ProLogue
This piece was written during one of the sessions of Write Club. The visual writing prompt given during that session was:
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I lay in bed and stared at the ceiling. Wishing I did not
have to get up and face what lay ahead. You normal human beings at least get to
be at peace while staring at the ceiling. I on the other hand, was given the ability
to look beyond it, past the seven floors above me, past the seven homes and all
the people living above me and into the sky above. Thanks to X-ray vision and
all. You guys don’t know how lucky you are to be able to close all the blinds
and windows in your bedroom, lay like a log in bed all day and just stare at
the ceiling wondering what time of the day it is.
I saw past the layers of concrete and noticed that the sun
had risen well past the horizon. I decided to make my next attempt at getting
out of bed. I had to be gentle. I always have to take care not to wake up with
a start. You have no idea how hard it is
to constrain myself every single moment of my life; irrespective of whether I
am awake or asleep. The last time I snored, the entire neighbourhood thought it
was a distant thunderstorm. The last time I sneezed, the roof collapsed upon me
and brought down the bathtub along with the 80 year old spinster living upstairs.
The police of course had to protect my secret identity and passed it off as a
gas leak caused explosion. I hate to admit that many times their alibis were
not far off the mark. Since that day, I take great care about what I eat.
My life is a living idiomatic example of Bull in a china
shop. No, not just any bull; a bull with a conscience in a china shop.
My thoughts were interrupted by the ringing of the phone. I
decided to ignore it. Damn the new government for prescribing the minimum 10
hours per day 5 days a week work schedule for us superheroes. The normal people
can just get out of bed, put on yesterday’s clothes and step out the door and
get to work. I have to think about saving the world and worry about whether I
have clean underwear for the next day. Damn the guy who designed my costume.
The phone rang again. Damn the phone too. I stretched my
hand out of the blanket, picked the receiver off the side table and brought it
to my ear. It was Batman. He is a man of few words. He just said ”42nd
street, 10 minutes”.
It must be really urgent for him to have called twice. I put
on my costume and reached the top of the tallest building on 42nd
street.
He was already waiting for me. He could hide the exhaustion
in his voice and in the way he carried himself. But he could not hide his
anatomy from me. The wear and tear his body had taken over the years was
obvious. He hated this job as much as I did.
He held out his hand. It held a small make up kit. He always
has a plan. But, like I said, he is a man of few words. He just said “Plan D”. I nodded and took the make-up kit. I put on
some eye-liner and the red coloured eye lenses. I wore a frown on my face and
began pretending that some alien has taken control of my mind, flew off the rooftop
and prepared to get tickled by batman. This should carry us through till
Friday.
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EpiLogue
The final part of the writing exercise involved writing a piece to advertise what we had written earlier. This is what I managed to churn out:
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Unable to get rid of your happy pill highs?
Read our stories
and never feel the need to jump in joy again.
Do you feel like you have too much energy? Do you feel very
enthusiastic and are unable to stay in bed after the sun rises? Read about the
rustic depressions of the man of steel and get life time immunity to feelings
like hope, happiness and positivity.
Issued in private interest by the Indian Psychiatric
Association.
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Finally, to wrap up
Acknowledgement: All credit/blame goes to Nikita for introducing me to Write Club and for encouraging me to put up my writings from the sessions on my blog.
