Hot & Cold

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Life is an experience that brings forth a slew of emotions each day, with each moment. And to me, it has been no different –except for the fact that mine has been filled with more than its fair share of contradictions. More often than not, it has been a case of extremes, and intermediates if any have been few and far between – Either black or white. No reds, blues and greens.

Catching a cold in the hottest of climates is something I have come to master over the years. Also, I don’t really like how the term catch is used figuratively here – As if I made a conscious effort to grab the goddamn virus out of thin air and shove it into my body. Or maybe I did – a few sips cold water here, an ice-cream there.

I remember reading a headline this morning stating that at 38 degrees – yesterday was the hottest October day ever. Bloody hell! Here I was, sweating and sneezing at the same time. And the confusion that followed was the last thing I needed.

To let the fan over my head run faster or not to, to sip on moderately cold water or not to, to do anything at all or not to for I felt far too irritable sometimes – all seemingly trivial concerns yet so significant in the moment.

I have a pair of football studs lying idle in my shoe-rack. I haven’t played footy in years now. I mean, I have in the casual sense, but nothing full on like sprinting after forwards on a real ground. Honestly, I haven’t always been great at it, but as far I can remember, I had fun playing – I miss the running around, being short on breath, making my lungs realise just how much I need them. Sometimes, I wish I could travel back in time and maybe play a game or two again, make stupid mistakes, cost my team a goal and even score once in a blue moon – all of it for the simple reason that I would enjoy myself and get the dose of adrenaline I often crave.From being certain I would every other day when I bought those studs, to barely even coming close to it in years – white to black, hot to cold.

There was a time when I had a bicycle and couldn’t imagine my life without it. I cycled day in and day out and lost an (almost) astronomical amount of weight thanks to it. It was my primary and (often) only form of exercise during my school days. And boy! It was exciting too – Until of course, junior college and science decided to make me fat again. Eventually, unrelenting attacks by the elements covered the bike in a veil of rust and it had to be given away. From cycling day in and day out to not having a bicycle anymore – white to black, hot to cold.

As a kid, I was more of an avid cricket fan than I am now. A bat, a ball, a few square metres and voila! A game of cricket was on. I have broken windows, lost cricket balls when I hit them too hard and knocked batsmen over with some unreal inswingers – all that until a few years ago. From playing bat and ball within the tiniest of spaces at every chance I got, to playing once in four months – white to black, hot to cold.

I acted in plays in school, wore the weirdest costumes, forgot dialogues, improvised and made people laugh – Never had the chance to do the same post school. From learning to embrace an art to never going back to it again – white to black, hot to cold.

On the contrary, I didn’t think writing would be something I looked up to as a real hobby someday, hadn’t read half as many books as I have since, had never sketched cars and had never been on a roller coaster either. All that and more has materialized over the years, and while my life continues to contradict itself from time to time, the differences keep me interested.

Double Edged

Monday, 0700 hours: The alarm set off – it was time to wake up. Another morning of chores, of heading to work, of having little else to look forward to. It was all eerily familiar, and he hated every bit of it. On the contrary, he always looked forward to evenings.

 

Raymond was the perfect assortment – quite literally, the complete man. His life revolved around his 9 to 5, but there was always more. A people’s person, he got along with just about everyone at work and was considered to be the nicest bloke around. His energy was outright infectious and whoever met him, instantly took a liking to him. But for all the extraversion and the charisma he exuded, there was always an air of mystery to the guy – the kind that worked in his favour.

There was more to Raymond, more to his day than a desk job and he claimed to enjoy it.

His colleagues at work never really knew what he did or where he went post work. For reasons unknown, he always maintained ‘it was personal’. But they were all happy for him. Happy because they knew he had struggled to settle in a whole new city and his homesickness was pretty obvious for the first few months.

“Four years since I left home,” he reminisced – preparing to leave for work. “And it still feels like it was yesterday.” He did miss his family at times, but this was home now.

1700 hours:

Raymond looked up and saw the clock strike 5. It was time to leave – the end of another day at work. He said his goodbyes and stepped out of the office. He figured he was going to be home late and shuddered at the thought as he recalled a headline from the morning paper – ‘Serial Killer on the Prowl. Another Man Dies. A series of killings had rocked the city over the past couple of months.

Seconds later, he shook it off and continued on his way to a café downtown. He was about to meet an old friend, or so he thought.

Flashback – 0715 hours – *Raymond receives a text on his phone* – ‘Good Morning Ray! I have something for you –Meet me at Café Riverdale today – 5:30pm. Regards, John’

John was one of Raymond’s oldest friends. They had known each other since school but hadn’t been in touch for more than a few months now. Raymond was pleasantly surprised and to some extent, confused. “What now?” he wondered.

1730 hours:

“Hello Raymond! It’s been so long,” he was greeted by a familiar voice.

“H-Hello”, he responded nervously.

He shouldn’t have had a reason to be nervous. Meeting an old friend was supposed to be pleasant, after all. But he was trembling from head to toe, sweating profusely, trying to make sense of what had unfolded.He settled on the adjacent chair.

It wasn’t John.

The man handed him a die and gestured for him to roll. Raymond obliged.

The die rolled for what felt like an eternity. It read ‘one’ when it did settle.

“That looks like the number for today. Doesn’t it Ray?”

Raymond nodded and hurried out of the café.

2000 hours:

He smirked as he entered the train terminal.

“This is it,” he said to no one in particular.

He saw a man take the escalator heading to the platform above and followed suit.

A deserted terminal and Raymond following another man – to anybody who knew the guy, this wouldn’t look like anything out of the ordinary. Why would it ever?They didn’t know him as well as they thought they did.

With no inkling of approaching danger, the man collapsed as Raymond stabbed him in the back. He looked around for no signs of witnesses and fled the scene in a rush.

2100 hours:

The bus terminal bore a deserted look. A few people scattered around, waiting for their rides.High on adrenaline, Raymond took the ride home feeling accomplished.

“No traces left behind. No CCTV cameras either. I should be okay” he thought.

Tuesday, 0700 hours:

Another dull day at work beckons. Followed by an eventful evening, surely?

The glass doors slid open as Raymond enters the building. He avoided the elevator, climb up to his office on the third floor – enclosed spaces made him excessively paranoid.

The morning paper highlighted yet another killing. Just then, his phone beeped.

A familiar text – ‘Café Riverdale – 5:30pm. Regards, John.’

He looked forward to meeting an old friend, or so he thought.

Back at Raymond’s residence, the police broke in. A few minutes into the search they discovered medical reports.

“This is messed up!” an officer remarked.

And in a moment, half of Raymond’s life became an illusion. Or was it completely so?