Monday, July 4, 2011

The Vagrant

One of my first proper attempts at writing fiction. It may be a bit raw and amateur-ish at certain points. I've tried my hand at experimenting with a few techniques. So here goes - the first chapter of "The Vagrant". :-)

  An empty house - The air smelled of rancid breath which had been repeatedly circulating within the tightly sealed domains of the 400 square feet damp space. There was nothing but an uncovered bed, yellowed with time, at the centre of the hall. The kitchen was untouched and unattended to. Spider-webs threatened to gobble up the entire ceiling with their delicate silvery webs. The bathroom bore a similar air of negligence, collecting grime and dust of the years’ bygone.  Deep green moss had begun to worm their way around the once abundantly used ceramic fittings. A small balcony attached to the hall overlooked a construction site next to a kids’ playground. The semi-circular mosaic tiled balcony was propped with a lusterless solitary wooden chair. The hall and the balcony were separated by a sliding glass door. The smudged dusty glass panes bore greenish white stains of dried bird droppings, presumably due to the once lived nest of twigs and plastic straws in a hollowed space just above the window.

  Carried away in describing this match-box of a house, I forgot to mention the pale figure of a man lying on the lone bed, covered only by a thin cotton blanket. His thinning hairline made his high forehead appear almost clownish, as it clashed with his otherwise what one may call ‘petite’ features. His eyes were firmly set in his face like tiny round marbles. He possessed an equally round nose and a mouth with lips so thin that they almost seemed delusional. He had been there since dawn broke out. The flimsy door-lock of this abandoned house easily gave way with a single tug.

  His face was white with a feverish glow and his frail body quivered and coiled beneath the useless sheet that covered him. Two half-eaten apples, now browned beyond the stage of palpability rested beside him. A blue water-bottle lay on the dusty marble floor, encircled by a halo of a contrasting patch of marble, cleaned by spilt water. An abrupt and absolute silence prevailed after the constant hubbub of the construction site had been stopped for the day. The only sounds that could be heard was the slow, uneven breath of the desolate man, and an occasionally buzz of a restless fly trapped on the wrong side of the window.

  Evening had approached. Whatever little remnants of murky sunlight that managed to make it’s way into the apartment was groped away into the fast approaching darkness. The man didn’t rise from the horizontal state that he had positioned himself in. He uneasily twitched in the bed and gave out an occasional coarse, dry cough. Not even once did he open those little eye lids. They were tightly shut, as if he feared facing the starkness of the deathly situation that engulfed him. Altogether, he very well bore the appearance of a man with no identity and no place to go.

  A tramp. A homeless, dying tramp. That's what one would call him.
 With a sudden jerk he shoved the blanket away from his body. His skeletal feet peered out of his unfitting worn out pants.  Greenish blue streams of veins threatened to tear out from a thin layer of translucent skin. Just above the ankle on the left foot is what appeared to be a tattoo. An ace of spade conjoined with an ace of heart. Two tiny playing cards inked for eternity.  


  1. I want more... I loved it... A nice captivating story and really brings out the person. Want to more about the mystery of the inked tattoos!!

    très magnifique

  2. Thank you very much crys!! The next part will be coming soon! :-)