Damn it! That maligning prober.
That godforsaken ECG machine eavesdrop, clinging to my thoracic home. The tattletale encrypted my movements in zigzag lines on a serpentine length checkered strip.
It labelled me a diseased, languorous sloth. Utter balderdash!
“What does it even know about my life?” Whined Abhi’s heart noisily.
Crammed between the contorted lungs, Mr. Heart heaved laboriously, pushing the heavily clotted blood down the clogged arteries. “I rather be a sewer cleaner in Mumbai,” he lamented.
Both the harried traffic policeman standing on the Burrabazar crossroad and the collapsing, frothing from mouth bullocks on the road, would fall in love with their jobs if they ever saw mine.
“Ugh! I hate this slime,” fretted Mr. Heart. Suddenly he skipped a beat. Thankfully, no organs bothered. Though increasingly common, yet they passed it as a normal glitch.
“What, is it time already?” Mr. Heart pounded aloud as the clock struck twelve.
Abhi finally hit the bed.
Did that mean he stopped abusing his body? Well, not really! He crashed on his bed immediately after hungrily devouring a plate full of tandoori chicken and naan. The bugger layered up his late dinner with a generous helping of chocolate ice cream. By the way, I had seen the swindler scoop a second helping as his innocent wife looked away.
“Inconsiderate brat! Does he even know how painful it is for Mr. Baggy Stomach? He keeps regurgitating acids. I hear him seething in pain the whole night,” deplored Mr. Heart.
Suddenly some loud desperate gasps called for Mr. Heart’s attention.
“Are you ok, my dears?” He pitifully queried his faithful twin friends. He could hardly recognise them. Blackened, swollen, oozing out mucus, they looked exhausted as Abhi lit his last cigarette of the day. Well, last indeed! But only after puffing a handsome number of thirty in one day.
Pulsating with anger, Mr. Heart throbbed heavily. “Yuck! ” He spat, as some plaque got in his way. “Enough, I have had enough!”
“Fellow organs, the time has come. At the stroke of midnight, as the world sleeps, we will declare war. A mutiny!” Crooned Mr. Heart, thumping aloud.
The battlefield was laid. A hushed audience of harried organs waited nervously as their king readied to strike the target.
Weekend romance suffused the room with an overpowering amorous scent. Ten minutes of arduous foreplay had passed between the couple. Abhi missed the thrill of gushing blood. His limpid ego stared apologetically at his wife. Horrified, Abhi tried harder. Alas! Mr. Heart was on a non-cooperation drive, denying even a fake, make-believe, momentary perk to him.
“Sorry, Mrs. Abhi,” guffawed Mr. Heart. The unrelenting Mr. Heart had indeed turned rock hard. The disappointed lady turned away in frustration.
Appalled, Abhi looked down at his lame manhood. Somewhere from his inside, rose a roar of cheer at the first victory.
Smirking at the midnight joke, Mr. Brain finally dozed off with a finishing quote.
“Sure, It takes a revolution to get a solution.”
Burrabazar: A very busy market, hub of trading activity in any city.
Photo By: Unsplash
This is an entry for the event #twelve #Five00-10 at ArtoonsInn Writers Room.
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Talk about play on words. This has taken it to a new level.
A different take… Good read…