GB-1 THE MEMORY EATER

 BY ROHIT GORE, Author of 'CIRCLE OF THREE', 'FOCUS, SAM' and 'A DARKER DAWN'

                     

The journal survived.  Like a pearl inside a shelled mollusk. Everything else destroyed by the roiling, angry sea. He raged when he saw the dry crisp pages of the journal.  Seventy three people on the ocean liner. Seventy two dead.  One survivor on the desolate island.  And his journal. The endless horizon, as though God’s smile, mocking him. The sound of waves His laughter.  He laughed too. It sounded like a hideous cry. 

He opened a random page.

1^st January : ‘Kissed her for the first time!’

He smiled. She was beautiful, his wife. She was dead. He tore and ate the page. A memory good enough to eat. He ate all the pages with her name on it. Almost fifty. He retched the whole night.

He buried twenty two bodies. Then gave up. The island was a giant grave.  The pile of dead flesh. Marinated by the salty sea water. Good enough to eat? He pressed his fists on his eyes and cried for hours.

29^th September:  ‘Got a promotion today. Party planned!’

credits - MANYA AHUJA

He read the menu of the party. ‘Chicken biryani’, ‘Mutton Roganjosh’. ‘Paneer Hyderabadi’ ‘Casatta ice-cream’. He licked the ink for a long time. A tasty meal. He found all the pages with the mention of parties. He ate them all. He did not throw up.

He looked at the bodies. Lined up like a buffet. His mouth drooling like a hungry dog. He wondered if he was a dog. Whether all the things that happened before were a dog’s dream? A dog can eat any flesh. 

He clutched the journal to his chest. The touch of the paper to his chafed skin was soothing. There were many pages left in the journal. He was yet to become a dog.

5^th December: “Our new house!” Did he own a house? 

credits - MANYA AHUJA

  He closed his eyes and saw a corner. A corner adorned by his guitar. His favorite corner. He searched for it in the journal entry. He cried for a long time when he saw it. It was his house. He tore the page and ate it.

credits - MANYA AHUJA

Days (Months? Years?) later only a few pages remained. The sad memories. Entries where he wrote about his father’s death. His lament about not writing a novel. His depression after being ignored for the position of the Vice President. He wondered what would taste worse. The days (months? years?) old human flesh or ancient uncertain sad memories? He ate the pages after a long time. He would not become a dog. Those memories in the journal were that of a man. He would die a man. 

The rescue boat found him. A brown skeleton. Barely breathing. A tattered journal cover wedged between his hands and chest. The rescuers saw the rotting carcasses on the sand and understood.

They fed him.

“How did you survive?” they asked, fearing the answer.

“On my memories”, he said.

credits - MANYA AHUJA