Ark might’ve killed himself, in the presence of his cat, Watcher, even when the very thought of it repulsed him down to his bone, had the management slammed another project in his inbox – another show of their incompetence which, he knew, was neglected by their boss because an outdated, privy rumour said: ‘The manager is director’s daughter’.
What a fucking circus of blatant hypocrisy, with their motto – ‘All legs walk together to win the race’ – hanging down their tongue like a banner, and with a showy, pristine smile on their aged faces. Somehow those faces, whether wrinkled or not, always looked good with that smile. He couldn’t say otherwise, as he was one of those idiots, who got drawn to ‘that’ smile which, to his defence, only had one correct answer: ‘The Manager looked gorgeous.’
Watcher flinched when Ark slammed his laptop shut, the project finalized, and his fingers, which were hurting in the flexors, finally getting their well deserved rest. Though, perfectly timed, something shattered in the kitchen. By the sound of it, the set of six glasses of his promotion’s congratulatory gift was now down to five.
Ark raised his eyebrows looking at Watcher who just shrugged it off with a purr – ‘Must be the wind’, it intended. Sceptical of anything, even the wind, Ark picked up the comb resting on his bed just beside him, and picked his pen on the other hand, which clicked to reveal its ineffective tip. ‘I’ll fight the wind then’ – Ark conveyed to Watcher with a nod which, apparently, was impervious to the horror in his mind.
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Watcher snuggled against his calf with manipulative intentions, as the very next moment it nudged him to move. Ark, who had raised Watcher for a quarter of a decade, knew well on what to expect from it. He was already ahead and on the move towards the kitchen, now forgetful of the rest he very much needed.
Before the kitchen, Ark and Watcher had to pass through the hall which, after midnight, always lived in the dark and now, definitely, needed light. Fighting two battles – internal and external – Ark and Watcher stoned their hearts against the looming figures of the dark and poked the switchboard with blind attempts, one of them, finally getting successful.
Ark gazed at Watcher; Watcher gazed back. Ark swiveled his head – ‘You go in. You are small’; Watcher swiveled his head right back – ‘You are big. You go in.’
Aware of each other’s slimy nature, the intellectuals nodded their heads in synchrony, a rare moment of negatives adding to become positive – two closeted cowards turning brave. Their feet – big and small – tiptoed to the kitchen. In their sight, was an expected shattered glass, but an unexpected ivory stone covered with a weird gold thread which seemed to hum.
Ark lifted it up, out of curiosity, whereas Watcher repulsed, instinctively, which proved the adage – “Curiosity kills the cat” – wrong, especially, as the thread became live and twirled around his fingers.
