I submitted this to the Short Story competition. I appreciate all kinds of feedback. Tear this story apart if you like. It's okay as long as the criticism is constructive.
Disclaimer: References to drugs and sex
Nirvana
Nok puffed out a dense smoke ring and watched it lazily float around. It slowly grew, spread and then dissolved, becoming one of the threads of a thin white blanket enveloping him. He drew on his nirvana cigar again. He felt weightless. Every time he convinced himself that he was hovering in the air, the chair creaked under his weight. He puffed and watched and rocked for what may have been hours or minutes.
His mother’s muffled voice reached him from across the room, ‘Nok?’ He jumped with joy. He loved her voice. It was so soft and so sweet. And so seldom.
He hurried across the room and kneeled by the bed. Mother was wrapped in tubes carrying green, blue and red liquids into her body. His eyes followed the tubes that rose out like tentacles from the big fancy glass box by her bedside. The sophisticated shiny machinery that kept her alive seemed at odds with the dilapidated one room house in which it was installed. Technology had made the machinery affordable and overpopulation meant that space was sparse and ridiculously expensive. Even this ruin of a house was a luxury he could only afford because in a rare moment of brilliance, he had had the idea of hoarding the drug – Nirvana.
“Nok.” She repeated. This time smiling, her saggy skin stretching in the effort. He twitched seeing the wrinkles so pronounced on her face. From the day the anti-ageing machine was installed 20 years ago, her physical age had stayed 60. But even then, she had looked much older.
Nok twitched because he was reminded of her disease and how it ate Mother away. He remembered her screams, her relentless writhing in agony like a lizard’s tail cut away from its body. He remembered himself crying, every night by her side, seeing the one person who loved him slip away. It all went on for almost a year until the day he finally got hold of the anti-ageing medicine. She no longer had to die. She would suffer but she wouldn’t die. And that was okay. He was not going to lose her.
He took her hand and placed it on his head. He knew that is what she wanted to do. That is what she had always done. Ruffled his hair when he was young. Caressed his scalp when he went bald. Her cold touch made him feel much more connected.
They chatted for a while before his mother asked him in a wheezy voice, “So…did they give you the visa today?” He felt sick. The lovely unobtrusive smoke blanket now strangled him. He could feel its tight grip as he struggled for words. Why did she always have to ask this? They were talking about such nice things. Why could she not let at least one conversation pass without asking the exact same question?
“N-no.” He managed to whisper. Her expectant face shrivelled. She turned her head and looked at the roof. Silence followed. Until he spoke again, “Bu-but don’t worry.I’ll try again next month.You know how it is, right? It-its just that they’re very strict about interplanetary immigration.”
She lay still. “Ma, say something.” Nok pleaded. Immediately realizing it was a wrong thing to ask based on past conversations.
After a while, still looking up, she said,“Let me go.It h-urts.” Her voice broke.
He had his response ready. “Everything will be fine once we get to Mars.I’ve heard -”
“You just need-”
“-that they’ve got the best facilities there. And they-”
“-to remove these tubes.”
“-happily spend those resources on everyone, regardless of age.”
“And then I’ll be able to sleep. Properly. Painless.” She was rambling to herself now.
Nok was shaking. Mother wasn’t even listening to what he had to say. “No.”He said in a firm raised voice.
“Please…let-me-die.”
The sincerity in her voice enraged him further. “NO! You’ll live!” He bellowed and stormed out of the house, grabbing a case of nirvana cigars on his way.
***
After the argument back at house, Nok needed to calm down. Another luxury that these cigars allowed him were whores of his choice. He stood in one of the chambers of a brothel. The only sources of light were dull orange chandeliers that hung low from bamboo walls, one over each of the ten beds. Between two beds was a thin red curtain that could be easily pulled aside. Hookers did not mind anyone watching. Watchers meant more tip. The owners believed that the continuous onslaught of groans and yells and shrieks added to the ambience. Customers had no choice.
As Nok was undressing, Sheila lay on the bed naked. An extra cigar for the pimp meant that he was always appointed to her. There must have been curvier and more gorgeous women in the brothel. But he knew something immediately the first time he had seen Sheila naked. This is how Rita, his teenage love, would have looked without her clothes on.
Sheila used one hand to smoke a cigar and the other to play with herself. He suspected that she did it more for her arousal than his. He wanted to ask why she always wanted a cigar in advance. But never did, worried that his suspicions would be true.
Initially Nok thought it was because Sheila wanted to imagine someone she enjoyed having sex with more. Maybe a celebrity. Or her boyfriend. That was okay. But he had seen her with other men, while he waited for her. With everyone else, she never asked for a cigar before. It was then that he began suspecting that she wanted to imagine anyone but him. He could never gather enough courage to confirm this notion. He was worried the answer would bring those memories of Rita to the surface that he had dug very deep in his mind.
Screw this, Nok thought. He wasn’t here to get depressed. He took a cigar out of the case.
“Hey! That’s not one of my cigars, is it?” Sheila asked, half protesting.
“No.”Nok took a few quick puffs and jumped on the bed.
He had begun gently, slowly. Drawing on his cigar every time he pulled back and exhaling when he pushed forward. In the starting, he wasn’t even looking at her. He was watching the white smoke rings dance around in the orange light. Then he did look down at her face. It wasn’t Sheila anymore he was looking at. It was Rita.
After that Nok did not take his eyes off her. As he looked at Rita, he saw her sweet smile and beautiful green eyes and her milky smooth skin. He heard her innocent playful voice calling out his name. He began pushing faster.
Nok remembered the evening strolls. And the lovely nights spent watching the stars. Rita’s gentle touches on his cheek, her pats and hugs. Oh, how he loved her. Even faster.
And he thought she loved him too. Until he found out she did not. He begged her, followed her. Almost killed himself. But she ran away. And never returned. He remembered the last words she ever spoke to him,“You scare me.”
Scare? Nok was furious. He looked down at Rita’s face and saw terrified eyes looking back at him. He was thrusting very violently now. The bed rocked with him. He felt raw animalistic ecstasy. The rage hid behind his wildly sniggering face. Oh Rita, wouldn’t you have absolutely loved me inside you. He made his last push with full force, almost as if propelled forwards. And finally burst inside her.
***
Nok was frantically pacing back and forth in front of his house. He wiped the sweat off his forehead. He was breathing heavily, as if his heart was on a trampoline. He had crapped his pants. He knew this only because of the persistent pungent smell. He was terrified. There was just one thing on his mind. Cigar, cigar, cigar.
He did not have any on him. When he had stormed out in rage last night, he had forgotten to take an extra one like he always did. The effects of nirvana had completely worn out. He always puffed at least one cigar before entering.
The best option for him was to rush straight for the cupboard which had the box and hope that he did not have to look at the bed. He had no other choice. No one would loan him a cigar.
Nok took a deep breath. Calm down. Another. Calm.Down. He pushed at the door and catapulted towards the cupboard, keeping his right eye closed and tilting his head leftwards away from the bed. He stopped just a couple of inches in front of it so that all his eyes could see from end to end was black steel. He was hyperventilating. Shaking.
He placed his palm against a small glass slab on the cupboard. The right door swung outwards. He groped for a small case with both his hands and had just about found it when he realized his mistake. He hadn’t locked the door in its place. Now it was coming inwards with full force, the air hissing around it. He got his left hand safely out in time. But the door slammed hard on his right hand, dropping the box and wedging his fingers between the two doors. Intense pain shot through him and he let out a piercing scream.
He put his bleeding fingers in his mouth. The warm sensation of oozing blood somewhat calmed him. If only for a moment. He picked up the cigar box and went into panicked frenzy again. The fingerprint scanner lock on it had broken. He pulled the box hard but the lid didn’t budge. Then put the box in between his legs, held it sideways with his left hand and applied full force on the lid with his right. Nothing happened. The box was covered in blood now. The only words visible were “arning: Extreme hallucin”.
Nok had begun crying. Bawling like a baby. There was a constant salty taste in his mouth - mixture of blood, tears, sweat and mucus. By now he was terrified and frustrated. He threw the box hard against the wall. The box rammed into it, rebounded, did a couple of somersaults on the ground and cracked open. The cigars in it were sent flying.
The time slowed. Nok’s eyes followed the trajectory of one of the cigars as it soared. He could see each of it’s spin. It landed on the bed. Besides Mother’s skeleton. The yellowed skull faced the roof. The smashed anti-ageing machinery also stood there, besides the bed, dull and forlorn, with tubes passing through the broken edges of glass and kissing the ground.
He almost laughed. After everything that happened today, the cigar had to land on the bed. Nothing else would’ve fit. He could not avoid looking at the bed after all. His mother, or whatever remained of her, lay there, lifeless. No flesh. Only bones. He tried to remember the last time he had seen her this way. Must have been a year. He had cried throughout the night.
Not this time. He picked up a couple of nearest cigars from the ground. Definitely need two of them. Then went to the chair. Closed his eyes and began rocking as he took the first puff. He hurried through the first cigar, inhaling and exhaling at a rapid pace. The sweating had stopped. Breathing became normal. He felt relaxed.
By the time he had finished his second one, none of the fear remained. For half a cigar now, he was smoking at a leisurely pace, watching the white smoke rings dance and flirt with each other.
“Nok.” He heard Mother call out from across the room. He looked at the bed and saw her smiling at him, her saggy skin stretching. Nok felt a gush of warmth sweep over him. He rushed to her. There was a cigar on the bed. He lit and drew on it all the while the two of them spent the day chatting.
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Originally Posted by 108 fountains
) but mostly for the critiques I can get after the contest is over. I would admit though it sucked not getting even a single vote. It made me wonder if I've served up complete trash. But as I said, I'm really relieved you guys liked it.
I was once a very regular member of LitNet. Probably even spent more time here than I did on Facebook. But since then, I moved to college for my undergrad studies and really haven't had a chance to be regular on LitNet since. My earlier stories were very bad. I realize that once I read them now. LitNet's helpmed me grow into a much better writer. And there's still a huge scope for improvement. That's the reason I keep getting pulled back here.
