I don’t really know what this is. Maybe an attempt on emphasising what is abstract.
His back ached as he straightened himself. Still sitting cross-legged, he stretched himself. He heard his bones crack. He twisted his body left and right. Crack. Crack. This gave him a sense of relief and he sighed as his ache disappeared. He had been slouching in the same spot for three hours with his laptop in front of him and his mobile to his left. But he was unaware of the time. The three hours, for him, went by in a jiffy. Was that his plan? To sit in a harmful manner idling around? No. The plan was to work on two specific tasks that were assigned to him at the office. But he hadn’t even touched them. The papers were right there on the table. He had kept them there so he could work on them immediately after dinner. He loved his work though. Editing and rewriting the script was not at all a problem for him. In fact, he had really liked his boss’s idea to alter the story. Script writing gave him a sense of satisfaction. A feeling of doing something worthwhile. But instead, he had spent his last three hours working on a different project – a special project that gave him a new sort of pleasure. A guilty pleasure. The feeling was so weird, and so wrong, yet so craving. It was the pleasure from doing something that he was not supposed to do.
He went to his bedroom and fell flat on his bed. He then rolled around like a sprawling dog and twisted his back. Crack. Crack. More relief. He sighed and gave out a moan. His back felt light once again. He had done something quite natural and insignificant. But taking his own future into circumstances, it was a thing he had to expose one day. But that can wait, he decided. He need not worry about it now, he assured himself. And the past would be irrelevant by then. This thing he had done might cause the person to raise an eye, but it would be a laughable matter after all. And what if the future isn’t as he had imagined it to be? Then, he wouldn’t even have to face the trouble of explaining what he had done.
For him, the three hours seemed like a bright spotlight. He had come to know what he had always wanted to know. All those years of their deep interactions and the different sort of closeness they had made his wild hungry mind get the best of him. But he had no problems. He wanted that. Even though he knew it was wrong – it was something quite different, a field he had always wanted to graze but had never gotten a chance. And now when he had finally entered the new land, he felt satisfied, but at the same time, guilty. Guilty because, he had ventured too far. But the three hours shed some light to the future. A future where he would come once again to the same field till the grass is dry. And when the grass is dry, maybe he would be taken to a new place, a few miles ahead of the old field where the grass is still fresh and green. A field much better than the old one – a field he had always dreamed of.
His back felt better. He felt no pain. He decided to work on his script again. But his mind took control. It was still hungry. It needed the same old feeling it had gotten before. Maybe this entire conversation he had with himself had resulted its appetite. So, he spent the next three hours slouching with both his belongings. But this time it made him feel guilty, not fresh and relieved.
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