MY HALF HAS LEFT ME, AND NOW I WANT TO SHUT MYSELF INSIDE A REFRIGERATOR

“We’ve met a few times though, but every time we’ve met, we’ve lived our moments at best. We’ve held hands and sung songs, kind of danced (though I’m terrible at it). We’ve hugged, kissed, made out wherever and whenever we feel like a little private. We’ve made fun of each other, laughed, cried on each other’s shoulders, made promises and have promised to keep each of them. We’ve seen us at our best and probably at our worst too. We’ve traveled a lot together even in those few times we’ve met. Traveled in the world of our dreams, the world of the bright future ahead of us, traveled those days when we’d be old and senile, have kids. We’ve walked, stumbled, held each other at difficulties and have enjoyed, jigged in happiness. Yes, there are times when we’ve fought, cried like kids, talked like stupids, and have committed never to talk and meet again. But it has only lasted as long as a sneeze, is as transient as a soap bubble. The biggest truth in our lives is that we love each other. Or should I say ‘life’ because we two, are the same. We have two different bodies, two different genders, different thoughts, or different ways to solve the same problem. But then, all of them of ours intersect at a huge point. At spiritual point. We are Soulmates. 

“Well, that’s all I’ve to tell you. “What’s your point?”, “Why tell this to me?” “Are you crazy?”, “This must be some kinda prank on me,” you might think so. But no, I am no crazy and am not playing any kind of prank on you. Yeah, you must be living your own sweet life very well, might have your own good things to think of, your own problems to brainstorm at and own sweet people to talk to. My point is not that you have to consider the things I told you. “None of my business,” you can absolutely say that. I told you this, merely because I had to. 

“Good day.”

And he/she closes the letter.

No name. No address. No age. No hobbies. No gender. No clue of his/her appearance. Nothing. 

I’d gotten this e-mail in my inbox just a week earlier when this thing happened to me. What thing? That I’m going to tell you now. It might not interest you, or you might just wind up concluding it as some tall-tale that I invented to waste your time so precious. No, I don’t have any interest on gobbling anyone’s time whatsoever with such nonsensical things. So as a caution, I say: This is not mandatory to read. And might not interest you very well. So, it’s entirely optional and up to you whether to continue or to stop right here. 

If you want to continue, then here we go.

…………………………………..

1

It was around the mid-summer of 2012, around August to be more precise. Sunday. I don’t know the exact date though. That’s no strange thing. I have no memory of the weather as well. May be it was raining a little, or quite a lot, or it had just stopped, or the sun was terrible, or mild. No idea. Anything could have happened that day. I just don’t remember this to ‘some limit’. Now, I suppose, this you might find practically a little bizarre. Next thing, I could feel that my blood had started clotting inside my veins already― though I was living. Now this is strange, right? But I could feel this happening to me. No metaphorical or symbolical thing. This was actually happening to me. I felt so cold and frozen inside my skin, despite a healthy summer was supposedly leaping outside. Now you might assume that it was raining that day from this description, but I bet you won’t feel like that unless you go and settle bare bodied in some kind of igloo. 

When I glanced into the mirror sometimes, I looked fine though. My skin-color looked normal; I’d not gone pale, or stiff or anything like that by appearance. It was just inside my skin. Somewhere inside me. But really, it felt like hell.

I missed my college that day. 

“Why?” asked mom. She always freaked out when I did that. I was fairly a good student and received good grades enough for her to be proud at.

“Am not feeling well,” I replied queasily, rubbing the left corner of my forehead scrunching my eyes and nose.

“No fever,” she said after pressing my forehead with the back of her palm. “We’ll go to the clinic this noon,” she said and went to the kitchen, certainly to boil some water for me. I went into my room, locked the door, grabbed my i-phone from the table, plugged the earphones and tucked them into my ears, playing ‘Let It Be’ by Beatles on the track and slipped inside my sirak. Tubby―my turtle― lied asleep at the corner inside its shell. I gave it a little ‘sssh’ but it didn’t budge. I gave another ‘sssh’, the shell moved slightly like a hatching egg, but the turtle didn’t come out. And I gave up. Turning my side, I forced my stiff body to sleep. But let alone sleep, I couldn't even blink my eyes. They were all frozen, like jammed bolts in a door.

2 

After taking some gulps of warm water mom made, I decided to stroll out. There were few things that I loved to do in holidays, or whenever I was at home. Walking down toward the lake, entering a café there I’d patronized, having some cups of coffee― no matter summer or winter ―with something to read, and take a boat from someone I knew there, and then row alone in the lake for some hour, and when I was toward the center, I’d open a book and start reading for some good quiet hours. I’d row back then, and give another shot of coffee in the same café, and head back home. There was nothing as enjoyable as this in my life. Sometimes, I even took Tubby with me. The creature not being that common in my area, people, especially the naked kids swimming around the coasts would comment looking at it as if they’d seen some funny thing from another plant, which I mostly didn’t like. So later, I’d started taking my bag with me. I’d place the turtle inside and walk. That’s too one big reason why I like turtles that much. You can keep them anywhere you like, as long as the oxygen is there and the temperature is fine. Dark, bright, spacious, confined, dirty, clean, it won’t say anything. You can’t do that with a dog or cat, right? But turtles are fine with that. I decided to take Tubby with me that day as well. 

“Why go out?” said mom. 

“Just for some walk, I’ll be fine. Your water is working by the way,” I said patting on my belly throwing a pretentious smile at her. She didn’t say any further except giving something like a shrug. Mom is not that much of a talking woman. I lost my dad when I was nine. He was killed in the Civil War in Beni. Some ten years earlier. It was all very accidental when he’d been there to visit one of his old friends. Later they categorized him as a martyr. He loathed wars though, as far as I know. Since then, mom had been looking after me, and I’ve been looking after her. Maybe since then mom changed. I remember, she had stopped talking, eating a thing, walking out or even looking after me for months after the incident. She used to love him a lot. My uncle and kins took care of me when she was in that kind of trauma. Later after some years she came back a little though. But she could never recover completely and was never the same. We two were the mere members of the family until a year back when she passed away.

I was in white shirt: folded sleeves, light blue jeans, dark brown shoes. After having kept the turtle and a paperback of ‘Pride and Prejudice’ from Emily Bronte, I slung my college-bag over one shoulder. I combed my hair once, smiled at the mirror, and then left off.

If it was raining, I must have taken an umbrella with me. If it was not, then surely I was on my own. 

I reached the café after some fifteen minutes. Despite I came here very frequently I didn’t talk to anyone that much. But they knew me, and since I’d started visiting here, all I’d drunk was only coffee (milk). Sometimes one cup, sometimes two, sometimes more. 

I took my usual seat. There were two other costumers that day (they didn't get so busy there). The two foreigners were on the same table. One was busy on his laptop with a cup of coffee behind; the other was reading some ‘Lonely Planet’ stuff, with a cup of coffee in front as well. The two seemed to be completely on their own. One typing with deep concentration occasionally taking sips, and other reading with sheer focus, occasionally flipping pages and taking sips. The boy there then came up with a cup of coffee after some couple of minutes (yes he knew my usual order). By then I’d already taken out my turtle from the bag and had opened the Spanish learning app on my i-phone. Oh, did I mention that I was learning Spanish those days? Yes, I loved to learn Spanish then. Now I’ve become quite good at it by the way.

“How’s he today?” asked the boy referring to the turtle. Tubby bent his head at him as if he wanted to reply by himself.

“Looks fine,” I said, and he left with a smile. 

The guy who was reading glanced at me and then at turtle once but said nothing and resumed reading. The other guy was still typing. Overall, the café was very silent. No music was being played, no sound of wind from the lake aside, no one was saying anything. All perfectly quiet. 

After keeping the turtle and the book back and slinging the bag, I hinted the boy. Taking out a hundred-rupee-note from my wallet I put it on the menu. He returned with the change after some twenty seconds. I got up and took the change. 

“Dai,” I heard him call as I was about to leave. I looked back with a frown.

“Actually, dai, I want to ask you something,” he scratched his temple. He was older than me I could say. Height as much as mine, a little darker in complexion and a little fatter, his hair was short as always, his clothes were fine. 

“What,” I croaked.

“Emm…. Do you know the Spanish translation of this thing, ‘My half has left me, and now I want to shut myself inside a refrigerator,” he said nonchalantly now.

I frowned. “What the hell?” it came on its own.

“I just thought you knew the translation,” he said. “I know you’re learning Spanish.”

“Why on earth would anyone do that, and why would I know the translation? I’m just learning a few basic vocabularies,” I said the last sentence with a hint of smile trying not to sound so rude.

He then shrugged, and smiled at me. 

I mulled over his sentence for the next few minutes. “My half has left me, and now I want to shut myself inside a refrigerator.” What kind of sentence is that? Why would anyone want its translation? And why not ask Google translator for help if he needed it that much? 

My half has left me, and now I want to shut myself inside a refrigerator.

Anyway, that would be one of the most painful ways to die. Shut yourself inside a refrigerator. It would be so frigid inside, and on the top of that you’d suffocate yourself to death. A slow cold agonizing death. 

3 

Walking along the coast of Phewa Lake, I reached the spot after next ten minutes where I used to hire the boat. The man I knew was very benevolent to me. He’d just let me take the boat when I gave him a few bucks for cigarettes. I’d been taking his boat since last year. We didn’t talk very much but he liked me well. To talk about his appearance, he was exactly like that actor Rajesh Hamal. Tall well built body, long hair and heavy voice. Except he was a little darker and had some rusted teeth which appeared hideously when he smiled. In his area, he was popular as Rajesh dai though I suppose his real name was something else.

I looked for him when I reached there. After a good scan, I concluded that he was not present that day. I could see his boat bind on the pole, a crow perched there preening its wings as if on behalf of him. 

“Bhai, Rajesh has gone to his father-in-law!” shouted a guy from his boat, a little far away, looking at me. “To make his wife!” he smiled and laughed turning at his peers. There were some sex-seven maybe.

I simply nodded.

“You can take my boat! If you want to!” he added.

After looking around once leaving a sigh, I turned at him. “Okay!” I said and walked toward the boat.

“How much do you take?” I asked after I was there.

“How many hours?”he said resting one of his feet on the edge of the boat.

“Two.”

“Okay, I am like Rajesh for you, aren’t I? Two hundred,” he said as naively as possible.

“That’s a lot. He’d have taken just fifty or so. That’s ridiculous,” I was too tired to bargain.

“I said I am like him, not him,” he scratched his chin once, and bit his lips. “Okay, one hundred, I can’t do more than that.”

I didn’t say anything.

I boarded his boat (it felt a little awkward to take a different boat) and started rowing after placing my bag on the floor and taking my turtle out. I rowed calmly and gently. The people on the coast started appearing smaller and smaller, I was in a different world after some time. 

Some couple of months earlier before this happened, I’d read a book ‘Kafka on the Shore’ by Murkami. It was the story of a fifteen-year-old boy who runs away from his house where he lived with his father. His mother had left him and had taken her adopted daughter along with her instead of him, her biological son. His father had made a curse at him saying that he’d kill his father, and sleep with his mother and his sister. And after leaving his house, he reaches a virtual world waiting for him. Where he does all. He kills his father, sleeps with his mother and his sister, but all in that virtual world. And in the end, he returns to the real world to live the rest of his life. It was a nice story, but I couldn’t understand the meaning of the title until the end. ‘Kafka on the Shore’, what could it mean. Kafka Tamura was the name of the boy, and the title was also the title of a song mentioned in the story. But I was still not getting it. Kafka on the Shore. 

And that day, I discovered the meaning when I was rowing my boat farther and farther off looking at people growing smaller on the coast. 

Half an hour of rowing, and I was somewhere in the middle of water. I looked around, but not even a hint of other boats could be seen. On usual days one or two boats could be seen somehow. Or at least the lifeguards on their sparkling coats would always be bypassing. But I could see no one, not even a bird during the whole while that day. I was there somewhere completely stranded. Zoom out, and I was like in the middle of Pacific Ocean all hungry and weak fighting for life like in that boy in ‘Life of Pi’. I silently kept reading ‘Pride and Prejudice’ with my only companion Tummy behind me (at least not a Bengal Tiger). It was moving around the boat every now and then, playing assured that I was with it. And I was just reading.

I was too tired after an hour, and started looking around again. Nothing to be seen, I looked down at the water in complete despair to see my own reflection. “I give up,” I mumbled. Maybe there was something wrong with my eyes that day, but the water slowly turned dark. Very dark and pitch black finally. I kept staring at it. The more I stared, the darker and darker it appeared until I felt like I was floating on my boat onto some void and the next moment this void would collapse and I’d fall down into an eternal darkness with no one to haul me. I felt like that. I looked at my turtle which, which though, was still playing as such. When I looked back, this time I saw the water, but from below something was coming up at me, something like a ball, a brown colored ball, and slowly I saw its limbs popping out, and then its head as well, and after awhile I saw a whole human body floating on the water. She was a girl. Her hair now floating on water, each strand drifting like long thin black living worms, her good face all swollen, so were her limbs and her body. Her breasts much larger, her good body looked pathetic. She was my ex-girlfriend.

I kept looking at her without a blink, and then kept looking at her for goodness knows how long. Closing my eyes, I cried all very silently, so silently that not even I myself could realize that I was crying. Goodness knows how long I cried.

I saw a boat heading toward my direction, laden with foreigners displaying their heavy cameras. The sparkling of lifeguards could be seen far somewhere. The water was as dusky as usual, there was a bunch of water hyacinth behind my boat and standing on the edge of the boat my turtle was trying to nibble its leaves stretching its neck. I stood up wiping my eyes, sniffling. From now on I can tell you the weather. Maybe it was raining that morning, the sky looked recently opened with some unfurling clouds and there was a sun inclining westward. Maybe it was just some early afternoon; the whole day was still to pass by.

“Gham lagyo,” I heard the boatman of the boat heading alone telling the foreigners. “Sun coming,” he corrected himself.

I picked up the ‘Pride and Prejudice’ paperback from behind. It was moist, my clothes were a little wet. Maybe it was drizzling when I left home. Maybe. It must have rained madly this morning though. I basked the sun on the boat for whole next hour, and then started rowing back. I was on the shore after sometime.

“Rajesh might come tomorrow if his budi agrees to come,” the man smiled looking at his peers again and lit his cigarette.

I smiled back. “Probably,” I responded.

After taking a cup of coffee I headed back home. The boy in the café didn’t say anything this time. 

My half has left me, and now I want to shut myself inside a refrigerator.

That’s what he had asked. 

Mi media me ha dejado, y ahora quiero encerrarme dentro de un refrigerador. I translated him one day though I could tell it was no more necessary. Kafka was finally on the shore in the end. I had a lot to live. I still have.

A Thousand Rupee Bill

Kundan was walking down the narrow confined alley of Tripureshwor when he saw a magical piece of paper glittering on the way. Paused and puzzled, he looked gingerly around only to find some people hustling on their own. Kundan swallowed a lump, and picked up the paper money folded like a scroll. It was not quite necessary to unroll the money to know its value. At the very first glimpse he was quite apparent of its value. The longest paper money the government had ever made. A thousand rupee bill. But there are all kind of dummy bills these days. One such was when his son Raja found while having a 5 rupee cornballs. Raja, wiping his runny nose across his cheek, had shown it to Kundan. "Papa! Get me a bicycle with this," he'd said.
A lump of glee and disbelief formed in his throat as Kundan realized the genuineness of the paper money. Old and crumpled it was, but was sufficiently intact, and could buy as much as a value as a crispy one thousand rupee bill could.
He scanned around for one last time before tucking the money into one of his pant pockets. His legs shivered in the subtlety of the moment, and so did his heart. A thousand rupee was almost his one week wage. He could do his son's school fee with it that was stuck for the past two months. Raja had started carrying warnings from the school these days. A thousand rupee bill could relieve a part of it, if not all.
Kundan scampered his way out of the alley and appeared on the main street of Tripureshwor escaping a sigh of relief as if he’d just gotten away from a bunch of goons. At times he looked back to check if anyone is running behind him raising his hand, calling "Eh Dai, eh Dai!" But neither did he hear nor did he see any such man. It was God himself who had gifted him with the money, he thought. Such an auspicious day it was. A black cat had crossed its way before he left from the work. Well, they say it's auspicious for some people.
He saw a toyman passing by him with a bucket of bric-a-brac toys on his head. Raja adored playing with toys and he’d been longing for a new one ever since he broke his toy car last time while playing with one of the neighbor kids. He’d spent the whole evening wailing and whining with his mother. Kundan paused and turned aside at the toyman.
"Eh, bhaiya?" he called out for the toyman who seemed to be the native of the southern land of the country or perhaps an Indian immigrant. He had a tall and gauzy suture with eyes sunken. He held the toy basket on his head on a dirty white turban with one hand while carried a squeeze horn on his other hand. Bits of his salt and pepper hair peeped out through the turban around his temple. He wore an old soiled t-shirt and a mucky dhoti.
"Kya saheb?" the toyman said. "Yes, sir?"
Ah, buying Raja a toy would split the money he got. He had no extra money to spare either. A part of his heart was eager to show the full piece of the bill to Lajjawati, his wife. How elated she would be! "The ration has finished. When are you going to get the money to refill it?" she'd ranted at him this morning. The money could perhaps placate her, for the time being.
"Sir?" the toyman said.
Kundan jolted his head toward the toyman who was standing ahead straight as a pole holding his toy basket on his head.
"It's alright," he showed his palm toward him and resumed his way. The toyman slipped his lips as he moved toward the other way.
The whiff of a singed meat wafted on his way as he walked past a butcher's shop. The butcher on his black vest that showed his brawny arms and well-built chest was singeing the meat on the marble desk ahead.
"Baba, when are we going to have chichi 'meat'?" Raja had said last morning.
"Forget about chichi. You father won't bring any money. Perhaps next Dashain," Lajawati had said in a sullen voice.
"Why do you chatter so much? I'm telling you Sahu is not giving money to anyone. I'm tired arguing with him, and I'm tired convincing you."
He approached the butcher's shop. As the whiff of the meat augmented, his tongue started craving more for the meat. When was the last time they had meat? Two months ago, when Lajawati's parents, his in-laws, had visited them from the village.
"I wish I had never married his man. He makes no money, Aama," Lajawati had complained to her mother.
"Don't say so, chhori. I’m sure Jwain sahib is trying his best," her father had assured.
"Bhai?" Kundan called for the man who was burning the meat on the blaring gas flame.
"Yes," the man said, as he continued burning, turning the other side of the chicken.
"How much for mutton?"
"300 rupees per kg," said the man as he moved the flame toward the bird's back region.
Kundan bit his lips. "Chicken?"
"150 per kg," said the man.
"Chicken too?"
"Yes," the man said curtly. “You want any?”
The idea of showing the entire paper money to Lajjawati revisited his mind. He could already visualize the gleam in her eyes when she'd see the money. They could indeed make a well-composed love tonight for that. When was the last night Lajjawati had let him have a good sex? Two months ago, after her parents had returned to the village. Writhing and wriggling in joy they’d savored the moment as she was pleased for Kundan had handed her a wade of three thousand rupees the same evening.
As Kundan slipped into an alley of New Baneshwor, he escalated his pace unnaturally. His heart leaped with every step that brought him closer to his home. Never had he been so happy returning home, or room, for he only had a small room to house his family. Ljjawati would always be blusteirng at some trivial matter. At times when she got on his nerves, he would only left his home returning toward the dinner, sometimes tipsy. It'd been four years since their marriage but never had he laid his hands on his wife. Perhaps this was the reason why she got so high on him.
"Muji saale, what kind of man are you who can't even mind his woman's tongue? I bet you can't even grab her on your own until she doesn't open her legs by herself for you! Hahaha," his colleague Surendra had guffawed one day.
"It's not like that," Kundan had blushed like a girl.
When he reached home, Raja was doing his homework outside on veranda, resting his body on his knees and elbows.
"Baba," he got up with the pencil in his hand as he saw Kundan.
"Chhora, finished homework?" he said reaching to lift his son.
"Almost, Baba."
"Where is mother?" Kundan said lifting him down.
"She's inside, Baba. But Mommy has been crying ever since I got back from the school," said Raja gathering a solemn look on his juvenile face.
Kundan's brows wrinkled in frown. The door was half open as he entered. It was around 6 in the evening, the room was dusky dark, and by the bed, he saw Lajawati packing her items in one of the trunks they had.
She turned back before Kundan could call her.
"What happened?" he said. "Raja said you've been crying?"
Lajjawati brushed her cheeks which seemed to be half dried by now. He supposed it'd been just a while she'd stopped weeping. She managed to stay mum and resumed packing her clothes.
"Are you leaving me?" Kundan blurted. "Is that it? Lajjawati?" He went by her and sat on the bed. "Look at me," he said in a commanding voice.
Lajjawati stood up and sat on the bed by him. She snorted once. "It'll go on forever like this. Do you realize, I don't even have money to buy the ration for tonight? How are we going to survive?"
"But I'm working on it."
"Since when? And for how long?"
"It'll soon be over."
"And you’ve been saying that for the last two years since we came to this city,” Brushing her nose, she snorted once. “It's going to be over right now."
"Where will you go? And Raja?"
"We're leaving for the village tomorrow.”
"And he'll remain a bumpkin in his life like us?"
"At least he will live?"
"Hush now please," said Kundan. He thought this was the right time to take the arrow out of the quiver. If it was not for that money he'd found, he'd have lost his family today, he thought. "I've something to show you."
"What?" Lajjawati widened her eyes.
As Kudan delved his pant pocket, his heart skipped a beat. He fumbled deep inside the pocket, only to discover a four finger size hole in it. His heart sank, his throat perched. As if exhausted, his forehead started perspiring cold sweat like the outside of a deep-freezed soft-drink bottle.
"What is it?" asked Lajjawati.
"I'd found a..." he checked his other pocket as his hear palpitated, and getting up, his back pockets too. He patted his hips hither-tither for a while. "It's gone!" he kneeled on the floor like the most helpless person in the world. Tears rolled down his cheeks, his throat tightened in grief, and he could only not wail like a four-year old. Raja entered from outside, Kundan unaware of his slovenly footsteps.
"It's all gone," he started weeping further lowering his head. "I have lost it, and everything. My life is such a waste. I wish I could die right now!"
"Baba!" Raja placed his hand on Kundan's shoulder when Lajjawati came from the bed and sat by his side on the floor.
Kundan felt embarrassed to be weeping like a child in front of his son. Out of all he’d borne so far, it was the greatest misery of his life. "Why are you crying?" Raja said.
"Listen," Lajjawati held his hand and bent down to look at his eyes. "Stop it now, Raja will feel bad." She reached to his cheeks to wipe his tears.
"I've failed you," Kundan's shoulders further shook. "I'm such a waste."
"Tch tch," Lajjawati patted on his head like she did Raja's when he wailed just like that. "Stop it now. It doesn't suit you cry."
Kundan snorted and wiped his cheeks. Raja stood as such looking at his father cry.
"Give me some more time," he said as if she was his landlord. "I'll fix it."
Lajjawati went closer standing on her knees and buried his head on her arms. "You're so stupid. What makes you think I'll leave you? We are yours. And we know you'll never let us down." Lajjawati called Raja and they all joined together in a hug. The room was dusky dark, the air was warm, a thought crossed Kundan’s mind that the thousand rupee bill was indeed gifted to him by God himself.

The Beauty Queen

And as she walked past amongst the maddening crowd thronged outside the palace, adorning the immaculate crimson carpet with her graceful gait, heading toward the inside, the crowd got even more frantic as they yelled her name such that even the mountains in the north far away were compelled to echo her name, “Beauty Queen! Beauty Queen! Beauty Queen! Beauty Queen!”

The beauty queen, as she was, on her elegant long red gown flowing through her body like an architect of firework, all the way from her neck to her legs, carving all the curves in her body with utter just, parted on her right leg exposing a part of her plump hip, her slick skin glistening through it, blessing the crowd with a divine pleasure. Her gown blended with her red footwear below on her foot in the finest manner possible. Her slim waist dangled with every step she took, as the loveliest curves beneath accompanied, which must have been one of the most beautiful sights mankind could ever witness. Her visage seemed to be one of the finest products ever crafted by gods, each and every component accurately placed, with epitome of perfection. What could have adorned such an angelic face other than hair as beautiful as that of an angel? And she had it too. Just like an angel’s. Flowing all the way down kissing her shoulders with its tips like a stream of running water, with a tiara gleaming on her head. Maybe, she herself was, in fact, an angel.

“Beauty Queen! Beauty Queen! Beauty Queen! Beauty Queen!” and the crowd went on hailing, and the mountains continued echoing.

But there was a thing she, the Beauty Queen, lacked. The ability to perceive the voices of the outside world. A normal person would call her, deaf.

All the shouting and crying amongst the crowd on her title, even the mountains echoed, and she could hear none. A deep continuous sound kept ringing inside her head instead, as if someone had stroked a tuning fork inside her ears long ago which was still ringing. She, unaware of how loud the crowd was, how high they leaped as they shouted, how madly they loved her, kept walking on the crimson carpet without even once looking into their direction, let alone waving her hand toward them.

The sound kept ringing inside her head. It’d been so consistent since her birth that she’d gotten used to it by now. She felt that it was the realest sound possible in the world, no other sound was sound, they were all delusions, mirage, that only it was the sound meant to exist since the beginning of the evolution. The sound that only she could hear, the sound that kept her alive. She was quite not certain how it would feel if the sound suddenly died one day, or discontinued even for a little while. Would she then be able to come across the voices of the outside world? Or would she vanish along with it instead? If anything, she never wanted it to happen. The sound inside her head gave her a fuel to survive, as did the beats of her heart. The Beauty Queen she was. And the crowd was too deaf to hear the voice ringing inside her head. They’d always been oblivious to everything about her other than her beauty, which spoke so much on itself that it didn’t need to hear a thing from the bunch of morons raving over there awakening everything around that’d been in a deep sleep for ages. So much for their sleep.

As the crowd went to raving and haling her title, for they didn’t even know what her real name was, the Beauty Queen progressed toward the hall of the palace in the same gay pace, dangling her waist in the same sensual manner.

The hall of the palace was lit bright with all kind of royal lights and illuminations. A minstrel crowd awaited her inside who swallowed lumps as they witnessed her beauty. The beauty queen without stumbling even once of her gait, continued her way through the crimson carpet. Ahead, seated on the elegant huge throne furnished with golden embroidery was the pot-bellied king on his plush royal costume. His thick brown eyes sparkled as the Beauty Queen walked her way toward him. The hall was silent and lost, its mouth wide open gaping at her beauty. No one said a word, for they were not allowed to till the king himself uttered a word, and for even if they were allowed to, they were muted by her divine beauty.

The Beauty Queen stood in front of the king, looking straight at his stunned face. And as the king and the others had heard, she didn’t say a thing.

“Hmm,” the king stretched his eyes. “The Beauty Queen,” he said in his hoarse voice, “Well, you surely are one.”

The beauty queen, as quite as ever, threw a decent smile toward him.

“Thank you for coming to my little palace,” the king continued. “It’d be our delight to serve you.”

The Beauty Queen stood erect, the sound played its tone inside her head as always, accompanying her. She’d been in so many palaces in her life, she knew exactly how the routine would go now. She’d be served a royal meal, a royal hospitality, and offered a royal bed at night. And sometimes at night, the king would tip-toe into her room, and slowly crawl into her bed. She wouldn’t be saying a word or scream. The king would pluck kisses everywhere on her face in the dark. He then would fondle her glossy body, suck her firm nipples, caress all her curves in such amorous of a way that he’d caressed none of his queens or his whores before. He’d then slowly enter the Beauty Queen, and before long he came, he’d be awake in his own bed, a part of his garments soiled.