He
didn't care to give his brain extra work to figure out as to who was there at
the door, direly wanting his presence for the hour. He waited to hear another
bell to get out of the washroom. No sooner had he such thought, than there was another
bell at the door accompanied by someone calling out, "Anyone here!”
He
walked out of the washroom letting his bare body to drip off the water without
wiping it leaving the trails of water on the floor. He strolled towards the
dressing table and stood in front of it; his manhood uncovered, his scarred
mind and soul open and bleeding.
Another
bell rang again and he showed no signs of movement from where he stood gazing
at his reflection. He might have felt that it was unnecessary to race to the
door to attend someone who is in need when a person so wounded in every sense
was left unattended by the world.
Those
eyes which has lost its spark and glaze, now stands gazing at his weak reflection
squandering without end for quite a while. The doorbell stopped ringing and the
eeriness of the room came back again. His gaze turned away from the mirror to
the table which were disoriented with strips of colored tablets and pills. He
stooped forward and searched for the strips containing blue round tablets. The
dim light in his room made it too trying for him for figure out what he was
searching. He opened the drawer halfheartedly to see whether he could find them
in.
To
his surprise, he found something lying on the floor. Something that fell while
he took the towel from the cupboard, though for no use. His hunt for the
tablets and his curiosity for what was lying down on the floor made his mind
trigger for a tug of war.
Shutting
the thought of tablets, he took what was lying on the floor. It was a photograph!
A photograph which he shouldn’t have seen then….
( To be continued)
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