Jeyanth is a person who would instantly muse about any thought in this life. In the garden of lilies, he would be the busy bee. His simple articles always sneak into some corner of his daily print to keep his needs meet the rim of the wages. His lif...
The cool breeze ushered the leaflets to sway their tender tips. Flamboyant butterflies tittered on the freshly blooming marigolds to secretly steal its nectar as their wings whispered an ode of tease.
As I gazed through the grasses laid fine over the lawn, my eyes shifted to the pond of purple and white lilies. The stone at its rim offered me the seat to drink in the peace. I inhaled the musky scent to quench my peace.
Even if it's a dream, it's a golden hour.
My golden hour. Sinking in the quietude, I gazed at the tender stalk. Unlike the others, it was curled dipping deep into the waters.
Purple or white?
I mused as I glanced at the other dazzling flowers opening their pollens in the hope of evolution.
Or red?
A colour that had always fascinated me. Vibrance of the new beginnings, the shade of every dawn.
Honk. Honk. Hooonk.
Exhausting cries of the horn woke me to the reality. Something I despised to have been living for.
Work. Home. Rest. Repeat.
Rubbing the lids with my thumb, I bid goodbye to the nap. The sun shimmered beholding the azure canvas of the sky. Faint chirps of the white-dotted cuckoo ringed a symphony from the peepal branches.
Maybe it's a sight to behold, but tides sicken when you are running fifteen minutes late. That too when your boss had put you on watch round the clock. Laddering through the snaking crowd of the apartment porch, I enter the esteemed glass entrance of the office, that reads 'Chronicles of Horizons'. It was written in the most ancient broken British font I had ever seen. Its ink gave the vibrance of burnt sand being rained by a simple snare of the sun from its edges.
That shine refects nothing of the inside.
Making it as sneaky as I could, I entered my office. I had to bargain with the staff over the table to not cut my late on the first day of the week. The moment I tricked her with some homemade jackfruit chips, she did let me sign the recording at the right time.
"Oh Jey, here you have graced us."
I signalled him to stop shouting from three cabins. But his perfection in spilling the words had its enormously well-timed mastery.
"Why would you keep the office posted about me?"
I patted his shoulders letting him stutter a few cusses. His narrowed eyes glared enough to make me question why his skin would still be a baby.
"Someone was looking for you."
His anonymous assertion made my brows knit an obvious question.
"Why do you look like that?"
"Come on, Inder. Tell me who."
"Who else would it be other than... Mr T."
He crossed his pointers one above the other. The subtle mention of the name made me roll my eyes.
"Really?"
I pulled my phone to check my marked days on the calendar. My eyes did scrutinize each date twice. We didn't have a schedule today. Even if we did, he would definitely not pick me up for the first hour.
Oh, my strong luck factor!
Pushing the denim bag off my shoulders on the casual wooden desk, I dragged my legs to meet him.
"Where's your tag, man?"
He asked as his ochre pupils spied my white shirt buttoned up. Scrunching my temples, I began digging the first zipper to pull out the blue tag. Tucking it beneath the collars, I winked a thanks.
Walking through the beige stroked grey walls buried with modern art of the era, I stood at his doors. The whispers of the freshly brewed coffee tickled his long lashes, as he waved me in. I clear my iffy throat for the unforeseen hello I must spill.
"Jey, you are in for an assignment."
Not the warmth for a Monday morning.
Caught in my strong resistance to bid a nope or not, I ended with a nod.
"I have got you wrapped for this. Need the article for the front by weekend."
"Anything particular sir?"
His ideal brown eyes turned cold as he clicked his tongue.
"The client likes your writing. Lucky for you."
His regular pick I must say. Almost every time my peers decline a work so swiftly that it ends up on my desk.
"Glad. What's the subject?"
"I want you to visit this place mentioned in the card. Gather the content that would feed the readers."
He pushed the card near for me to read the slant slim font reading 'Central Library' with a two-line address that ran below it.
"Unit?"
Not the South unit of the Library!
I hurriedly wished for one ounce of luck.
"Oh yeah, the south."
My gut felt pricked. That place was well known for its mysterious walkways. It's the perfect pick to spill anything anonymous. However silly it might seem, anyone who hears would believe it instantly.
"But sir, what am I to do there?"
"What else? Gather the food."
"But fewer people had visited there. Some had even gone missing from there too."
"Don't silly trend it. Snatch the opportunity. Luck doesn't come around the clock."
He waved as his eyes moved to bring my attention to the piece of paper that slept below his closed drawer. That one mix-up of articles for the printing I did on my double shift day did make me an easy target to mess with.
"What's the scoop for?"
"Just that the investor is interested in mystery and death."
The very mention of the word had a terrible effect. A thrill glided my nape to chill my skin. He knew I was fragile but he enjoyed seeing me weak.
"Is it a serial column?"
"Depends. It's ok if you can't do it-"
His eyes grew wider as I took the card. With a smirk on my lips, I turned to leave.
It's a do-or-die.
At times facing fear becomes the armour. And willingly, I befriended it.
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