Feedo-Nithya Suri

The theatrics of deception,

The truth hidden in hindsight,

The embalmed innocence,

The neutral taste of freedom,

The hum drum of promises,

The suffocating hope,

The disappointing smiles,

All perish.

When abandoned ,

Whilst glancing at you.


Mr Watermelon Head:

What a peculiar name is Mr Watermelon head? Why would anybody name their child that? But Mr Watermelon head was what he was christened and what he chose to live with. In fact if truth were to be told he wouldn’t have liked another name at all. He knew he wasn’t called Mr Watermelon head because of the way he looked or the size of his head or the way he spoke. It just was there like everything around him always would be.

Mr Watermelon head was not an eccentric man, except for the bizarre things that kept happening around him. He had only one very weird habit, he liked to keep a black fountains pen with ink as dark as death always in his hand and wherever he went. Even his own mother remembers the black pen like he was born with it.

Just like every other day Mr.Watermelon Head sat fiddling with his black ink pen on a snowy day in a café called “unknown”. He liked looking at the snow from the café’s window for hours. He often thought that the snow, like him had nowhere else to go but just drift in the space making everything around it beautiful yet untouchably cold. But the snow eventually stopped drifting and this made watermelon head look inside.

And look he did, because the sight in front of him made him drop his beloved black ink pen .He lost track of time and tide and as dramatic as it may be ,his entire being came into the focus at the exact moment when the shiny black ink pen hit the worn out linoleum floor with a faint thud.

The pink neon bulb flickered; illuminating the dirt marks on his  pants and the pupils of his eyes, which until now were unfocused. The tears that he had been shedding out of boredom restrained as suddenly as they came, for he had met her and that was the truth.

Oh! Real she was as real as anybody could be ,with her curly hair and drooping sad face. She was benevolently ugly to see, but she was as lost as he could be. She spoke garbled sentences as the walls around the ancient café began to crumble around both of them. She waddled and sighed and then waddled somewhere. And when she finally perched her dainty hands on the table as  the whole floor shook. She offered one hand looked beyond him and said “hello Mr Watermelon Head! It’s a pleasure to see you as you would be to see me”

Mr Watermelon head was fumbling for coherent words and for the lack of better words, he just smiled.

In another place at the exact same moment, Sophie opened her eyes, to tell another lie in the blink of an eye. She hastily said to the anxious man with a happy face “my boyfriend is waiting at the café, I must leave now.”

Mr Watermelon head was hence conjured, he just looked at Sophie and smiled, for they had a forged a bond, as imaginary as he may be.