I hear a pin drop

And my silent breathing, then

I hear a gunshot

“Hey, let’s go!” she says

Walking calmly, I see a

Cold-blooded killer

For money he stole

She doesn’t forgive or forget

Even her twin bro

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Cold-Blooded Killer was originally published in Writers’ Building on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

the silence of the butterfly

Develop the butterfly image in the story a little more. Let it run consistent through the text

“Here is your access card”, said the
front office assistant to Akash as he
finished filling out all the details in
their fat hotel register. Reema
looked at the card wondering what it
was for. She knew how uneasy she
felt every time she had to use her
debit card, despite having it close to
eight months now.

Reema cast her eyes around the
reception area. The chandelier, the
decor the large leather sofas and
the general opulence made Reema a
bit nervous. Brewing with her
discomfiture was a nagging doubt of
whether she would have to share her
room with Akash.

A bellhop took charge of their
luggage and ushered them into a
lift. Their room was on the
fourteenth floor.

“We have taken a suite,” Akash
explained to Reema as they stepped
into their floor and followed their
escort into their allotted room.
Fourteen hundred and three, read
the display. “It has two bedrooms,
each with an attached bathroom.”

His statement dissolved many a knot
in Reema’s tummy. Still, it is like
staying in the same house, she felt.
A few knots still remained.

“It is a quarter past six now; let us meet here in the living room at eight for dinner,” suggested Akash, while
entering a bedroom.

Reema nodded her head. The
bellhop also nodded his head. His
nod was upon the revelation that the
two guests were not a couple.

As soon as Akash had closed the
door behind him, Reema darted
towards the bellhop who was about
to leave.
“Please show me how to lock my
bedroom and teach me some basic
stuff?” Her anxiousness made the
chap reveal an array of yellow teeth.
For the next five minutes, he went
about explaining various features.

She thanked him tipping him with
three tenners but kept fishing in her
bag to see whether she could locate
a couple more.

Once inside, she flung herself on the
bed, its softness taking control of
her body and helping her unwind;
her relaxation segueing into a
slumber without her slightest
knowledge.

She did not even hear
the door knob being turned...

A buzzing sound brought Reema
back to wakefulness. She turned on
her side to look at her cell phone
lying on the table next to her. It was
her mother trying to reach her.

“Reema?”

Her mother had a barrage of
questions. She wanted to know the
size of the aeroplane she had
travelled in, the height of the hotel
building she had checked into and
the dimensions of the room she was
staying in. Reema leaned over on her
elbow grabbed the remote control
lying on the bed and flicked on the
television set but muting it
immediately.

Surfing through the channels, she
took on her queries one by one. Yes,
the room was much larger than the
single bedroom flat her family was
staying in. No, she did not have to
pay for any of the expenses; these
would be borne by the Company
she and her boss would be
inspecting.

Reema knew her mother would be
quite concerned. It was after all the
first time, in twenty five years that
she was away from her. There were
quite a few other firsts as well. First
time she had moved out of her city.
First time she had travelled in an
aeroplane. And, the first time she
was staying with a man who was
not related to her at all.

“Do you have to share your room?”
Reema’s eyebrows went up at the
timing of that question with a
related element of her thoughts.

“No.” She did not feel any pangs of
guilt while denying. They were, after
all, in a suite that had separate
bedrooms, but a common living
room and a kitchen.

“Is it very expensive? How much do
they charge?”

When she told her, she screamed
into the phone making Reema keep
her handset a good two inches away
from her ear, “It takes me two weeks
of hard work to make that kind of
money!”

But she recovered soon to continue in a normal tone. “Your room’s got to be excellent then. Take some pictures and send them over quickly. I will show them to the people I work for.”

“Rimmi”, she had something more to
say. Reema knew that when she was
addressed as Rimmi, a word of caution or a piece of advice would follow. She stopped playing with the television’s remote control.

“Why is it that the Company that you
are going to inspect is willing to foot
your hotel bill?”

“Well, my boss says it is normal to do that. We are on the lookout for a supplier who can give us power cords for the machines that we produce?”

“Cords?”

“Electric wires ,” explained Reema.

“The Company that is paying for your hotel would want certain favours from you. But you do not have to be silent if something is not to your liking. Make a noise about it. Silence is sometimes mistaken to be acceptance.”

She assured her mother that she would take note of this and hung up. But the you-do-not-have-to-be-silent became a mash of words that whirled in her mind and kept bouncing into her ears bringing back memories of the first time she met Akash. Had she been silent then?

“Reema.” There was a slight hesitation in her voice, as she introduced herself, before continuing, “Reema Madan.” Her eyes were fixed on a spherical paper- weight resting on a bunch of papers. Resumes? And so many of them. Did she stand a chance of getting the job?

She looked in fascination at the
butterfly inside the glass piece . It seemed to be trapped inside.

“My name is Akash Kumar. I am the
Head of Purchase. He gestured towards a chair opposite his table. He waited as she settled down.

“Reema, can you tell me something
about your family?” He wanted to know about her folks as he went through her one page-resume.

“Family?”. The surprise in her face had spilled on to her voice as well, making her look at him.

“Yes - something about your parents. What do they do? Are they staying with you here in Mumbai? Do you have any siblings?” The man was trying to put her to ease.

“Siblings?” She wondered whether she had repeated the word correctly.

“Yes. Siblings.” This time he leaned
forward in his seat and continued,
“Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

“Yes. I have. One brother and a sister. Both younger to me.”

“What about your father? What does
he do for a living?”

“He...he drives a truck. He works for
a transport company”. She wanted to
add that he would be away for more
than twenty days a month. She watched as he pulled out a red coloured pencil from a pen-stand and started scribbling something on her resume. Was it bad to be driving trucks for a living? Would that be the end of the interview? She clasped her hands together in her lap. Her nervousness finding its way to her fingers making them clench more tightly.

“Truck? That’s interesting. I love
trucks. Wish I could drive one. What
about your Mom?”

“She cooks....”

“So, she is a homemaker...I mean – a
housewife.”

“No. She cooks for others.” Should she tell him that her mother would leave at six in the morning and come back by two in the afternoon, to prepare a meal for her family? Would he give her the job because of her parents’ background?

“Oh! She is a cook then. That is a
really nice profession.”

It made her relax slightly. Some more notes on her paper. She studied him as he continued going over her the details she had provided. Akash seemed quite young, probably in his thirties, she thought. A thick moustache culminating in a French beard was the salient feature of his face. “You have done very well academically, I see,” and with a flourish of his pencil circled out two pieces of information that interested him.

“You never intended to do your
post-graduation, did you?” He was
examining her cherubic yet somewhat demure face.

She shook her head. A degree in electrical engineering had ensured that nearly half of what her parents earned was used up for the repayment of loans – money borrowed for her education.

“Let me see your palm.”

Reema silently freed her hands from
her lap and placed her right hand on
the table all the while looking at the red butterfly, its wings spread out bereft of the slightest flutter. Akash was already reaching for her wrist, gently pulling it towards him. His right hand spread out her palm.

“Why I am not surprised to see such a strong line of education.” Akash was tracing his forefinger along her palm.

“You certainly look to be doing your post-graduation in the near future.” He continued with his scrutiny prodding the slight bulge at the base of her thumb.

“This is called mount of Venus. Excellent. It is well developed.” He appeared pleased with it.

Her eyes continued to study the
butterfly. The black dots were engulfed in white rings. These formed two gentle curves on either side of its body, on its wings. With her hand lifeless in his palm, she felt she was conversing with the creature.

“I look at you; I see you are all frozen
And you are silent in your den .
Your lovely wings are spread out
You can’t even whisper or shout...
Flowers yonder are swaying for your touch,
Twigs, tiny branches are awaiting your
perch.”

Was the red creature trying to say
something?

“But look at you; you are free yet frozen
You choose to be silent, it’s not an option.
You can shout, you can scream
You are at liberty to change the scene.
You can grab me by your palm abused
And throw at him, let his ego be bruised.
It could even break my den, it could shatter.
I can fly away; my wings can again flutter.”

Her dialogue with the trapped insect was interrupted suddenly when Reema felt her thumb being flexed.

“Good! You seem to be flexible too.”
There was a tinge of finality in his voice as he continued “I like your
credentials, your attitude and of course what your palm had to say”, he laughed. “So, congratulations. I will recommend that you get the job! You can complete a few formalities at the reception desk. I will put in a word to the lady over there and she will guide you.”

Reema was trying to let this sink in.
She did not remember thanking him
as she rushed out of his office. She had finally managed to get a job! At last she could tell her mother to quit cooking for others and spend more time at home. She knew that landing a job at XJ Machines, one of the leading manufacturers of Laptops, was a big deal.

But, then there was another thought
that quickly expelled a large chunk of her happiness and excitement from her system. Should she accept it? Would working with Akash be a pleasant experience?

She felt confused, tired and hungry all at the same time. She realized she needed to use the restroom.
Asking the receptionist for directions she headed towards it.

Fresh aroma of lavender greeted her as she entered the washroom. She was relieved to find that no one was in as she made her way to the washbasin. Reema removed her bindi and stuck it on the mirror. Few splashes of water on her face, helped her relax a bit.
She got into one of the water closets
and locked herself in. In less than a
minute she could hear the main door
being opened and seconds later there was the sound of running water.

As she stepped out of the closet, she found that the new visitor was in a formal suit – dark blue pants and a
matching jacket. The lady was tying
her hair into a bun. She looked at Reema in the mirror and greeted her
with a smile.

“Never seen you before. Are you new
here?”

“Yes.” She said as she cleansed her hands. “Got selected today. Waiting for the formalities to be completed.”

Reema stepped closer to the mirror
on which her bindi was stuck, removed it and put it back on her forehead.

“Congrats! What is your name? And
whom are you reporting to?” She was
still looking into the mirror while
enquiring.

“My name’s Reema Madan,” she
introduced herself the second time since morning. “I was interviewed by
Akash...I mean Mr. Akash Kumar.”

Reema was not sure what made the lady turn and face her. Was it after
hearing Akash’s name?

“My name is Dolly Punjabi. You are
extremely lucky to have met me the very first day. But remember one thing – never ever mention to Akash that you met me.” She wagged her forefinger at Reema and it continued for a few seconds even after she had finished speaking.

Dolly produced a visiting card from her pocket and handed it to Reema. “Please keep this card safely with you.”

Now at the hotel, Reema started digging into her handbag trying to
locate the card given by Dolly. She was sure that she had kept it safely. It was there; in a zipped pouch in one of the compartments. The card read:
Dolly Punjabi
Lead Investigator, SH Wing
O.E.O.D.

Reema was trying to understand what those abbreviations meant. Using her phone she browsed the Internet and keyed in the letters – “S.H.” One site listed a hundred and ten definitions. Great. Can I find a clue here, she wondered. The list had “Self Help”, “Second Hand” and a host of other full forms but these did not make any sense to her. Few of the words she could not even pronounce. She wished the other four letters – OEOD could provide some clue.

OEOD turned out to be Office of Equal Opportunity and Diversity. She looked at the screen and let out a sigh of exasperation. What was Equal Opportunity? Diversity? She closed all the browser windows in her phone and looked at the card again. Dolly’s phone number was printed on the top right hand corner. Should she call her? She checked her handset. It was seven twenty. Not too late to call up somebody, thought Reema as she keyed in her numbers and listened to the ring tone. There was no response.

Akash closed the door of his bedroom behind him. He paused when he heard Reema’s excited voice. Must be chatting with the bellhop, he thought.

He was humming as he unpacked
his bag. He had been working on this visit soon after Reema joined XJ Machines his mind took him back to the day Reema joined the organization.
“ We manufacture laptops here and ours is one of the most popular brands, especially among young professionals,” explained Akash. “We are expanding and intend having an assembly unit in New Delhi.” Reema was listening to all of this in rapt attention. “I want you to understand the various processes. Take a couple of months to familiarize yourself with what we do. Make sure to see me in the evening every day, if possible, so that I can review what
you have learnt. ”

Reema kept nodding her head. This
was her first job and she knew there was a lot to find out but she was
looking forward to it.

“But there is one issue. It is
regarding your dress.”

Reema looked at him with a puzzled
expression on her face.

“I like your dress.” He hoped this would make her comfortable. “There
is nothing wrong with it. I like it very
much. In fact blue is my favourite colour. But when you work in such an industry, there are certain expectations.”

The way she looked at him it was clear that not much of what he was trying to convey was sinking in. So, he explained about formal dresses , casual ones and even dress codes.

Finally, he made a suggestion. “It is
close to six now. Let us go out get some dresses for you.” Seeing uncertainty written all over her face, he offered, “ I am not gifting you any of these. Do not worry about the money. You can repay me later in instalments.”

Three hours later after having checked out four shops to buy six sets of formal suits with complementing footwear and with their dinner completed, Akash was diving an excited but unsure Reema back home.

Few months later Akash broached the subject of locating a new supplier to Reema in one of their evening review meetings.

“Do you remember my telling you about our New Delhi plant? Well, we
need to identify a new manufacturer
of power cords in that city. I want you to take up this project. Once you identify a potential supplier we will visit the factory and evaluate their systems and procedures.” At that instant Akash’s cell phone beeped. He leaned back in his chair as he read to himself and burst out laughing. “You should read this.” he said thrusting his handset at Reema.

Akash noticed her staring at his
paperweight. “Hey! Come on this is pretty clean.” And Reema read the text message and smiled. Yes, it certainly was funny.

But strangely, the text messages seemed to be gathering a tiny amount of dirt, week upon week.

Reema’s enthusiasm however never lost any of its sheen. She researched a lot, surfed the Internet and equipped herself with lots of information related to power cords, especially the International Standards that this electrical accessory needed to comply with.

She sought samples from various suppliers, had these tested at third party agencies and finally came up with a list of potential suppliers. She presented the list to Akash one
evening.

“Send an email to Delhi Cables”, he said reading from the list. “Today is
Thursday. Fix up a meeting the following Monday at eleven in the morning, so that we can take the first flight which is at half past six and get back the same day.”

Reema appeared thrilled. Her project
seemed to be heading towards a logical conclusion. She turned in the next day looking forward to preparing for her trip, but Akash summoned her to his office immediately.

“There has been a slight change in plans,” he told her. “The CEO at Delhi Cables would not be available on Monday and hence he requested that this meeting be advanced to nine a.m. on Saturday. I accepted without checking with you.” The pretence in the ostensible show of guilt went undetected.

“That is not an issue, sir,” said
Reema quickly. Akash had some more information to give to Reema. “Since the meeting is at nine, we will not be able to take the morning flight. Hence we are booked to fly this afternoon.” He was amused to see her reaction.

“This afternoon? But I do not have...”

“Yes I know. I have arranged a driver
for you. Go back to your home in my car and pack a few stuff for yourself.
Remember to put in some warm clothes. Delhi will be a lot chillier this time of the year. “ He advised.

In his room Akash chuckled to himself. Yes, it was certainly chilly but at the same time things were warming up too. He checked his watch. It was a quarter shy of eight. Enough time for a quick shower before meeting Reema, he thought.

Dolly was driving back home from work. She had made a rule for herself. No phone calls while driving. Last time she had answered a call, she had missed taking her usual exit from the peripheral ring road. By the time she could navigate herself back to familiar territory her hunger pangs had nearly taken her stomach apart. As if to test her discipline, her phone rang. But she was determined not to take the call. She glanced at car monitor. It was not from anyone she knew. The number too did not seem familiar.

She reached home by half-past seven. In twenty minutes she was sitting in front of her television, with an apple in her hand. Biting into it, she checked her handset and placed a call to the unknown caller.

Reema was towelling her face dry when she heard her phone ring.

Must be Dolly, she thought
excitedly. She identified herself while
answering the phone. But Dolly was
not able to place her.
“We met at XJ Machines ,” Reema tried to trigger memory. But Dolly was still
drawing a blank, till she mentioned
Akash’s name.

“Oh yes! Now I remember you. So,
how are you doing?” queried Dolly.
But at the back of her mind she knew that if an unfamiliar person, especially a woman, called her up, nine times out of ten it would not be a courtesy call.

Reema explained why they were
visiting New Delhi.

“Where are you staying?”

“At Hotel High Towers.”

There was a sound outside her room. “I think Akash is at the door. We were
to meet at eight.”

“Where is this person staying?”

“Same room...I mean it is a suite,”

There was a pause before Dolly
continued.

“Why are you both not staying in separate single rooms?”

“I...I do not know ...”

“Let me call up the hotel. I shall get
back to you.” Dolly hung up.

Reema opened the door and found
Akash looking at her in surprise.

“Still not ready”, observing that she
was still in her nightgown. He was
already making his way inside the
room.

“No. I was talking to my..mom.”
Akash was already settling down in a
chair.

“Hey! You wear anklets! I never noticed them.”

Reema was suddenly aware that her dress barely reached her ankles.

“I love anklets,” he said. “Come over
here. Let me see its design.”

Reema made her way towards him silently and sat on a chair opposite
his, drawing up her legs. Her arms around her knees.

“They look great.” said Akash running his hands over her anklets.

“These do not make any noise, do they?” Akash wanted to know. His hands were moving away from the
anklets now.

“No. They are the silent ones.” Like me, thought Reema. Like you, shouted the butterfly. The paperweight was floating in the air in front of her. And then there was the epiphany. Its brilliant light shattering the glass, its pieces
dissolving into thin air. The butterfly
had got back its flutter and shook itself free. You need to make some noise.

Her phone beeped. It was Dolly. She
had texted to inform her that she had booked a single room in Reema’s name.

Reema shoved his hand away and
got up. “Akash, I am moving into my
room on the sixth floor. Now, can
you please leave my room and allow
me to get ready?” Reema thought
her silence was finally broken…

“Here is your access card”, said the front office assistant to Akash as he finished filling out… was originally published in Writers’ Building on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

Self-reflection is not easy!

In the silence, when there is no one by your side… Who are you?

Have you considered this existential question? I haven’t. In fact, I usually avoid thinking of, or considering, any such questions. I think they are a waste of time. Time that can be better spent getting stuff done.

The other day, over a few cups of tea, and many cigarettes, a group of friends were discussing humanity and the philosophy of our existence. That’s where I heard this question. Sitting behind this group, I was minding my own business when my ears caught this query and tuned into the discussion. I know eavesdropping is bad, but hear me out. My first thought once I realized the topic of their discussion?

“Who the hell sits in the middle of a cafe and discusses stupid stuff like this?”

As it turns out, one of their classmates passed away recently, so these guys were trying to figure out why he committed suicide. After a few inconsequential ramblings, one of them thought out aloud…

“Do we know who Ravi was when we weren’t around? We always saw him as this happy-go-lucky guy who took nothing seriously. We knew that he could be funny — he always made us laugh with his impersonation of our lecturers. His parents say he was a quiet kid. We remember him as a gregarious outgoing guy. Who was the real Ravi? Who knows what was going through his head?”

The entire group fell silent for a bit. All of them realizing, all of a sudden, that they didn’t really know the guy they thought they knew.

I, on the other hand, finished my tea and walked home, pondering the question “Who am I?” more than anything else.

We are our truest selves only in early childhood, I think. As we grow up, for various reasons, we learn to gauge our audience’s expectations and pander to them. The audience can be our parents, our teachers, our friends and even our life partners. A few years of this and we don’t even realize when to stop acting. It becomes natural!

A few examples from my life…

I am an assertive guy when with friends. Always ready to crack a joke or two, always goofing off — I like to think I’m the life of a party when I’m in it.

My friends expect me to be outspoken and confident, so I am.

Well, when I’m talking to my boss, I hesitate to speak out. While the aversion to being judged plays a certain role, I believe it’s more of a need to be judged favorably.

My boss expects me to be silent and just do what she orders, so I do.

And when it comes to this girl that I go out with now and then, I’m a never-ending source of stand-up comedy.

My girl-friend loves my sense of humor (copied jokes, of course), so I try.

I reach home, wash my face, sit on the bed and continue to think…

In the silence, when there is no one by my side, WHO AM I?

If you enjoyed reading this, 👏👏👏. Cheers!

Who are you? was originally published in Writers’ Building on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

A tale of luck, good and bad

Raju was a show off. Born with a silver spoon in his mouth, he was a coddled kid that grew up into a pampered teen that refused to grow up.

In school, he was the kid with the most expensive stuff — toys, stationery and gadgets. He loved showing them off and refused to share. It was always about him and his things. For example, he’d refuse to play cricket as soon as he was bowled out. Everyone hated that because the only bat they had was his and he’d refuse to play as soon as he got bowled out. His selfishness extended to refusing to share a glass or bottle of water with fellow players too!

In college, he decided to become an investment banker with his own funds. As soon as he turned twenty-one, he liquidated his entire trust fund. He invested this money and started playing the stock market. To everyone’s surprise, he turned out to be good at sniffing out potential bulls. Within a year, he’d doubled his initial investment!

The few friends who kept in touch with him offered to invest their savings into his fund. As they’d half-expected, he refused. Instead, he directed them to invest in a few mutual funds that had good returns. A few years later, over some drinks, he explained his logic to a friend. He liked making money only for himself!

The word narcissism was made to describe Raju!

On his twenty-fifth birthday, Raju decided to buy a house as a gift to himself. As always, he bought the most expensive and decadent house ever. It was a duplex villa with seven bedrooms, two living rooms, two kitchens, a game room, and an olympic-size swimming pool! Once he settled down in the new house, Raju invited his friends to discuss an alumni meet he had in mind. To be honest, he wanted to show off.

When his friends saw the house for the first time, they were impressed, appalled and dumbfounded — all at once. There was no doubt that the house was amazing. Yet, no one understood what Raju would do with seven bedrooms — he lived alone. The swimming pool was also flummoxing because he couldn’t swim.

In fact, they found him lounging poolside, working on two laptops simultaneously. He was busy jotting down stuff on a notepad with one hand while nibbling on a sandwich held in the other. There was a plate of half-eaten sandwiches and a glass of water right on the edge of the pool. More importantly, the pool was full of clean sparkling water at least two metres deep and all everyone could think of was “what a waste”…

Raju asked his friends to wait in the living room and that he’d be there in a ten minutes. As one, the entire group turned around and trooped back to the living room. Someone switched on the TV and they settled down to wait.

Ten minutes turned into twenty, and then thirty as the group waited while watching TV in the living room. One of his friends decided to go back and see if he was still busy. Walking into the pool area, he found Raju floating in the pool — upside down.

An hour later, the cops were at the scene and investigating the situation. The body was being removed from the swimming pool. His friends were being questioned by the inspector. And a technician was retrieving footage from the security cameras.

A day later, the case was closed as a death by accidental drowning. Camera footage showed the victim get up and take a step towards the exit. A second later, he accidentally kicked the glass of water next to the lounge chair. Inexplicably, the victim stepped on a wet patch and slipped into the pool. He drowned almost immediately as the pool was two metres deep at the edges. His friend came up to check on him fifteen minutes later.

And thus, in a series of unfortunate and inexplicable events, aided by luck that was both good and bad, Raju was drowned by a glass of water. Amen!

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And a glass of water in it

A glass of water that seems out of place
Out of place in a house in ruins

A house in ruins due to years of neglect
Neglect, a natural consequence of events

Events starting with a murder
Murder of a family in that house

That house, neighbors on the street avoid
Avoid talking and thinking about

About a decade ago, this was not the case
The case was to them, mysterious

Mysterious because the family died in the afternoon
The afternoon they were supposed to go out

Go out to the temple with their neighbors
Neighbors that today choose not to remember

Remember that murder that had no witness
No witness to explain the events

The events that resulted in a murder
A murder of crows flies above the town

The town turns a blind eye, yet again
Again, there is that glass of water

A glass of water that is still half full
Half full and half empty, as always

Always waiting in the ruins
In the ruins, in the dusty house

The house that everyone forgot

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A kid named “Bullet” and his TV repair skills

Bullet was a smart five-year old. He kept his mom company as she did household work. He’d watch her cook while munching on cookies. When she asked him something, he’d speak with a mouthful of bananas, his favorite food. He’d watch mom do everything with the utmost attention, as if learning how to do it.

One day, his mom was making dosas and, every now and then, she’d sprinkle water on the hot pan. Curious, he asked her why she did that, she absent-mindedly replied that it cooled the pan. Then, both went back to work — mom to her cooking and Bullet to his munching. By the time lunch was ready, he was sitting next to a not so small pile of bananas skins.

The next day, Bullet was watching TV. He loved watching TV even if he couldn’t understand what was happening. All of a sudden, the TV stopped working. Upset about the interruption to his second-favorite pastime, Bullet crawled and walked up to the TV, and touched it to see what was wrong.

“Owwie”, he cried as his finger burned. The TV, an old CRT model, was steaming hot! Bullet was even more upset now and set about finding a solution. “The TV stopped working because it got hot. If it cools down, it’ll work again”, he thought to himself.

The enterprising lad took the glass of water that mom kept aside for him and overturned it on the TV. “Now it will cool down and I can watch TV again”, he crowed to himself.

The TV, already on it’s last leg, gave out completely. Bullet was upset, but not as much as his dad was after coming home to a damaged TV.

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Cool It Down was originally published in Writers’ Building on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.