How He Wrote Us into Existence – A Fiction Ch.4



One of the thumbnails – that of a woman in a living-coral dress – unsettles the poet. He misreads a poem we think rather fine. He quivers, clears his throat, stumbles into our basement and leaves us in a quandary whether we should enchain him or not.


The day, slow and pollen ridden, ferries cuckoo and police sirens from eternity to our house. The authority sites another wave of virus spread and closes down life. Less the people-noises we hear more we feel being in fugue between hell and serenity.


My wife holds her patience against my theories. ‘The vaccine is the new source of virus.’ ‘The authority wants us to stay home at the time of the election this year.’


The conspiracy theories whizz past our house at night. Returns. Rotates. Circles. The glare blinds our attic owl. I tell our daughter about the UFOs we had in our childhood. She mismatches the tales and asks if an alien descends on our rooftop and if we dare to meet it and if it wants to grant us three wishes what we shall fancy.


I think about that lottery shop. I think about a job. I think about a new house that is not reclining to the decomposition. I think of the mythical school that makes a man a man. I think of our daughter in its white and tartan uniform. I think of the vacation my wife deserves. A promenade in a piazza of Bruges. I think of the year-long slow autumn. I wish for the poet to emerge from his mind’s basement. I wish I can wish something on time. 


The dinner, braised vegetables, served in white porcelain with blue border, enjoys the silence. Then our daughter belches darkness.


The poet does not want anything. It seems, his chronicles will be revealed some other time, and the cat’s tales.


My wife alerts us, our neighbour’s three years old son is crying.




Kushal Poddar

Kushal Poddar lives in Kolkata, India
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