The Itching Uselessness

Relive those fears again! SPOILER ALERT: DO NOT READ "NOTE FOR REVIEWERS" BELOW BEFORE READING THE STORY.

I had been on that rotting chair all evening.

The particular lane was quite near the house and I had been on one of my regular evening walks when the odd discovery was made: a stone slab lying at the corner on the pavement. The inscription on that yellowed stone was in Devnagari Hindi, and upon it inscribed a rather unusual, haunting rumination; a terrorising conjecture of some callous fiend: whose identity I had no stinking idea about. The riddle read: किसी चाय पीने वा_ से ये पह_ बार कहा _या हो_…

I lit the room with candles. The etched thought, now dimly illuminated, already occupied much of my attention, instilling in me a new-found sense of uselessness --- that I had been drinking tea for the better part of my living, and yet was unable to fathom the end to that riddle. It was as if, the people of those ages decided to play a cruel joke on their ever so developing, modernising progenies. The stone must have been first sculpted as part of some great tomb, monument or pyramid long, long ago. A lot had taken place since, much more thought-provoking events than their lousy silly joke.

Back then, I used to be a man of my present age and the only subject manifesting my thoughts presently was that inscription on the stone, roughly translating to “Any tea-drinker must have been told this for the first time…”

 

Why did I ever come across this accursed stone?

 

The deciphering of the riddle was only possible due to my immense interest in Vedic scriptures of India. Hindi is the first language one learned to be versed with taking the first baby steps to comprehending the secrets of ‘Nothingness’ encrypted in compositions in the ancient language of Sanskrit; the path to enlightenment is rumoured to be recorded within these holy scriptures. It is a widely accepted analogy in India: most unearthly mysteries lie veiled in sight, so deeply absorbed into our surroundings; they have become indiscernible to rational, cynical minds. That stone slab reminded me of my week-long stay in reddened ruins of the abandoned stone-civilisation on the borders near hidden dunes of the Thar --- the stone seemed abandoned too, longing to be united with its body; but this stone was clearly not Indian or of the neighbouring subcontinent, clearly stolen too. Why else would it be lying around on a street, thousands of miles away?

Maybe it was looted from its plundered body; smuggled through India in a distant past; then, not so long ago, thoughtlessly left here . . . but there was a likeness, a familiarity I felt for that piece of stone, as if I had seen it somewhere else . . . but where?

 

Nowhere.

(Something unusual itched me)

 

At the time, it agitated me; my conscience answering me in such a frivolous manner. How could a stone not belong anywhere? It must be a part of a bigger piece. I could not tell, but had made up my mind to deduce its origin . . . I had to think hard but that wretched modern wall clock

 

AAH! NOT AGAIN!!!

(. . . tickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktick . . .)

 

These clocks have always ticked unwontedly into my head!!

 

The monotonous tick-tick that replaced the rhythmic, classical tick-tock in those ‘new, sophisticated’ clocks irked angst-filled, destructive sensations inside my head. It was as if they teasingly triggered an atomic time bomb, carefully designed to avert me from fathoming that one second it would blow up, finally plonking the end to such abhorrent ordeals. Not knowing things, their purpose or their destiny is the singular most nagging, traumatic tribulation any sound person --- like me (Something unusual itched me) --- might encounter. It is like purchasing an album record without an album cover, wondering what it would be like to be reckless for a while, for once, just once in life to not judge the book by its cover . . . but deep down it is realised: a rotten flower will never bloom; it is accepted: what horrors ensue uncertain tunes when the worst is realised; hearing an impulsively bought music album, that too, on vinyl would do excessive damage to mental peace; almost tragic when that happened. It has truly been said: Tragedy does not come cheap.

I lived alone, renting a small one bedroom house filled with termite-infested furniture, very near the Millola Town Square. My parents left the city after a few months in the fall of ’93, not before selling me as a baby (Something unusual itched me) when they were diagnosed with poverty, to a sympathetic neighbour who knew of my parents’ miserable fortune. My childhood was spent in the boarding at the Yachs Parow School for Boys (Literature, Philosophy and Football being my subjects and sports of interest) in the county of Girchwood, three towns away, down the southward road, from Millola. At age thirteen, unsatisfied with formal education, I rejected it and began to work and learn philosophic verse with my stepfather, at his clockworks shop (where my love for old clocks began). On the few days off work, I read voraciously, all night to morning, and then spent my time lazily: munching on snacks and sodas or leftover dinner, watching the telly --- mostly cartoons or sitcoms --- or philosophising on afternoons; often wrote my heart out at dawning twilight. On occasional nights, if the sandman stopped by, I dreamt of the stories coming true; mostly nightmares. Stepfather passed away in the 7/7 London bombings. He had been on that bus to buy groceries for the week. It had been my turn to do the groceries but . . . but that turn I had chosen to snooze off; off dreaming. Like my dreams, life always flowed seamlessly for my stoic stepfather: subsequently, he must have decided to finish the chores himself. Life came to an abrupt halt; I instantly matured. Three guilt-ridden years had passed before I had to grab hold of my life. After selling my late stepfather’s shop I travelled through three continents, thirty-nine countries, spent days and nights in the most macabre of inns, darkest of forests, scariest of islands and most lonesome of caves and still had never (still never have!) come across such a situation that coming in possession of that stone had put me in. I had had guilt, shame, disgrace, some solitude, plenty embarrassment, ample loneliness, even a fair share of humiliation but uselessness surrounded me into a cocoon of bafflement and gloom: my failure to fathom the answer to that inscribed riddle on the stone made my skin itch with uselessness; my ideas took a turn for the worse.

 

 

What can it be?

I ran my fingers through my hair.

 

What can a tea-drinker hear for the first time? Any chunk of history, any singular experience? A secret no one knows?

A need for a drink arose in my hands.

 

But inscriptions in the olden days were made only if something were of importance or of wisdom.

I cracked my knuckles nervously.

 

It is a phrase seemingly like an anecdote among wise men competing at riddles ---

A stream of notions paced my mind.

 

Don’t intoxicate with imagination, figure where was it first seen?

I focused my hearing inwards.

 

Nowhere.

Itching uselessness engulfed me.

 

 

I continually speculated: What must I do with the stone now? I cannot keep it in this house and ponder over the solitary thought . . . But seriously, what can it be? . . . What can a tea-drinker be told for the first time? . . . My tea has no  sugar? . . . Oh, that was bright! . . . What if Hitler was Jewish? . . . Does middle-earth exist?  . . . You can figure this out . . . What if all prehistory taught to us are petty lies?  . . . Is the foundation of all human history, then absolutely false?  . . . Where does the soul head to after death? . . .  Is death the end of life?  . . . Woah! Calm down! . . . Did Egyptians really know secrets to regrow limbs? . . . Were Ed, Edd n Eddy, all dead kids’ ghosts unable to leave Earth? . . . Ahhh uhm . . . Jennifer Aniston is hot! . . . You can do better!!! . . . Why can money buy only things for happiness but not happiness itself?  . . . How have they been?! . . . Where have they been?!! . . . Were they happy without you?  . . . WHY DID YOUR PARENTS LEAVE YOU?  . . . Was money so important to them?  . . . Was sleep more important to you?!  . . . WHY DID YOU NOT WAKE UP ON YOUR TURN??(Itching uselessness engulfed me)

 

 

The rotting leg of the chair gave away. My reverie was broken. I balanced myself, reached the window --- dew drops precipitated on its panes --- and looked outside. A chill sprang forth within my spine. The moon was still out, it was nearing dawn. Suddenly, the weather inside the house felt cold as fog outside began to settle quickly and steadily. I wasted the entire night upon a stupid riddle! I had not had food or water since I had returned home . . . with the slab . . . How come is it so cold? I took out a loaf of bread and butter from the larder and extinguished my thirst with a tumbler of homemade ale. I was still gulping down ale and chewed off bits of bread when the fog quietly entered my home, forming shimmering layers of mist as I stood rooted in disbelief. Then suddenly, my candles went out and darkness was only as thick as fading moonlight allowed it to be; my disbelief morphed into horror when I nonchalantly realised it was only the month of May. Fog in May?! I exclaimed (to myself!). All my hunger had vanished, all thoughts running awry.

 

 

What can it be?

I ran my fingers through my hair.

 

What, fog in May for  . . . Any chunk of history, any singular experience? A secret no one knows?

A need for a drink arose in my hands.

 

But such climactic changes are possible . . . only if something were of importance or of wisdom.

I cracked my knuckles nervously.

 

It will overwhelm fear of unnatural omens until its generator appears ---

A stream of notions paced my mind.

 

Don’t intoxicate with imagination, figure where was it first seen?

I focused my hearing inwards.

 

Nowhere.

Itching uselessness engulfed me.

 

 

A silence fell. It rendered me paralysed. I could not move; I heard a very distant but clear drumming and my eyes nearly drew blood in shock, for on the opposite wall there was a shadow; a shadow moving in very languid, fluid motions. I did not know whether to turn and face the object or jump out the window; I hastily decided it would be futile to run into such miasmic fog. An entity that could reach my isolated home could reach me anywhere. I turned back, still only able to see a moving shadow within the mist, hovering in the air, chanting a familiar loud but low, high-pitched wail:

 

Return the slab

or suffer my curse

 

Who is he?

Where do I know it from?

 

 

Return the slab

or suffer my curse

 

What slab?

THAT STONE SLAB!!

 

I leapt towards the stone; picked it up. In my obsessed infatuation for the riddle, it never occurred to me to inspect the other side of the stone; I turned it over . . . I skipped as many as three heartbeats! There were four hieroglyphic engravings: a locust, two wavy lines and a phonograph on the right portion; on the left was a detailed figure of, what I deduced to be of, the shadow. I turned back; it was no more a mere moving shadow, now a form, clearly visible in the dying moonlight: an enormous burial mask with pink teeth; burnt tangerine coloured hair obtruding from the skull; cold purple eyes upon a frail skeletal frame, some remaining orange flesh, on the ends of the limbs, covered in a green pharaoh burial robe, a greenish yellow gauze loosely bandaged around him. Gradually his impression disappeared from the slab . . . Where had I seen him before . . .

 

Nowhere . . . !!!!

King Ramses . . . !!!

That was where!!

Nowhere City . . . In the middle of nowhere!

 

This night you will be

visited by three plagues

Each worse than the last

Return the slab

or suffer my curse

 

Soon the mist started to fade; his gliding form hovered ahead towards me; I cringed as it passed through me, vanishing through the wall. All of a sudden, totally out of the blue, water began to flood my house (The waves disappeared), and that which seemed a distant but clear drumming, now became sharp noises (The phonograph disappeared)

 

NO!! ANYTHING BUT THAT!!!

(. . . tickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktick . . .)

 

Curse thee, blasphemous atomic watch!! I curse thee!!!

 

I wrapped my left arm around my ears, jostling with the right, through swiftly rising waters, cosmically flooding my home; I drifted towards the door but I had not even crossed halfway through my room that I began floating; five more minutes passed whilst I surged towards the door. I swam and swam forward with a hopeless burden (I imagined, ‘As Cassius with Caesar’). The door seemed to go farther away or was I only whirling in circles, I could not have known. The ordeal and the unbearable ticking began to take their toll; hoping to grasp and drift upon any drifting piece of wood I found that the furniture or anything else was nowhere to be seen! (The locust had long disappeared and furtively devoured everything)

Soon, I was touching the ceiling, tired from all the useless swimming. I indeed felt useless. I just had to turn the stone over once!  . . . It would not have helped, I guessed. My conscience constantly answered: ‘Nowhere!’ but the great genius calamity that I was, I perpetually ignored its call. Imminent death loomed; my strength waned away; my head dizzied from all the water forcedly gulped down; my arms and legs slowly gave away (I realised, ‘Certainly, thou art neither!’). With water, right up to the roof (but that dreadful ticking did not drown), I took a huge last gasp of air, concurrently falling under the weightless pull of gravity; finally I let go; witnessing the slow rise of the silvery bubbles; another few moments of awaiting an ultimate end; sensing the waters replacing the last remaining breaths . . . thus, the commencement of actual strife: that urgent craving for one last breath, that choking in the throat, that final struggle of the limbs, that searing anguish in the nasal cavity, that conclusive agony in the soul . . . that defining silence. (Itching uselessness engulfed me)

 

|o| - - - - - - - - - - |o|

 

The rotting leg of the chair gave away. My reverie was broken. I balanced myself, reached the window --- dew drops precipitated on its panes --- and looked outside. A chill sprang forth within my spine. The moon was still out; it was nearing dawn --- cold but without any fog or ticking. I stretched my arms and yawned loudly, searching for a glass of water. As I reached my hand out to open the utensils’ cabinet, my eyes fell on the kitchen counter below, nearly drawing blood in shock, ridding of all remaining sleep. The yellow stone with that fateful inscription was still there. I stared at it long and patiently, the cabinet doorknob still in my hand. Dwelling in complex, careful thought, I came to the conclusion that I had indeed had a nightmare. Again, I lost myself in an endless trail of theoretical possibilities pertaining to the end of that wretched riddle; I remembered the fatal blunder I had committed when the sandman had stopped by . . . I rectified the mistake in the continuum of real time and space, turning the slab over, pupils constricted by what they saw next as I stood rooted in disbelief.

Author's Note

My helpless apologies for the Hindi font; seems to be a shortcoming with the word processor of the site.

A challenge from a friend. Attempting a short story after a long time. Very experimental.

Please leave your reviews, they are much needed.

Note:
It is advised to watch this video to refresh (or add new) memories:- Copy this link-

m.220.ro/desene-animate/Courage-The-Cowardly-Dog-King-Ramses-Curse/PC2VE6C0oa/

Reviews

[Confuser]

It's brilliant. So proud I did see Sandman, re-read, but was so drawn in I completely forgot. I loved the suspense. I was wonderful throughout. I find myself in the story, trying to answer the riddle; what did it mean? And wanting tea myself. This is a wonderful writing Stonze P. I am amazed at your writing abilities and feel you have no other choice other than to write a book. Although, this was a challenge from a friend, this I'm certain, with the stone, could have continued on into an epic tale; through many lands and adventures. I love it! Thank you. Bravo!!! (did you write use reverie twice?-no matter) Bravo again!

[Stonz P.]

My friend actually hates this story :D He thought it was a real big PJ with the ending! I hink he wanted a more philosophical opinion...
I hope your words come true and I can write a book someday... I say I can write longer pieces but nope, I haven't written one to get published yet.. Still waiting for the right subject to come along..
Thank you so much for your encouraging words.. so kind as always :)

[Confuser]

It will...and maybe it has...You know it takes simple persistence once you begin: all authors (good ones) are perfectionists; try to write a little each day; if only a few lines. Remember you are a writer.

[Isabel25]

One doubt, what is the connection between Devanagari and hieroglyphics? Does India and Egypt have an ancient connection?

I really liked the sandman reference, its brilliant. Not to mention the Ed, Edd and Eddy one(When did they die? I hated that cartoon anyway).

I also liked the part about how in India they believe that the most unearthly secrets lie veiled in sight-that is so very true. The para of his thoughts, ending with the question about his parents and finally topping it with guilt; it is really good-distorted, but good.

Overall it is a very gripping read. So, what exactly did the protagonist see when he turned the slab after he woke up?

And one small correction- after that verse about the three plagues, "I cringed as it passed* through me" u have written *passing- not deliberate, I know.

[Stonz P.]

Yikes, thank you so much for pointing that out.. :)

The Indus Valley script preceds everything we know of Indian Civilisation; there may well be as it is said that all humanity originated in Africa and then towards everywhere.. so yeah maybe, but for the time being, you could excuse it for fiction, maybe?

WHHHAAT!! I loved that show so much for its creepiness.. I'll inbox you the exact thing.
I am fascinated with pre-civilisation history.. it has not been explored as much..no real information about that period when humans did not know the basic things like what is an eye, what is the nose...In fact, how to eat!! Let alone.. learn agriculture and inventing wheels.. and the only verifiable link to our past as Indians is the Vedas and the Indus Valley Civilisation. It is all a speculation as of now.

And to tell you the truth, my friend gave me the riddle and told me to write something about it in a week.. I could not write anything and was watching Courage on the last day when I got this idea.. My friend hates this story :D

Thaaankk youu for the review :)

[Isabel25]

I wasn't blaming you. I just wanted to know if there actually is an Indian-Egyptian connection. And ya, the tea riddle in the story seemed a bit out of place, but given the situation you have done brilliantly.

And ugh..I hated it..maybe cos i couldn't relate to the creepiness at that age.

[Stonz P.]

I know.. :)
and well.. guys are into creepy stuff as children.. :|

[Isabel25]

Yeah right, I totally buy that :P

[Stonz P.]

Right now, I wish I had the power to haunt people in their dreams :P

[Isabel25]

And that is not creepy at all?

[Stonz P.]

Not if you had the dreams I have :P

P.S.: This is.

[icelandicblue]

He is caught in a cycle where it seems he will not escape from the riddle nor the rotting chair. I loved the image of the rotting chair and the rotting chair whole once again. I also liked the inner thoughts of the character. Some of the phrasing was odd but I think that may be differences from country to country. I enjoyed the read.

[Stonz P.]

Ma'am, I am influenced largely by two writers; one of them from nearby your city and one from your city: H.P. Lovecraft and Edgar Allan Poe. I am practising my short stories in the weird fiction genre so you may find the phrasing to be odd but that is also only because the emotion that the piece wants to express.
Thank you so much for reading :)

[Khyati]

I am not very good at writing and not as good as you at all, but I'll still give my opinion to you..
I like this one as you explained the bits. But the sentences are too long. It would sound better if you shorten them. Your vocabulary rocks, and you know it.

[Stonz P.]

You have to stop saying that. I am only still learning.


I used long sentences so as to keep that feeling of prolonged time, which the character is feeling around himself, like when you get agitated when time does not pass, something like that. And to tell you the truth, I do not yet know how to write short prose, I can write longer pieces with better ease.
I have used shorter sentences wherever necessary to shift time.

But I will read this piece again with your opinion in mind, and see if the piece can be bettered that way..
Thank you for reviewing :)

[Rounak Jain]

So I read another one written by you. This one made me laugh. The riddle and the rotting leg of the chair gave away. :P The way story is built, the inner voice, the nightmare. Honestly, I felt its happening to me right now. You see its almost dawn now. :)

[Stonz P.]

Thanks a lot, Rounak.
I am thrilled to have got such a review.

[Jennie Baron]

I have the advantage of the others' words and I don't really have anything to add, but I wanted to add my praise for this story. Indeed vividly written and intelligently structured. Great work!

[Stonz P.]

I'm glad you enjoyed it, Jennie.
Thanks for reading..

[Namrata]

I must say, you are amazing at short stories. The conversations with your sub-conscious mind, it is so outright and pristine just like you recorded it over paper, well somehow.
The Ramses curse was intriguing.
You have a skill at creating detailed imagery in the mind of the reader. I will ensure I derive some help from that.
"Were Ed, Edd n Eddy, all dead kids’ ghosts unable to leave Earth? . . . Ahhh uhm . . . Jennifer Aniston is hot! . . . You can do better " -- hilarious.
I loved the overall tone of it.
Sorry, but my brain is not able to process any constructive criticism here, if it ever dawns on me, I will speak up. Peace.

[Stonz P.]

So much praise... I am not used to all this :P

Sorry for replying late; was out travelling for the past 10 days... Hmmm...
You can have any help you need in crafting stories from me but I am only just learning to write short stories.. Hope to be good in it someday..
Glad you loved it..
Thanks for reviewing.. :)

[Mayank]

hahaha! Such an amazing read for me... it was so vividly written and captures the image of sub-conscious mind. It had happen many a times, when you read a book and you have to keep book away for some reason your sob-conscious mind is still there and now rolling you into the possible situation in next chapter. Such is the itch of fear...

[Stonz P.]

Oh wow, so glad you related to it on those levels. That is a high compliment and I thank you for it.

[AprilRN1210]

oh wow.. what a story!!! You write so well, so vivid, so captivated was I in this tale... The ending is such a tease!! What did it say?... some parts made me giggle out loud at my computer... I mean come on, the inner dialogue was so entertaining and some parts so insightful... what a journey you take the reader on with this one... I thoroughly enjoyed this... I couldn't fault anything here really, some of the repetition in places had me confused at first, but the second read through could see the slight differences and it blended really well.. added different subtle layers... all I can say my friend, is wow... I loved this...

[Stonz P.]

AH... SUCH A STELLAR RESPONSE!!

My friend challenged me to write a story or present my views on the phrase (on that stone), that translates to: "Any tea-drinker must have been told this for the first time…" and was given a week's notice to write a draft. I could not find a solution and I was totally on the brink of losing, when on the penultimate day I was browsing through some cartoons and this being a childhood favourite (of my whole gang of friends), I chalked out a story. I was able to prevent, what would have been a huge dip in my confidence... phew

I wish I could have solved the riddle, my friend will tell me the answer, if there is any, when he reads it. Will let you know then.

I am at a loss of words because I was very afraid that people will ridicule this style but *sigh*.. you have given me relief. Thank you so much for taking out time to read the story. I absolutely loved your review.

[AprilRN1210]

ahhhhh, that makes sense.. I was like... why the heck is he leaving me hanging?... lol
and yes, love the cartoon you shared... toooo cute... you're more than welcome, I meant every word.. You write so well.. you already know I am a fan... :)

[Stonz P.]

Likewise, I'm a fan of your work, too and hahah.. With my writer-friends, I try to maintain a "Return the 'love'/or suffer my curse" attitude...

Could not resist :P

[AprilRN1210]

oh jeez! lol what-ever!!! :P back at ya!!!

[Stonz P.]

Well, my friend was not very clear what he did not like about the piece, maybe the association with the cartoon; for that I'll grill him later but revealed that it was a riddle that cannot be solved...

[AprilRN1210]

of course it is.... grrrrrr