Friday, February 4, 2011


There I was, standing in the middle of the road, when it hit me. The bike, that is. The next few seconds were a blur. Although I vaguely remember watching a pale blue object as it flew across the sky in a graceful arc, landing with a dull thud on the freshly paved street. Oh, and the bike lay sprawled on the sidewalk about fifty feet from where the aforementioned girl-in-blue fell.

I had been knocked off my footing, and was lying with my face splat on the ground. Through the corner of my eye I could see her make an unsuccessful attempt to scramble herself onto her feet. I made an earnest effort to get up as well, but it was much too tedious for my aching limbs, and I collapsed to the ground almost instantly.

It was surprising to note that none of the onlookers even bothered to help. But I soon managed to ascribe the elementary lack of a Good Samaritan spirit to the fact that there wasn’t a single soul around, save for an old man in poor clothing. Technically, though, he couldn’t really be called an onlooker. Why? Well, I suppose that it’d help if I retraced my steps first.


It all started this morning. The moment I woke up to the mellifluous twittering of the birds, and the warmth of the sun’s rays gently caressing my face, I knew that something would go terribly wrong. Clairvoyance. ESP, if you will. I got dressed and left for the mall, an outing that was brought about following a chance encounter with an old friend the previous week. As I proceeded to hail a cab, I felt a strange tingling sensation in my ribs. Moments later, all the cabs seem to be plying from top to bottom, a very queer phenomenon. That’s when my IQ-riddled brain helped me sense that I had fallen to the ground.

I dusted myself off, and noticed that I was not the sole observer of the vertical taxi syndrome. A petite lass lay motionless on the floor, wondering what forces of nature could have conspired to cause such a mystical occurrence. Evidently, she happened to bump into me. As I leaned over to help her up, the glint of her hazel eyes told me that something greatly distressed her.

“Are you alright?”, I asked.

“Oh it’s nothing, really. This kind of thing happens to me all the time”, she giggled.

“Haha, ok. I thought you seemed pretty upset. Anything I can help you with?”

“Well now that you mention it, I do have to pick up my dad’s body from the hospital. And I could really use a helping hand. Would you come with me? Pretty please?”

At first, I found it fairly strange that a girl whose father had passed away could remain so calm about it. At the same time, I really didn’t want another errand on my hands. Plus, I was already getting late for the mall. But it would be grossly immoral of me to desert her in her exigency. Which meant that I really couldn’t say ‘no’ either. So I did what I felt would be best, even though I knew I was going to regret it. I lied. Through my teeth.

“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that. I really wouldn’t mind accompanying you. In fact, I was on my way to the hospital myself. I have this fever, you see--”

“You have a beaver?! That’s so cute!”

“No, actually I said that I have a fever--”

“It’s ok, you can show me your beaver later. First, we have to go the hospital”

And she yanked me along before I could explain myself. On our hasty way towards the hospital, I nearly got run over by a truck. Thrice. Once we got inside, she feverishly heckled one of the nurses. The poor nurse seemed to be more than eager to divulge information about the location of the morgue at the prospect of being free from her clutches. And we stormed off towards the morgue.

Sitting by the entrance to the room was an old man, probably in his sixties, in patchy threads and sporting a pair of shades. We inquired about the body.

“Er, I’m looking for the body of Mr. Carl Evans”, said the girl. Her name was Christie, as I’d learnt en route. “Can you help us?”

“Only if you help me, too” he demanded.

“What do you mean?”, I interjected.

“I mean to say that, in return, it would be really nice if you could help me get back home. It’s just a couple of blocks away, right across the street. You see, a blind man can only travel so far by himself”

“If that’s the case, then how, pray, would you be able to help us?”, I asked, skeptically.

“Well, I have the keys to the register. Nicked ‘em”, he said, brandishing his teeth whilst clutching the key-ring.

“Seems fair”, I thought aloud, grabbing the keys from his hand, and unlocking the desk right beside him. I rummaged through the papers, and soon realized that it was a bunch of worthless junk. “You tricked us! There is no name-register in here”, I grumbled.

“Oh, I see”, he said, which I, for one, found pretty annoying – given that he couldn’t see. “Maybe they moved it someplace else. Did you try the patient-display system? I hear they’ve installed it on almost all corridors”

And sure enough, there was a large colour screen gleaming right in front of us. I face-palmed myself and searched the database. “Cool, they’ve even arranged it in an alphabetical order. What was your dad’s name again?”

“Carl. Carl Evans”, she replied.

“Oh, I ‘C’” the old man grinned. I clenched my teeth in exasperation, and then proceeded to skim through the names of people beginning with a C.

“303-A”, I announced. And we skipped over to the allotted cabinet. I held my breath and slid out the cold body, still in its bag, and Christie helped me lug it outside.

“I’m sorry, but how did he die?”, I asked.

“I dunno. Probably drunk-drove off into the lake or something”

“Oh, I sea”, the old man smirked. I stopped short at the point of giving him a fistful, flush in the groins.

As we heaved the body out, some sort of sensor on the door beeped. And alarms started ringing all over. None of us had expected this. I had to think quickly, and we decided to make a run for it. As we turned round the corner, we crashed into a stretcher trolley, and careened off towards the ledge, and into the glass pane.

Now picture a scene from an action movie, wherein an old man and a young girl are saved by a suave hero with an understated air of calm, and the trio come crashing down from the second floor of a hospital, stacked on a bed-on-wheels, miraculously landing with fullest poise neatly in the midst of a dozen awestruck bystanders on the road.

And that’s exactly what didn’t happen. Numerous shards of glass hurtled downwards, shimmering in the light and tinkling onto the ground. Amidst the chaos that ensued, Christie and I were tossed into an alley, as the body bag bounced and came to a halt nearby, while the bed veered off into the distance, carrying the old man with it.

As I tried to recover from the shock, Christie received a text message that seemed to greatly relieve her.

“It’s my mom. She asked whether I’ve picked up my dad’s toddy from the Lofty Skull yet. I guess I probably didn’t hear her right. Can you believe that?”, she tittered, pleasantly amused. “But thanks for your help anyways. Bye!” And she tottered off happily, leaving me still gaping in bewilderment.

I began to trudge slowly, reflecting on the day’s surreal occurrences, when my eyes suddenly caught a glimpse of the bed from the hospital, toppled over sideways, and the old man trying to cross the road without much luck. Too shocked to speak, I helped him without uttering a word. And it was in the middle of this road that the bike smashed into me.

And that’s why he couldn’t technically be called an onlooker. Because he couldn’t look! Come to think of it, I have no idea how he managed to dodge the accident and escape unscathed anyway. I looked up to the spot where I last saw him. He was gone. When I came to, I hobbled over to help the girl, visibly in pain, get back up. As she turned over, I was taken aback to see her face. It was Christie.

“Oh, hi. Are you alright? Look I’m really, really sorry--”, I stammered.

“Lorry? No, silly. I came in a bike. That one, over there, see?”, she said, quizzically, pointing to where the mangled remains of her bike lay.

“Umm. Ok. I really wish I could do something to make up for what I’ve done. At the very least, allow me pay for your medical expenses—“

“You noticed my lenses? Cool! Don’t they make me look pretty?”, she asked, gazing at me intently.

“Yes, you really do have pretty eyes”, I fumbled, digging into my pockets to take out my wallet. But I was unable to find it. After conducting a second thorough examination, I managed to pull out a crumpled up piece of paper from one of them. As I turned it over, I saw that it had three words hastily scrawled upon it. I was equally amused and appalled as I read what they said – Optical Implants Corporation. Or, acronymically --



  1. thee came, thee SEE(or C or Sea) , thee conquered!!! ;) lol:) good one...

  2. Brilliant write. Brought out a few laughs, especially the mind boggling end.