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The Story of My Knife

Tags: knife door higher

12 January 2018

It was a bright sunny night. The birds were barking merrily, the dogs were chirping viciously and the elephants were either invisible or absent. I was sitting quietly. No, I haven’t missed the letter ‘h’. My knife was there with me. We were contemplating a murder. A hideous, bloody and reprehensible murder that neither me or my knife were proud of. But that did not stop us. Our imagination flew higher. Higher than the depths of the oceans and with every passing second, it went further away. Further away from the reality, it went. Then came the moment. It went so far away that we lost sight of it and forgot about it. My knife tried to remind me but it could not remember what to remind. I remembered, but only to forget it. Both of us were angry. We may not communicate verbally, but my knife and myself have a rapport, envied by many. We communicated our anger by slicing open an orange apple and, what many might call, an orange, but we call it, the apple orange, only to preserve the symmetry of nature and not as an endorsement for the tech giant. I raised the knife high up in the air as a part of a ritual that we often do together. The knife corresponded and sliced away the air, all by itself, as it rose higher. It was then that I realised, that the amazon delivery guy was standing at my doorstep, knocking on my door suggestively. The gentle knocks turned objectionable and then violent, as I restrained from opening the door for no appreciable reason whatsoever.  In a moment of whim, I threw the knife directly at the door and the Delivery Guy who was already inside my home, which he was from the beginning and was only knocking to get out, ducked, and the knife went right through the door. Inspired by it, the delivery guy left too. What did not leave, was that packet, which was meant to be delivered. I walked towards it, picked it up, unwrapped it, popped half of the bubble wrap, made paper balls with the wrapping and attempted to kick them away, missed, fell, got injured, went to hospital, came back and then approached the final wrappings of the package. As soon as I completely denuded the true contents of the package, I saw it. My knife. Glistening under the moonlight. I stared upwards and realised that daytime had already arrived, completely oblivious of the fact that the ceiling of my room was either invisible or absent!

Arkadeep Mukhopadhyay



This post first appeared on Antarctica Daily | HUMANE HUMOUR, please read the originial post: here

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The Story of My Knife


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