Bubble Gum

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Literary Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
So, I pretend to be a (wannabe) writer but this is actually my first piece of finished fiction and I wrote it on a whim for a writing competition actually.The story is based on image basically

Submitted: March 15, 2017

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Submitted: March 15, 2017

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Hamza Marri took a long drag on the remnants of his cigarette. He knew. He knew, he knew it was unhealthy, it didn't serve an object. But didn’t it? It helped him focus.

Suck it in. Blow it out. Focus. Focus.

He took another long drag before flicking it away and crushing it with his foot. They had caught up sooner than he had anticipated. He had been there only six months.

Crossing the alleyway that cut a shorter route to his apartment building he came to a halt onto the street looking unnaturally deserted except for the few neighborhood kids playing around. Two of them, the kids of his busty next-door neighbor, stood nearby, blowing bubble gum bubbles as if competing to see who could blow a bigger one.

Pop went one; pop did the other too.

“Hey, Damien, could you spare me one too?” He smiled at the older one. They knew he was their mother's friend—he slept with her. Another thing to be left behind, the thought saddened him a little more. Taking the chewing gum being offered, he was on the move again. They didn’t seem to be following him but he had to hurry.

Slurp it out, munch it up, blow a bubble to feel good. Bubblegum, bubble gum.

He unwrapped the bubble gum and chucked it into his mouth as he crossed the street to his apartment building. These were the emissaries of a fixated state. A state weaned off the Limey breasts too prematurely, too violently almost 70 years ago—a mere collateral damage--just like him half that time ago in the rebellion of 70s. They knew their sadistic jobs well. And he knew the state well—they were born the same after all. The children and the state—the state manufacturing the children, the children packaging the state.

Chew, chew, chomp and munch. Twirl it around on tongue and blow the bubble to feel good.

Wasn’t that life too? Chew and chew, chomp and munch and blow a bubble to see who made it bigger before it popped. Could you blame the state or him?

Bubble gum, bubblegum. Pop, pop.

In his apartment, he hurried to his toilet. He knew they only reveal themselves when they swoop down for the kill. He knew what they wanted, and they would not have it. Too many lives at stake.

Consume it, devour it. Burn, burn.

As fire ate away the documents, and he lit up a cigarette, he heard sounds from outside the apartment—the angels of death knocking on his front door. In the silence of the apartment, they seemed like blowing of bubbles to him.

Bubblegum, bubble gum. Pop, pop.


© Copyright 2017 Ghazi khaan. All rights reserved.

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