Residue

Cycling in Mumbai

My legs pumped rhythmically. My back was bent low. Parallel to the road. My head slightly tilted up. My eyes focused. Alternating between the space ahead and around. An animal racing in exhilaration. At being alive.

I heard what sounded like a horn. I turned my head back in anxiety. My eyes peering expectantly through the dimly lit street. Nothing. Just the emptiness of a jagged hole in the fabric of space. Into which my shadows seemed to be disappearing. Revealing penumbras. Of my disavowed desires, unclaimed longings, discarded fantasies, aborted dreams.

I slowed down. I stopped. I waited. With a burgeoning dread. Paralysed. The aperture came closer. Slowly. Emanating a shrill wail that grew ever louder as it drew nearer. Becoming a shrieking banshee. Entering my body. Consuming me. Mingling with my flowing libido. Screaming through it. Weaving pleasure and pain like a power-loom. Engorging my phallus.

I shuddered free. Trembling in every sinew. With every breath. Blood, lava hot, raging through my distorted veins.

I turned around and peddled fiercely back home.

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