The Writer

Today’s headlines:
“A Mediocre writer’s wife, jumps into the list of most celebrated writers, with her first gripping fiction”

Before 5 years..
He was a fiction writer, one who writes for a living, most of his works were novels or collection of short stories and were just mediocre hits. But the royalty and his fixed deposit interest money that he received every month were more than enough to carry on with life. They were married for 5 years, and she still thanked her deceased father for the fixed deposit, what would have happened to her life if that dowry money was not converted to FD was still a nightmare.


However, she was a beloved wife in all the aspects. She never complained out loud, and was always by his side to soothe him whenever his books sank in the market. He on the other hand, was a loving husband, and thankful to her by heart for the support, but that made him disappointed with his life. He was a brilliant student and as he graduated with flying colours his sole aim was to become a great writer, nothing clicked and he ended up becoming a mediocre writer. He wanted to burst out the bubble, and prove to the world of his talent.


That was when the posthumous craze stuck him. He read somewhere that a writer reached peak, when his work was published after death. The dark side of him took control, and he sat awake on nights dreaming of his best novel gaining acclaim after death and how all his other works too becomes best seller. His mind assured him that his writings were good but needed the pep to become the best, and once that one work clicks, all the other books would be hit too.


The ambition for fame took full control of him and as luck permitted one such evening a beautiful plot entered his mind, he sat alone in front of his computer with excitement and a chuckle, as he wrote down the plot snapshot and rewrote and rewrote. Hours flew by, still he sat with blinking eyes and after long 15 hrs., he gave a small shriek, his wife who was so concerned about his health came running, to find him smiling devilishly at her. She even imagined red horns in his head.


Soon after, he was in a trance, he sat alone in his study after double locking the room, with gleaming eyes, as he wrote and printed out chapters after chapter. He then placed them carefully into an old chest locked it. He was in his room almost always and when he did show up outside, he took care to lock his room. He didn’t trust anyone. To his wife he promised that a new book was on its way, and that would change their life forever. But noting came out and his publishers also stopped calling him. To balance the loss, and to get out of this mental agony she faced, she found herself a small time, job and worked hard to carry on with her family.


Within 3 months the draft version was completed. He transferred that into his computer and burned the copies, then he would reedit in computer print them out and lock inside his wooden chest, and delete the copy in computer. Every day, every night like a bandit, he sat and polished his treasure, until each chapter shone like gold, until it was flawless. By the end of 4 years, he was too obsessed with his work, that he even forgot to eat. His wife with tears would feed him, and at times without his knowledge put in some sleeping pills to his food, so that he would sleep at least once in a while. But she was allowed near him, only after his study room was fastened.


On a Saturday evening, she heard a thud while cooking, she went running to the study, and hesitated a moment, nevertheless, she was determined to hear his bashing, rather than stand there and entered the room, there in the middle of the untidy room he lay unconscious, it was a stroke, and he was hospitalized, on his final day in the world, lying in the hospital bed, he seldom acknowledged any one, but gazed far away like in a daze, and whispered, “the chest.. the chest..”. His wife wiped her tears and affectionately rubbed his chest. After a final anxious look at her, he vomited some blood, and lay still. Thus he died.


During his burial, she came with his priced chest and placed it with love on his chest. After few days, she was told by the lawyer that she would get his ancestral house, only if she published his work inside the chest kept in his study. She looked calmly at the advocate and said, that special work of him lies with him. But still they could dig him up and take it.


She smiled and said, “That work.. killed him long ago, that work was the reason for all my sufferings.. I burned it..! That is my revenge.. The wife’s revenge”


The advocate, a middle aged grey haired man enquired, “Oh child, what will you do for your living? That would have given you a lot of money”


She said, “my revenge is not yet over…”




Today’s news headlines:
“This book of fiction is supposed to be her only novel, as she restores to her normal life, dedicating this to her beloved deceased husband”