SEPTEMBER_UNIKUM_WEB (1)

Tuco wondered what the young man was writing about. For some
reason he did not dare announce himself or even look away, as he
watched everything with almost bated breath. The man seemed to
be in a world of his own, and was obviously working on something
important. There were a couple of disturbances, such as when
someone called out something from the interiors of the building
and the young man hollered something back in a language that
Tuco could not recognise. There was also a phone call, that too on
a landline phone that Tuco had not noticed earlier. However, each
time the young man dealt with the disturbance quickly and then
immediately went back to his writing.
A lot of time had passed and Tuco could feel one of his feet going
to sleep. Should he announce himself and ask the young man
for directions or should he just back away quietly and go back?
This did, after all, seem to be a very private scene, even though
something about it seemed both intriguing and very off to him. He
decided to find out who this man was.
He was just mulling over how to introduce himself, when the young
man looked up towards him and broke into a smile.
“Tuco, you’re here…”
“Whaaa….?” thought Tuco to himself. “How does he know my
name?”
“Of course I know your name Tuco. I gave it to you,” The man
answered, almost on cue, “You know, I spend a lot of time naming
my characters.”
“What? Can he read my thoughts now? What’s going on?”
“Of course, I can read your thoughts Tuco…don’t you see, I am your
creator and you are my character.”
“Your…… character?” Tuco had finally found his voice.
“Yes, I am an author and you are a character I created, Tuco. And
now that you are here… Hmmmm!” The young man now stopped
talking entirely and started scrutinizing him very closely. It
seemed as if he was making up his mind about something.
Tuco stood dumbfounded, too stunned to react.
Finally, the young man shook his head, frowned and
headed back towards his chair. “You need to go, Tuco,” he
said almost offhandedly as he began to write again.
“Go?,” thought Tuco. “Go where?”
The young man looked up from his writing. He had a kind smile on
his face “Your part in this story is over, Tuco. I just needed to see
you fully to make up my mind.” He went back to his writing, and
then added, as an afterthought “The story will continue, of course.”
A vague sense of panic and horror suddenly took hold. Tuco’s head
was reeling- he needed to sit down somewhere. The young man was
scribbling away furiously now. Tuco felt his heart beating faster
and faster, he broke into a cold sweat as scenes from his childhood
came flooding back. Here he was as three-year-old, playing in
his mother’s lap, surrounded by warmth and comfort. He was
feeling happy, calm and extremely drowsy as a warm, comforting
unconsciousness seemed to beckon. One by one his senses were
slipping away, swallowed by a void. Till all that remained was
nothingness upon nothingness, utter annihilation……….
------------------------------------------------*----------------------------------------------------
Luke woke up in a panic. His heart was beating like a hammer, and
he just knew that he had been gnashing his teeth in his sleep. Every
cell in his body was screaming silently this feeling of utter horror
and the desperate desire to cling on to life.
As he came to his senses, he could make out the comforting
familiarity of his little room. The world was still dark and peaceful.
He closed his eyes and took deep, measured, slow
breaths as reality slowly took hold. It was just a
dream. He was Luke, not Tuco, and he hadn’t
died. Yet why had it all seemed so real? That
part about his wife, his desire to live and
that feeling of terror and powerlessness.
And yet he wasn’t even married, and
had never been to Prague.
How could a dream terrorize him so?
As he turned on his side, his hand
went to his pillow and he realised that
it was wet. He must have been crying
in his sleep. Why had it affected him so
much? He knew what the problem was,
of course. It was the Philosophy course
he was taking this semester. All that
endless hair splitting about the nature
of reality and the grand purpose and
meaning of life had been putting these
weird thoughts in his head lately.
I mean, why did anyone even need a grand purpose to
life? What if life was just like that, you visit a library
and then you die- Poof. And you don’t even finish your
novel. He thought about the parable of the butterfly that he
had once read. In it- a young Chinese philosopher went to sleep
and dreamt that he was a butterfly. He saw himself flying through
the air, flitting from flower to flower, doing what butterflies do.
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