Idiary

The bullet ripped my lungs,I could feel them being  clogged with blood, the same blood that  should have sustained me.Again and again the security in green shot at me and it was painful. But, even in that pain there was pleasure,a pleasure so strong that it muted  pain to a remote buzz.

It gave me pleasure to hack into their system.It gave me pleasure to  destroyed their chain of reservation.It gave me pleasure to fight those who  pulled me down in the name of caste.To fight those who made me fight my fellow being  just for a chance, for they never gave me a chance, a chance to explore my potential and yet they expected to gain from my knowledge.Better to die than stay and suffer in the darkness of caste reservation.Better to fight the country that treated me as second class just because I was privileged enough to be born in general caste.Better to……………..It was painful to breath and yet I pulled in a last one.

As I exhaled I was back in my bike, cruising across the government facility in my Thunderbird staring at the security and wondering whether I will ever be given a chance to work there.Just a chance…………

Idiary

Idiary

Its feels good to zoom down Indiranagar 100 feet road in Thunderbird.Zoom, Zoom Zoom,cars and bikes are honking, people are cursing while my surrounding’s are blur.

And then the unthinkable happens, a family with a cute kid cross the road.There’s  an impulse, an increase in  heart beat.I apply break, skid and mow one down while the others are pushed towards the oncoming bus.As I gather myself up I observe the crushed bloody meat of the kid with bone sticking out and I blink.

Blink…..I open my eyes and the family have already crossed the road,I take a deep breath and as usual drive down the road at a safe speed.

All of us share strong imagination but in some of us its more vividly detailed  and for some reason its more negative than positive.Welcome to myimaginationdiary a blog on unnatural imagination.I have no clue on why I’m writing it.Is it so that I can connect with the likes of me or Is it just a time-pass?  Only time will tell.

Idiary