As the door flung back to its monotonous position beside the wall, Jeff realized that he was in a limbo. Much to the dismay of the door, it was not about the monotony of it’s existential agony, but something rather more sinister. Jeff had been in such situations before. In fact messing things up, and being neck deep in trouble were his default state of existence.
He sat down in his chair. The clock above him attempted it’s very best to remind him that it was time to go to sleep. If it had been feasible, the clock would have given him a lecture on how 8 hours of sleep is required for a healthy disposition, but that being beyond the set of all activities that a clock could perform, it had to contend itself with rotating three rather tired metal stripes, around a dial, with a disturbed bee resting on it.
He contemplated the various scenarios, and then it stuck him with a force, with which a hungry rabbit would pull out the last carrot — “that just might work”. He got up. He had made up his mind. The right messages had passed between the aging synapses in his brain, and suddenly the whole world looked different to him. He swung open the door, momentarily providing a view of the outside world to the knob, and ran outside as fast as he could…
The red Audi, the old granny, and even the agitated next door kid having an argument with his dog — which was bordering on being rather one-sided — did not distract his attention. His mind and his focus were bent on one and only one thing — reaching Ferry Hill within the next 5 minutes. His mind was so bent that his head was starting to look a bit distorted to a flock of ducks flying overhead. The lead duck made a rather impolite observation which distorted the well rehearsed ‘V’ formation of the duck patrol; but the stringent discipline enforced by Murphy, who was bringing up the rear guard, got them back in shape in no time. The ducks and Jeff would never meet again.
As he neared Ferry Hill, the ramification of what he was about to do started rummaging through whatever was left of his conscience. His conscience ‘A’ said — “Well Jeff — are you sure you want to do this?” ‘B’, ‘C’ and ‘D’ shouted at once, reminding ‘A’ and Jeff, that though the risk involved here was very high, if success chose to break her track record, and decided to embrace him, due to a sudden bout of insanity on her part, then the problem at hand would cease to exist. Here, one needs to be reminded that Jeff had multiple consciences to match the multiple personalities residing in him. A subdued and out-numbered ‘A’ sank within the recesses of Jeff’s mind.
There it was — ‘Ferry Hill’ — with all its inherent and glorious rot. Ferry Hill, quite surprisingly, and to the annoyance of the 19 people who lived there, had neither a ferry harbor, nor a hill. In fact the name can be attributed to a certain Mr. Ferry D Hill, who had apparently done something significant in some war or the other. As to what he did, and in which war — the answers to these questions are lost to time, tide, and a total lack of interest. The only information available is that a grave marked ‘FDH’ in the local cemetery is probably that of Ferry Hill.
Without a moment’s hesitation, he did exactly what he had planned to do, with such precision as to give the local grave digger something to think about. With the task accomplished, Jeff started back — this time choosing a brisk walk, with a swing or two in it. He gave the grave digger a pleasant smile, which confused the latter, as he was used to seeing people shying away from him. As he continued his casual stroll, Ferry Hill slowly disappeared behind the horizon, and his house came into view.
He was back in his room in no time, asleep like an angel on it’s worst day, and thus came to pass, the most exciting and nerve-cracking day in Jeff’s life, which was to end that very same night.
As to what he did, and why it directly led to his demise — I leave that to the reader’s imagination.
