The Dorm


It was seven in the evening. Petal was sitting comfortably on his bed in his dorm room, on the ninth floor. His exams have just ended and he is looking forward to his internship at a start up.He has just a week to himself, to relax and meditate.

The day had been cloudy–raining sporadically. Now, with the Sun almost setting, casting a golden-red hue over the cloudy sky and regular gusts of strong wind darting in uninvited to his room, Petal’s thoughts wandered quickly to the days long gone.

He lives in a foreign land now. He has long forgotten what his homeland looked like, the peculiarity with which his people behaved. All he is left with is a collection of hazy images. He doesn’t miss any of that though. He is fairly content with the Now.He wouldn’t have it any other way. But what bothers him is the past which he had lived vividly but is no longer so clear anymore. And what about those years before he was 4 yrs old? He has almost no recollection of that time. In fact, the memories are too few in numbers, suspiciously few.

The more he thinks about it,the more uncomfortable he gets:

When was I born?

1991 of course…

But, I don’t remember being born!

Well,there is your birth certificate…

Documents can be faked.And I don’t remember even my parents’ faces before I was 3/4 yrs old. What if they are not my “real” parents?

What!? Stop talking such nonsense!

No.Seriously. What if I was never “born”? What if I had been alive all along?

Come on! You know how a child is born. When a mommy and a daddy love each other very much….

No no, that’s not it. Remember when your relatives sometimes see you and say,”Wow! I can’t believe how much you have grown up buddy!The last time I saw you, you were thiss small.”

What if they are right? What if we really are older than we think we are?What if sections of our lives are erased from our memory for some purpose?Times when we are refitted with key information and guide for our future planned life.

Oh! Are you talking about some Simulating God?

No.I am thinking of some clandestine group of people who decide what we remember and what our role in this world should be,they decide for our surrogate parents and life partners,for our education, wealth and vocation.

 You are just insane!

Well of course you people would think like that. Why else do you think they put me in here?

The clock struck nine.Petal got off from his bed and looked out of the grilled window of his 6 x 8 room on the ninth floor of the mental institution,which he called The Dorm.

“Time for dinner”,he thought and waited eagerly for the pizza which he had ordered last year.

The Scream by Edvard Munch, 1893Image:

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