The clattering sound of the rain against my den’s windshield woke me up from my much needed respite . It was yet another dream to add to my plethora of spooky nights. I was stranded in the lands of unbeknownst, the winds were humming as I tasted the needled cold. The ever growing pine trees all around dwarfed me while the thick bed of fresh snow beneath my knee high snow boots,nearly collapsed with every alternate step leaving me with a fainter heart. The sun sneered at me while he faded away with my hope.

With the gray cast sky,and a closing in storm, my vision was at it’s best I must say. I could see the gargantuan walls of a possible castle less than a few yards away. The snow blotted with fresh blood left a trail. I was in grave need of shelter for all the obvious reasons. I began to trod towards it, along the ground profile which was no better than my “social life”.

My dad’s third transfer in the last couple of years. If you’d let alone the financial stability, we were no better than a bunch of vagrants. He was never home or maybe I was used to the idea of him not being. The new school was totally welcoming as my mother liked to put it. I should tell you that I was a mediocre and no stud kid .Being the timid kid I am, getting bullied was more of a pastime. I had to make sure that my mom never got her hands on my blood stained handkerchiefs. The only thing that gravitated me towards school was the “psychology lecture”.

Professor Steve Hughes was a cool guy. Listen up, he was also a celibate *shush*. His lectures were mostly awe inspiring. More than often we used to talk about interesting things, criminal psychology,hypnosis and lucid dreaming,were a few worth mentioning. I was totally pumped up to practice lucid dreaming the moment I learnt about it. He helped me big time. I used to go to his place and spend quality time with him. We’d talk about world , space , time and beyond. I’d started to idolize him. Wait. Is that my father?

He was smiling at me across the asphalt as the truck crushed his skull before my eyes. He was reduced to a gross mass of meat.

If Professor Steve was my dad, my mom?

My mom started bobbing her head like a hen, but wait she was a hen! She was now pecking the grains at my feet. A man laced his hands with mine. He had a cock on his tee shirt. Sriracha’s worker? My heavens! Sriracha’s sauce tastes like sauce! Of course , it’s sauce!

The sauce left a trail. Some nimcompoop had spilled it.! Idiot.! To my surprise,the castle was nothing but Sriracha’s! The whole god damned factory! The owner gleefully looked at me and passed a crate of fresh sauce,while I was trying to absorb reality. But reality?

I woke up to the clattering sound of the rain against my den’s windshield. Sixteen years had passed since I last shared a plate of french fries with Professor Satish Hegde in the IISc canteen,and he had mentioned how much he loved Sriracha sauce that I had brought him from Thailand.

He had adopted me from an orphanage when I was six, and made me the man I am today.

He shouldn’t have missed his radiotherapy sessions over eating fries with me!


The thing that really intrigues me is

Who am I?

Who narrated the story to me?

Is my brain exclusive of me?

How was there an element of mystery and surprise when I spoke to myself?

Am I being oblivious to myself?

Do brains live a life of their own in incognito!