Devoid

“I want to report a murder.” The officer didn’t look up. “Whose?” “Mine.” The rhythmic buzz of the ceiling fan filled the silence before the officer finally raised his eyes. “Are you drunk?” “No. And I know how this sounds, but I’m not losing my mind,” the man whispered, leaning closer. “I am about to disappear.” Setting his pen down, the officer sighed. “Start from the beginning.” “It started a month ago. Stuck in traffic and late for a quarterly meeting, I called our receptionist to apologize. The woman laughed, assuming it was a prank, and confirmed I was already there. Attendance marked. System logged in. Hot coffee on my desk.” “And where were you?” “Still on the highway. Arriving two hours later, I was greeted by a wave of congratulations. Apparently, ‘I’ had knocked the presentation out of the park. My manager was thrilled. A colleague clapped my shoulder, mentioning I hadn't been this cheerful in months. Asking who exactly they had been talking to only earned me more laught...

That’s Delilah. Ever so beautiful, ever so graceful, draped in that stunning black dress that clings to her silhouette elegantly. The sky above is heavy, dark clouds casting a somber shadow. The wind picks up with every passing minute, as if trying to warn others of the impending storm. Delilah is my sweetheart, the love of my life. Right now, a thin veil shrouds her face, concealing her striking features. Oh how I hate watching her cry; she is such a gentle soul. I wonder what will happen to her if I’m not around to care for her. Tears swell in her glassy eyes, so clear they seem like they could shatter rather than splash. And there's my mother. Another gentle soul. That's why she loves Delilah. She sees a younger version of herself in her, always telling me how I should cherish her and never hurt her, because "God doesn’t make people like her anymore." They share a long, sorrowful hug. Both look so shattered, as if the weight of grief could crush them. My beloved to...

Dear Mr. Hitchins, I hope this letter finds you well. I'm writing to you out of a mix of desperation and hope, as strange events have been unfolding in my apartment, and I'm at a loss on how to handle them. I live with my mother, and our routine is simple. She spends her days in the living and dining areas, often with the TV playing in the background while she scrolls through social media or cooks. I'm usually in my room, working late into the night, sometimes indulging in online shopping—a guilty pleasure, I admit. Recently, I bought motion sensor lights to light our way to the bathroom at night. They were supposed to be purely functional, but I found myself quite excited about them. They worked perfectly at first, casting a soft glow at our feet as we walked by. But then, things took a strange turn. One night, while my mother was asleep, the light at the foot of my bed turned on by itself. No bugs, no rats (we've never had them), nothing to trigger it. I w...

  Struggling with the loss of his grandfather, Ebe found himself at the old Paramount Art School, the last piece of his grandfather's magnum opus. It was more than a school; it was a treasure chest of his family's history, the only thing left. Life was rough for Ebe, with bullies making every day harder and his grandfather's comforting presence now just limited to a memory. In the dusty corners of Paramount, Ebe stumbled upon an ordinary-looking paintbrush that was practically marinating in a strange liquid. It spoke to him with quiet words of advice. It was strange, sure, but Ebe felt like the brush understood him. Even with the brush's warning "this comes at a cost," Ebe was too curious to pay any heed to it. He thought about what he felt—anger, sadness, a deep kind of hurt—and the brush seemed to get it, telling him to let those feelings out on the canvas. Naturally, rage dominated his other senses and Ebe let his anger lead the way, pushing everything else...

The cave exuded an eerie, non-sentient odor, as if no creature with a shred of awareness would dare venture into its oppressive darkness. Its walls bore a moth-like texture, and menacing stalactites hung like a colossal chandelier. Yet, nothing could deter her determination to stay at this forsaken place. The girl yearned for solitude; no one could fathom the depth of her anxiety. Even she was unfamiliar with this overwhelming emotion. If there was anyone who truly knew her, it was Sebastien. After an arduous search, he finally found her. As he approached, he moved cautiously, crabwalking to avoid triggering her hostility. " How long have you been here? " he inquired. " I lost count of the days. How did you find me, anyway? " She replied, her irritation apparent, fully aware of his intentions to help. " Mr. Trinton has been very worried, " Sebastien explained. "He's gathered all his mercenaries, and it won't be long before they ...

She had been eyeing that attic for quite some time now. Afraid to approach it. She was trained to flight situations like these throughout her life. Though currently, she is helpless. Whatever lies inside that cabin can't be as dangerous as the man-eating tiger on the loose. According to the locals, the man-eater has claimed three lives in past two weeks. The attic is flawlessly camouflaged in this dense forest. There hasn't been any movement to suggest its occupation. Though, there are some footmarks to put her in a dilemma. She learnt long back how to differentiate between paw-prints and that of a giant man.  It's been an hour. She has to approach. Out here, she is a sitting duck. Every minute decreases her survival chances significantly.  A gentle thud on the door makes her recede herself. The door was drenched. Surprisingly it has been raining since morning. Pretty unusual, she wonders. She gathers herself and makes a valiant effort to knock with more spirit. A loud one ...

I lately bought a 3-century old palace in my native town. It looks magnificent from the exterior. The royalty is palpabl e when you approach it.  It requires a bit of cleaning, no doubt. But with time, I understood that people were wary of working even around this palace, let alone inside. Apparently, this is one of those haunted castles we keep hearing about.  After a long and arduous effort, I found 4 helpers. They were ready to work with me and an old guide who was a mute. He provided his knowledge by writing things down on paper. My wife and I were okay with it. During the 2nd day of our refurbishment, I heard the helpers stampeding towards my chamber. Their faces flushed, sweat dribbling profusely from their forehead.  "Maalik (Master), we are hearing the sound of ghungroo (a musical anklet) from that old room," one of them said pantingly. "But the room is locked since ages!" I exclaimed. We all rushed towards that room. The helpers weren't lying. You could...

The world has evolved a lot since the last murder. The Government detects sociopaths and psychopaths beforehand through personality processing and prevents any loss of life. Though I constantly knew how to outwit the system. I have sustained my social score above 8.3, which is above 95% of the general population. For other impulsive crimes, the accused is judged by a jury of 4 people. It involves the sufferer. The person to whom you have been most helpful. The person to whom you has been most offensive, and the person who was saved by your action. I have been accused of killing, and everyone is horrified. Evidently, my case is a global sensation. Well, I did kill Robert, but only because he was bothering my girl, Sara. With my social score, they couldn't find anyone eligible to take the mean spot. And since this is the first killing in decades, the dead victim can't testify now, can he! They are baffled. I've adored Sara since our childhood. Arranged everything to make her...

  Today, I’m launching my first app. It’s a big deal for me. My name is Jae, by the way. I’ve waited for this day for as long as I can remember. To be precise, 20 years, 6 months and 3 days. I’m 32 now.  Since childhood, I’ve had an absurd fascination with technology. If anything new is in the block, I would be the first one to dismantle it. To know how it worked. Later on, I learnt multiple coding languages to shape myself to understand all the logic and algorithms the developers have used to create that product.  Some said I was marked. Others described it as merely an obsession. Anyway, here I’m, the man of the hour. All the spotlights will be on me tonight. It is a bit overwhelming, to be honest. People will be glorifying me more than my product. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not criticising, I mean who doesn’t relish being the centre of attention once in a while but it would be more pleasant if they make my product, the main talk point of tonight’s event. When someone asks...

  "RUN RUN RUN AND DON'T YOU DARE TURN YOUR BACK", The last words I remember catching before everything faded away. 10 years. 10 freaking years! That's how long they've had held me captive. I knew it when I had joined the army. I knew this was going to be a one-way ticket. "No one comes back from the war my son. Well, not in their entirety," my uncle had said. But I wasn't about to fiddle. My country needed me. Pride over prime, the motto we used to live by. To be honest, I was surprised that I could even run. A decade of solitary confinement is ought to rot your muscles. Though they failed to crumble my will. I ran like a loose hound—my prey being freedom. The land under my feet was far from being firm. It felt like hopping on a water bed. After hours of sprinting, which later turned into me dragging my feet to just somehow maintain my upright positioning, I couldn't keep it up anymore.  I was sure I had left the guards baffled. But I also knew ...

  "They for sure are wrong. I should never have listened to Ralph. Ohhh I don't know how he is gonna react to it. Well, it was his idea anyway! I told him I didn't wanna see any doctor. But the stubborn jerk still convinces me! 'Do what your parents say, they know the best'. Huh!" Perplexed between the thoughts whether to tell Ralph what the doctor said or to just brush it under the carpet, Hikaru juggled with his fingers in the back seat of their Bentley. Appointments were scheduled many times but Hikaru always pulled something and ducked the confrontation. He kept on stating there's nothing wrong with him. Though his parents were supportive for most of his decisions, they were adamant about this one. The word has started to go around. Nakamuras were very respected among their community and neighbourhood. As we know, wealth brings friendship and respect. They had a reputation to maintain. Rich people have sources and one such source revealed to Mr Nakamur...

The below-mentioned event is not a story but a letter from James B. Rayne, a decorated secret service officer of England to his wife Emma. James is currently working on a 40-day-long assignment in Congo. Something very unusual happened with James during his 2nd week but it still wasn’t worth mentioning since, in his line of work, things have to be more than illegal to even be borderline strange. He writes this letter, the night before his flight back home. Willis palace, Arthur Street, County hall, Nottingham. Hi, Emma, I’m writing this letter because I think I’m losing my mind. I can’t share this with anyone else apart from you. The only other friends I have are from work and I’m certain they will not keep this a secret and will deem me unfit for my assignment. You must be worrying about what made me put down this letter. Do follow my words carefully my love for it may seem implausible at times. While it had only been 10 days, things were moving smoothly. I had my curated routine and ...

"Sir, why don't you also teach the afternoon batch?", asked one of the students. Albert smiled and placed the heavy book — from which he was reading — on the desk, firming both his palms on to the old mahogany. "I respect your lot, that's why. You see, the ones who are studying in the regular batch are there because their parents want them there or they are following a tradition. Some of them are just there to give company to others. Whereas you lot! you guys are different. You work during the day and you come here at night to study. You're not here because your parents are forcing you or you want a place to crash or make new friends. You are here because you want to do something meaningful with your education. It's rare in your generation and I respect that." "Professor, you read from that old book of yours but you teach us from the one assigned by the university and we know you hate it. Why not teach us from the one you like?" queried ...

If there had been a contest for the most introverted geek, Amit would have been a strong contender. His innate accuracy at dodging social gathering was something from which we can all take a lesson or two. Perhaps it was an effect of having an overly protective mother. Most of his boyhood was spent indoors. Even after landing a sound job and being bestowed with the employee of the year award two times consecutively, Amit was still sharp at avoiding human interactions. A trait he wasn't particularly proud of. This had to end. Enough was enough. If he wants to get out of his mother's shadow and make a home of his own, he has to interact with the opposite gender and be more confident about it. Fortunately, after some attempts, he scored himself a date. Now that he thinks about it, the attempt was quite fluent. Some may declare him a natural. The girl did show genuine excitement (he concluded that from the 12 online articles he's been binging through) Though he did w...