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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic

Flower – Children’s Stories Vol. 1

Flower – Children’s Stories Vol. 1


- a micro-story by Antu Necksnapper


Twelve years ago, a kid I made friends with, a metalhead – heart and soul – who used to work at a radio engineering center back in my hometown, and who appeared to live life for getting back to his 6-string, a monthly journal and a record collection every evening, for hours two or four, after the day’s sweat and toil, said to me, “I have no idea where I belong anymore, no clue where I’m headed: can you help me? I don’t think I can ever be redeemed, for my crimes are serious!

I’ve been hanging out more with people who have either nothing to do with this music, or any music at all, than all those out there who really know stuff, and have apparently done quite well for themselves. Look, I can never even be as good as them… I’ve also been staying clear of the few odd gigs that happen in town, and find myself listening to equal amounts of other stuff, such as this:” (showing me a tape borrowed from someone, containing Khayal in Maru Bihag by an eminent Hindustani vocalist.)

“I don’t drink, never did any drugs, and it’s been about a year since I quit smoking.”


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“….and I’d never eat anything that I believe can cause harm to my already frail body” (placing a hand over his belly), “just to show myself off as part of the brotherhood, or as enlightened before the ignorant masses around.”

Later, we were at a chai ki dukan when he continued, “I tried wearing a goatee once, but it didn’t work; nor did a cool tattoo – of a snake or an inverted cross, or some hideous creature sticking out its tongue – ever happen. I don’t even have any piercings, as you see, and greet enemies with a handshake or namaskar rather than horns up.”

“Come, see my home today? Just about just five minutes from here.”

I said, “okay, lets.”

…..and then, in THE room, on a table to the north-eastern corner, just below the part of the wall adorned by, alongside others, a giant Deicide poster, was an idol of, “the Lotus-eyed One, before Whom I light an earthen lamp and some incense, and unto Whose care all actions – right or wrong as I cannot discern – and this insignificant life I surrender.”

He then said, “leaving my employer and you, and my poor old folks, all those that know me have no idea that I went to college too, as I unmistakably present myself as a school dropout. They are far outside the parameters of what it takes to know why I denounce education, and have disowned friends and relatives who’re giving their lives protecting social standards, and some of who have become teachers in schools and colleges. But for all I can do: I’ve got just derogation to offer to all that they have taught me, conditioned in me – and the damage they’ve done to me – allowing instead my rage to consume my own memory.

Needless then to say that I’m lost and alone, and shall perish so – a fire-breathing monster immolated in its own penitence. A bitter seed. An irreverent, emotionless fuck. The detriment.”

I had to leave town soon after, and come here looking for a job. I haven’t heard from him since. Today is his birthday.

Submitted: November 07, 2014

© Copyright 2021 Antu Necksnapper. All rights reserved.

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