Manifesto Of a Nihilist

"You in there?"

A subtle tap on my temples brought me back from the lands of flashbacks.

"Did you hear any of what I said?"

Dang, it happened again. I gave her a blank stare as a desperate act of playing dumb while my brain tried to piece together what she could have said. The search results came back empty. So I resorted to my second weapon, making my eyes as round and googly as it was possible, mimicking that of a cute pug.

"Thought So."

She sighed and then again. As her lungs depleted, I prepared myself for hearing something ominous.

The continuous downpour had stopped as clouds floated to the north, while affable afternoon sun rays fell on her cheeks. Looking like a fairy, bathing in all that heavenly gleam, she slowly started ripping my heart out with her words.

"This isn't working."

I lost time after. As if I was bewitched or ingested LSD that worked in reverse.

Would you mind leaving mate? Don't you have a home to go to.

We came upon the "Bangal rooftop cafe" about dusk, and it was close to midnight now. Couldn't remember when she left. The only thing that remained was her fading lavender perfume that I might never get to smell ever again.

Presently I'm sitting on a chair in the darkest corner of room 325, A tiny dorm room of Jagannath hall.

Something started hovering around, a bug maybe, or a cockroach perhaps. It could sit on my face, and I wouldn't kill it. All I need now is a hug, and I wouldn't mind that form an insect, I guess.

As the reflected lights from cars passing by entered through the window, it illuminated the sharp glass pieces scattered all over the floor. Alcohol-induced nausea took away my senses, and I toppled over the beer bottles breaking most of them. As they kept getting illuminated, the largest piece started to look so attractive. What would befall if I took that in my hand and shredded my artery to pieces? Would all this pain go away?

I was seven when for the first time ever I had killed something. Dropped the biggest concrete slab available on a cat from the roof of my house. Only to see if cat bones being too flexible was true. It was not.

The tiny shaking tail that kept rattling even after no other signs of life could be seen was so fascinating. So I thought, why not try it again. This time, I craved for something bigger.

A few days later, another opportunity opened up. Our neighbor's dog, a dalmatian that regularly comes on our yard to pee on the lilac bushes, chose to do it somewhere else that day. We had this swing on our yard, and above it was our birdhouse. This time, the dog decided to pee on that tree where it was.

Through the cracks of the wooden floor, I saw it, the third leg up in the sky letting all loose. I took my father's bushmaster knife on my hand. Like a snow leopard hunting down an unsuspecting mountain goat, I jumped on it from a few feet above. As the blade made contact with its throat, blood started gushing out in a manner almost comparable to that of a mall fountain. But it didn't go easy, before breaking its last breath, it didn't forget to bite my leg.

An unstoppable scream came out of my lungs that I in no way was able to suppress before I became unconscious.

The first thing I saw after opening my eyes was my mum's worried face. I was in the hospital. My leg tied up in the air to a contraption, almost like how that Dalmatian looked before it died. As if there was a switcheroo somewhere. As if I was the dog now.

Nobody had suspected a thing. The neighbors came to visit one day, and in tearful eyes, they apologized to me, kneeling down matching their height to my wheelchair. But, I felt no remorse, only a tingling sensation of chaotic joy running down my spine.

Now I'm standing in front of her house, with that decade-old knife on my right hand. And I still feel no remorse, no guilt, only a tingling sensation of delight running down my spine.