Chapter 1

A Chapter by Ujjwal Ankur

He touched the glass door. It swung open on its own making a loud eerie sound. He stepped inside and instantly, the door shut behind him with a loud thud. He turned around and tried to force open the door, but it merely clicked. He looked around. He was inside a very dark and narrow corridor which seemed like extending on forever. It had rough, gray concrete walls on both sides. The ceiling was high, very high. Almost invisible. The floor was cold, and now he realized that he was barefooted. With no option of turning back and a sting of the accumulating cold in his feet, he walked on. Slowly and cautiously. The only source of light was a distant glow, seemingly at the end of the corridor which cracked and flickered continuously, casting long, pointed shadows on the walls.
      At this moment, he realized that he had been here before. Not once, not twice, but many times. And suddenly, a loud, high pitched scream filled the entire corridor         . He fell down to his knees with his hands covering his ears. Everything went blank. He could feel the scream reverberating inside his head, bouncing off the walls and the ceiling. His head started swarming, eyes started to lose focus. He had to get out somehow. He ran towards the door, shaking it vigorously and yelling for help. He could hear some voices outside, indistinct, but one of them was perhaps calling his name. He had to get out somehow. They were searching for him. He had to grab their attention...
      "Siddhu, are you all right? Siddhu?"
      He opened his eyes. He was lying on a soft and warm bed in a sumptuously furnished bedroom; complete with fine upholstery, matching curtains and eloquent marquetry in the furniture. A young woman in her late twenties was leaned over him, shaking him vigorously. She had long brown hair, and a pair of sparkling blue eyes.
      "Anjali! Oh thank god it's you! I was so scared. It was so-" He started frantically, gasping.
      "Relax", she cut him short in between.

"Don't talk. Take rest, okay? Don't think about it. It's over now. I'm here. Everything's all right."
He watched her go over to the sink to fetch him water, her yellow night gown flowing behind her. She always gave him strength. Somehow, everything was right when she was with him.
"Here you go. Drink up and get ready. You don't want to be late again. Do you?" she sat beside him, watching him intently. Two years of marriage had changed him completely. He no longer was that afraid, cowering and nervous man that she had met and fallen in love with about three years ago, most of which was sympathy and compassion. More than anything, she was curious about him. But in these years she had seen him change. She had seen him grow as an individual and as a husband. Sometimes, she couldn’t help but be proud of herself that she was the one who had brought him out of his shell. But again, there were these nightmares, these constant dreams about a long corridor and concrete walls about which he would refuse to talk.

“Was it the same one?” she asked, trying hard not to sound anxious or worried.

“Yes.”

“Could you go any further? Remember anything?” she couldn’t help but notice the growing anxiety in her voice.

“No.”

“There must be something that you would be able to associate it with. You once said that you had been to that place.”

“I didn’t say that I had been to that place. I said that it seemed familiar, as if I have seen it somewhere. I donno. But the voice that I heard today was something new. I had never heard it before.” But actually, not just he had heard the voice before, he felt that perhaps he knew whose it was, though no name came to his mind when he thought about it. But he didn’t want to think about it anymore. He had grown tired of thinking about this dream.

“There is a friend of mine whose husband is a doctor.” She had deliberately avoided using the term psychiatrist.

“I’m fine.”

“He might be able to help, you know. She said that cases like this are not very uncommon. A heavy work load and strenuous lifestyle often cause such nightmares.” She gradually looked up to his eyes. They stared at each other for some time, both aware of what the other was thinking.

“I said I’m fine. I don’t need any doctor.” But only after he had said this he realized that he was not fine. He had no control over his thoughts anymore. They would often wander off to his past. A past which he had so conscientiously avoided.

He got up from his bed and moved towards the bathroom. He looked up at himself in the mirror. The face that looked back at him from the mirror wasn’t one he was familiar with. It was so blank. Devoid of life. Afraid and alone. He was so alone. When was the last time that he had felt at home? When was the last time that he had been fearless? When he loved everyone and most importantly, himself?

His thoughts started to wander and he could see them reflected in the mirror in front of him. A group of school-children could be seen chatting animatedly under a rusted shed. One, two, three, … six of them. There was Shivani, the most animated of all. Most probably talking about the latest gossip in the school that she had come across. Next to her was Rohit. Tall, dark, handsome, listening to her intently, with an occasional nod of affirmation to show his continued interest. On the other side of Shivani was Arundhati, sweet, innocent Aru, looking at Shivani with an awed expression. A bit aloof from the group was Venkatesh with a book in his hands, but actually listening intently to the conversation going on beside him. A recumbent figure with his back to everyone else and with a guitar in his hands was Animesh. And the boy beside Animesh, beaming at everyone and looking at each with a sense of pride, as if they were some prized possession was himself, Siddharth Arora. He was so different. So happy.

“What will you like to eat?” came Anjali’s voice from the kitchen and the images in the mirror disappeared.

What had happened to him? What had changed him? What made that little boy inside him to die? These were questions which he wasn’t sure he wanted answered.

“Anything”, he mumbled.

He had to bring his old self back. Positive. He had to be positive. He had to stop thinking about the past and focus on his present life.

Only he had the right to have control over his life.

“What? Can’t hear it.”

No other thought. No nightmare. No worrying about the past. Nothing. He had to get a hold of himself and pull things together. For his sake; for Anjali’s sake. Yes! He could do it.

“Can you cook something that’s worth serving? I’ll have it.” He emerged from the bath with a sense of determination and strutted across the room in a mocking royal way.

“Ohho! So would the Majesty like toasts with scrambled eggs or would he prefer an omelette instead? Of course only if I don’t burn them to ash first.”

She could sense the effort which her husband was putting into keeping his mind clear of this morning’s events. There was absolutely no reason for her to pester him for details even though she knew that he wasn’t telling everything to her.

“An omelette would do just fine. Thank you.”

Anjali smiled at him and turned back. She was aware of his little confidence talk to himself in front of the mirror, everyday. She had even seen him crying once in the bathroom. But every time he stepped out of that bathroom, he wasn’t the same person who went in. No matter what her friend’s husband said about his condition, she knew that her husband was not a psycho. He just needed a little support. She looked back at him and smiled. He smiled back. Everything’s fine. Everything’s normal.

“Here are your toasts, and here is your omelette. Anything else, sire?”

“No. That’d be all. Thank you.”

As she turned to go, he asked slowly, “Do you have any special plans for the evening? Any meeting or work?”

Though a bit surprised on the arbitrary nature of the question, she thought for some time and answered, “I don’t think so. I have got some paperwork to finish. But nothing very big.”

“Umm…One of my friends has two extra tickets for a movie tonight, so, umm… I was wondering if…”

At this point, Anjali burst out into laughter.

“After three years of knowing each other and two years of marriage, you still can’t ask me out, can you?”

“I was going to say it. I swear. Common. I can say it.”

“Yeah. Right. Right. And I am the Queen of England. Anyways, I will be free by seven.”

“Okay. I will pick you up then.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

He smiled and left, leaving her a bit surprised, but smiling. This is not normal. This was a great change from the normal him. She smiled.

Yeah, change is good.

© 2008 Ujjwal Ankur

My Review

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Featured Review

Constance

You're doing some nice work, here. I like the story line so far. Though I do wish there were some sort of cliffhanger at the end.
Grammatically, you have a few problems. The first paragraph loses effect and doesn't draw as much interest as it could, thanks to the short subject/verb sentences that comprise the majority of it. Allow me to rewrite the first paragraph as it should read to be fluent and more interesting:
"As he touched the glass door,it swung open on its own-- making a loud eerie sound {{what kind of sound? I'd rewrite here}}. He stepped inside and instantly, the door shut behind him with a loud thud. Frantically, he turned back and tried to force open the door, but it merely clicked. He was inside a very dark and narrow corridor which seemed to extend to forever. Rough, gray concrete walls flanked both sides, and the ceiling was high--very high-- almost invisible. The floor was cold, which led him to realize that he was barefoot. With no option of turning back, a sting of the accumulating cold in his feet, he walked on, slowly and cautiously. The only source of light was a distant glow (seemingly at the end of the corridor), which cracked and flickered continuously, casting long, pointed shadows on the walls."
Can you see the difference? The issue is in sentence fluency. Short sentences gather emphasis, but when every sentence is short, it makes for an absence of the gentle flow that literature needs to hold interest. The structure should vary from time to time, and only simple statements of fact belong in short sentences- to draw emphasis to them.
That being said, your characters are starting to develop, and the plot seems interesting. I hope that you continue this piece.
C