Death script

1

Adrenaline. A surge of adrenaline.

The accelerator pressed down against the floor. A shriek. A frantic shriek. Every sound, every colour, every emotion melting into a sudden turmoil of desperation. The deafening pitch of car horn and the same frantic shriek.

A lamppost sprinting towards the windshield.

No control.

The climbing arm of the speedometer.

No return.

The dreaded crash.

No hope.

A jolt, digging into the gut like the end of a sledgehammer . A resounding crack of glass. Blood. Blood everywhere. Shards splicing through skin. Muscles being torn to shreds. Blood. A stream of gushing blood.

A lifeless face, left eye caved into the socket. Glass protruding through the upper lip. The long hair awash with blood. The forehead smashed into crimson pulp.

A sudden soft embrace. The airbag opening up. The world dissolving in white. White dissolving in ash. Ash disappearing into darkness.

Darkness. Only unassailable darkness.

Indrajit stared blankly at the ceiling. He often did that whenever he was thinking about his next novel, his next article or just lost in a random thought. This abrupt departure from reality had however experienced a sudden hike recently and not for any good reason. Every time he was lost in thoughts, the thoughts were always marred with blood. Not the blood of the volumes of sinister murder plots he has generated over the course of his writing career but blood which smeared his memory. Outside the incessant groan of drilling from the pipe replacement work served as a constant irritant, but could not serve as sufficient hindrance to Indrajit's thoughts.

"Indrajit?"

"Yeah?"

"You're lost again?"

Indrajit corrected his posture and cleared his throat. Abhijit who had called him right now looked at him with an expression of amusement, even though the underlying pity was quite evident.

"You're lost again, wow! Twice in five minutes. What a fantastic host," Abhijit laughed taking a sip at his drink.

Indrajit shook his head with a smile, in a feeble attempt to deny the obvious.

"Come on, Abhijit," Animesh pitched in. "We are not here to celebrate. I mean in a way we are. It's just fantastic that even after all that happened Indra could still finish his novel. It's something to be proud of. But most importantly why we are here is to be with you buddy. To tell you that we are always there for you."

A wave of humming agreement made it's way around the table. Indrajit smiled out of politeness, even though the words did not make him feel any better than before. Yes, it was difficult for him to complete the novel after the accident. But he still did. And that is why this small gathering of his five best friends who were seated around the hexagonal teak table. They were here to congratulate and to console. However the latter purpose was difficult to achieve considering how closely this gathering resembled the party on the night the accident happened. The only difference was there were six of them that time.

All of his friends were well established and successful in some way or the other, except Ritesh who was in a rather dire state after his company went bankrupt the year before.However, that has neither deterred his humor or lively presence in partes such as these. Indrajit wondered if that was just a facade similar to the one he was putting up.