quality of wooing girls I tell you, never mind too much of bad mouthing about my dear friend who is a creator of me.


He’s a quiet child and more likely a person who has a world inside and not that he is abnormal outside but inside he is a king at least he likes to believe that.


Well, one fine afternoon something as terrible as the winter occurred and he took a giant step outside his house without wearing his favourite star war shoes. He kept running directionless.


He took a pause and sat beneath a tree shade and sobbed liked a kid, for hours, I only realised one of the hormones told me that human shed body water when they are sad? Is that even true!


Anyways, things unfolded as he opened a crumpled paper from his pocket which had a white page and a strange geometrical design was drawn on it somehow I thought he lost a book or something but it was more than that, he appeared to be very strange in terms of his body language is concerned. Last night he saw something creaking at his back door which is closer to the woods and connects to the dense forest,


In order to look at what is there he went a bit far when he returned here was dot marks on his left hand and he’s cerebral capacity was more than normal, but it still had old memory intact, which was again unusual.


The next day he becomes more quiet than usual, he didn’t attend school and sat alone in the jungle, there was a huge surge of information which came all of a sudden inside him it’s like a Computer RAM; has more information than memory left. He kept walking fast and began to run and his heart was pounding, he had saliva all over his shirt, the worst part is there is no imagination, I mean literally blank I wondered was it a consequence of fear. I didn’t believe any of it but the heart was failing and lungs were about to be punctured. His limbs kept running, to a point where every joint starts creaking. He took a halt near to a huge rock, and bent on his knees and started to puke, and holy mercy he vomited his intestines. I don’t know but the sensory organs kept telling me there is a strange smell which they are not aware of.


As he became stable for a while, there was a huge circle, like a black hole opened in the rock. For a minute the body didn’t recognise it, the smell was more vivid and it was all around him.


Something broke the body in half, and a small and very dark creature came out of it, began smelling everything around like he is new to this world, till the time I could understand the last breath from his body has gone.


To be continued...



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