Flash Fiction: An Unwanted Guest

An Unwanted Guest

Sometimes there are things that are better lost. They may have been with us for ages but that doesn’t make them welcome guests. We’d definitely do better without their presence in our lives. These things aren’t hard to let go. What stops us from escaping them is their stubbornness at sticking around.

I’ve a friend. Well, calling him a friend isn’t appropriate because I never wanted to befriend him in the first place. We met every now and then but I tried to steer clear of him at every possible opportunity. For years, I successfully avoided him and enjoyed the fruits of his absence. But recently, after taking up a job as a freelancer, I noticed that I couldn’t lose him. He’d come visiting unannounced. He even dared to stay overnight. He was the reason why I was restless always. I couldn’t sleep at night. He’d sit beside me and stare at me non-stop. Not a word did he utter.

There was no running away from him. I felt trapped. My freedom, my independence was suffering because of him. I pleaded and I reasoned with him. Nothing. I bribed and I threatened. More silence. I took up a few hobbies just to keep myself more busy and indulged. I thought it would put an end to his presence in my life. The trick worked initially. But it wasn’t permanent.

One day he caught me in the act of a crime. I thought he’d be scared by my ruthlessness and run away. But boy, was I wrong! Believe me his silence had been better. It turned out he could talk more than I could take in. He’d babble day in and day out on the pretext of helping me hide my crime. He came up with absurd suggestions about dumping the body.

Okay, so I didn’t disclose my crime earlier. Sue me for that. I had murdered a girl. It was a necessity. I needed the money and it had seemed like a quick job. But then things got out of hand and I had no idea how to progress. My genius brain cooked up a solution. Murder. I acted upon my instincts and bam! I had a dead girl with a dead body to dispose off now. Now, don’t me wrong. Murder is okay. It’s easy even. What is difficult is the part that comes after the murder. Police work. Detectives. Media. Trial, probably. Guilt. The list just goes on and on. I had no idea what I was getting into when I committed the murder.

My friend chose just this moment to declare himself the house guest. He said he wouldn’t leave me now. He said he wanted to help. In his own way he was actually trying to help.

He came up with ideas but since I had no prior knowledge or experience, I found myself floundering. I couldn’t choose one option and leave the other for fear of making a mistake.

So now here I am months later still with a dead body to deal with. A crime to organize that has inadvertently been committed. And of course my unwanted guest — Mr. Writers’ Block — who, instead of completely obstructing my work, is throwing at me ideas, each one grander and unrealistic than the other.

© Jonali Karmakar