Chain Reactions

So here I was, standing alone, with a pocket-watch in my hand. The pocket-watch was old. but it seemed to be in working condition. It was open-faced with a broken chain. It showed 10 past 3. I looked around, hoping half-heartedly that she would show up again. After a few minutes, when nothing happened, I realized that I had started to feel a little stupid.

I walked back slowly to my lonely apartment. Ascended 4 stories of stairs. Tossed the pocket-watch on the couch and went back to the laundry room. Back to tasks of no cosmic importance. I wondered if I stopped what I was doing, would it affect the state of the universe? As I pondered over such questions and other existentialist problems, the universe had moved on. I remained behind, stuck in my laundry room cleaning soiled cotton.

Work done, I moved to the sitting room and picked up the pocket-watch. 20 past 3. The watch seemed to move really slow. I did a quick recap of what had just happened. A nude woman walking in circles had given me a pocket-watch, and then run away screaming. Prior to that, I was cleaning clothes which was result of me having no toilet paper.

I knew I would have never seen the woman if I hadn't been in the laundry room at that very moment. But I seemed to feel a closer connection with the pocket watch. It existed in my hand for a reason. I held it in my hand and strained my ears to hear the ticking. There was no sound. I turned the watch around, and I saw something scraped onto the back of the watch. It was the name of the manufacturer.

Now this might seem like a long shot. But as I read the back of the watch, I realized that somehow the toilet paper incident was responsible for me being stuck with the memory of a beautiful nude woman and a pocket watch that moved so slow that it gave the illusion that time had stopped.

No event is an island. Everything in this world is interconnected. And I knew that my life would never be the same ever again. Toilet paper be damned. I needed to find out the link between the two. It was my quest for this weekend.

I felt alive. It reminded me of the days when I read Enid Blyton, and peeped at dirty magazines in bookstalls. And my life seemed interesting again.

The End

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