Young Writers Society

I took to looking through the window of my flat all day long after receiving a mail from my boss. It said, “We are letting you go”, it said a lot more than that but the message was all the same: I had no job. I have no job. I sat there on my desk for a while, for how long-- I don’t know. The upgrades I needed—that I planned for me, the vacations, and the visits to the parents—do they even care? Do I care? It was drizzling outside, the crows were taking shelter on my window sill—all the tall buildings and no window sills—what has the city come to and where will all the poor crows would go? I got up and shooed the crows out from my window sill and got back to my mail. “We are letting you go.” The flat was awfully quiet and I regretted shooing the crows—they could have kept me company. But they were wet and were making a mess on the window sill. I know I’m too tired to clean it. I like to keep my windows open during the rainy season. I like the smell of the earth though rarely does the air smell like earth. It smells more like tar, and garbage and sweat, and sickness and allergies. But I like to keep the windows open during the rainy season. And I know I will be too tired to do anything for a while.

It hasn’t stopped drizzling and the air was now cold and damp. I should get up and switch off the fan and close the window before I catch a cold, but it’s too much work and besides, I have no job. I don’t have to worry about taking sick leave. So I sit there looking out the window.

I refresh my mail account. No new mails. So it’s not a joke and it’s not a prank. This is for real. The fact remains true: I have no job. I decide to write a mail. To whom—I can’t remember a single person who could help me. Hell, I can’t even help myself. I check my contacts—they are all either strangers or colleagues who never invited me anywhere or old school friends that I didn’t talk to anymore because I had a job. I go through the list again and again and again, and decide to write to Kenny—the anglo-Indian. Kenny took me to a church on a New Year’s Eve and there I kissed a girl, for the first time ever in my life. Kenny knows everything. He knows how to get a girl’s number without looking or sounding awkward. He can speak his way to get an appraisal. He introduced me to the Beatles and his grandmother made me watch Harold and Maude. I loved the movie and his grandmother.

So I begin, “Hey…” what does one write? And do people even invite via email? “… want to have a drink? Starbucks?” Sent

It’s getting dark outside and Kenny has his mail synced to his phone. He has seen the notification and has ignored me. He can’t be in a situation where he couldn’t have his mobile with him unless he’s naked on a mortuary table. But he can’t be dead, I would’ve known if he were. News about demises travels faster unless they decide to withhold the message and do what? Maybe Kenny is not my pal after all. And I need to pee.

I’ve read somewhere that a human’s body reacts in different ways to shock, and of all the reactions I’ve got the ugliest one: the urge to pee. Maybe it’s not the shock but the cold, damp wind that’s blowing through the window and straight to my face. I should have closed the window when I got up to shoo the birds. I try to get up but I feel too heavy from below. It’s going to be one long piss.

I switch on the light to the toilet but it’s too bright so I switch it off and do my business in the dark. I must have spilled a few because I don’t hear them but the lights are too bright and I’m too tired. I slump back into the chair and refresh my mail.

One new mail, I get excited but it’s from Kenny…

“ok, kid. Call you after the meeting. You buy.”

The bastard!

“Sorry, have things to do.” Sent

The traces of the daylight cling to the sky and the drizzling hasn’t stopped. I have never really paid much attention to the changes that happen to the sky day and night and so I sit and watch it turn darker and darker, and deeper and deeper, and the curve of the sky. As if the sky ends on the top the glass building that has no window sill which stands in front of my apartment building. The dim light from my laptop gets dimmer but I’m too tired to keep it running and so it gets dimmer and dies.

The darkness has never been scarier and I’ve never been so tired. There’s no light outside, and no stars or moon. The drizzle hasn’t stopped and the glass building looks deserted. A crow sits at my window sill and caws. I got up from the chair; I used the darkness and my piss less body to my benefit as I slowly walked towards the window. The crow continued cawing, probably calling its friends. After reaching a decent distance to the window, I scream at the top of my lungs.