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Jahab bhasam Or tum sab

https://youtu.be/jr0R9LBgo5s

The car screamed down the highway, grinding against asphalt as if it were at odds with the road itself. Wind whipped against it, lashing out violently, struggling to penetrate glass and metal to assault the soft people inside. Other vehicles sped by, the Doppler effect announcing their approach before they roared against the side of the car. In the passenger’s seat, a woman adjusted her seatbelt, turning to face behind her.

“You okay, Flip?”

Flip stared out the window, entranced by the shapes and sounds.

His mother sighed, turning to her wife. “Sue, maybe we should stop the car for a while.”

Sue nodded, activating her hazard lights, and Flip finally spoke. “It’s okay. I’m okay.”

“You sure, kiddo?” Sue asked, glancing at the passenger seat. “Kate and I could use a break, too.”

A truck rumbled past them, and Flip shuddered. “I’m almost ten. I’m not a chicken.”

“Honey,” Kate replied, creasing her brow, “You have nothing to be ashamed of. The highway can be a scary place. But Sue is a great driver. She’ll keep us safe. You trust us, right?”

Flip hesitated, then nodded. Seemingly satisfied, both of his mothers returned their attention to the road ahead.

In the corner of his eye, Flip saw a green, rectangular sign perched on the side of the road, but it passed him too quickly for him to read it. “Where are we?”

“We just passed into Georgia,” Sue replied. “We’re far closer to Florida than when we started!”

Smiling faintly, Flip turned back to the window. Something small and black approached from the side of the road, its shape twisted and deformed. Flip gasped, pointing.

Kate heard him, and turned around, assessing the situation. She looked outside and smiled.

“Oh, don’t worry, Flip. Here in Georgia, they call those Road Gators.”

“There are alligators in Georgia?” Flip exclaimed.

“No, no,” Kate laughed. “It’s just a broken tire. Pieces of rubber left behind by someone else. It can’t hurt you.”

They passed the black mass, and it faded into the distance behind them.

“Why would someone leave behind a tire?” Flip asked. “What happened to it?”

Kate’s smile faltered. “Well . . . Uh . . .”

“It’s okay, honey,” Sue intervened. “Flip, it may have blown. Maybe someone ran over a sharp object, or it was just old and unsafe. It popped, like a balloon, and they replaced it before continuing on their journey.”

Flip fidgeted nervously. “Couldn’t that cause a car accident?”

“Maybe,” Sue admitted. “Maybe not. Our tires are fine, though. Just relax.”

Placing his weight against the seat, Flip closed his eyes, trying to ignore the overwhelming sounds and sensations accompanying their mode of transport. The car rattled for a moment, producing a low growl, and Flip peeked out the window again.

Another Road Gator, he thought.

The second curled rubber strip was pushed further off the road this time, lying halfway in the grass. As Flip watched, though, it shifted, straightening out. Flip’s eyes widened, his heart pounding in his chest, while the Road Gator turned away from their passing car, slithering into the trees beyond the road.

“Did you see that?” he whispered.

Sue and Kate looked around, and the latter asked, “See what?”

“The Road Gator . . .” He trailed off. What was he supposed to say?

“I don’t know,” he continued. “I thought I saw an animal.”

“Well, we’re in the South,” Sue chuckled. “There’s plenty to go around.”

A massive, eighteen-wheeled truck passed them, drifting into their lane. Sue slowed a little, giving them space. “Be careful, dude.”

More movement out the window, drawing Flip’s eye. This time, he saw three Road Gators of various sizes, their bodies rough and black, their motions serpentine as they crawled away from the road and out of sight. Flip’s heart pounded faster, and he felt tears pressing against his eyes.

“Something’s wrong,” he whimpered. He could feel it, like the wind before a thunderstorm.

“For the last time,” Sue scolded, turning away from the steering wheel, “there’s nothing–”

One of the large rear tires of the truck in front of them exploded, the burst of air a shockwave that rattled Flip’s bones. Rubber spiraled into the center of the road, and the truck swerved, skidding to a stop. Kate grabbed Sue’s arm, knuckles white.

“Sue, watch the road!”

They collided with the back of the truck, filling the interior of the car with twinkling glass and screaming metal. Flip’s body jerked forward, only to be immediately arrested by the seatbelt’s safety mechanism. The vehicle warped around them, tearing and bending, constricting like a snake. Then, they stopped, and the world went silent, save the hissing smoke leaking from the demolished car hood.

“M . . . mom?” Flip weakly asked, his vision blurry. As he refocused, he felt a painful tightness in his neck, making it difficult to move his head.

The scene before him cleared, and he gasped.

Sue’s skull folded around the corner of the truck’s cargo area that had penetrated the front windshield, her head reduced to a red, fleshy crater. The rest of her body drooped lifelessly in the driver’s seat, swaying like a mannequin in the wind.

Kate shifted in the passenger’s seat, and optimism sparked in Flip’s chest for a moment. Then, she stiffened, seizing in the seat. Flip saw the blood where her head had struck the dashboard, realizing something was wrong with her brain now. Her seizure violently accelerated, limbs rattling against the car door and broken glass, but within seconds, she slumped over onto her wife, blood leaking from her mouth.

“Hello? Oh, Jesus Christ,” Flip heard a man call.

Through the shattered front window, Flip saw an older, potbellied man stumble out of the driver’s side of the now-seventeen-wheeled truck, his green baseball cap lopsided, his flannel shirt disheveled. He crouched as he hit the pavement, squinting into Flip’s car.

“Help!” Flip yelled. “My moms are . . . are . . . help, please!”

His tears flowed freely now, his chest heaving through spastic sobs.

“I’m coming, kid,” the truck driver announced. “Let me get my–"

A loud, low hiss interrupted him.

The man slowly turned away from the car, toward the massive, knotted strip of tire that had caused this mess, now lying in the center of the highway. Flip’s sorrow turned to fear, and he fought against his seatbelt, trying to unlatch it, to get away. Something in the accident must have damaged it, though, because it wouldn’t unclasp.

Ahead, the newborn Road Gator unfurled, betraying its size, the thing as large as the truck driver himself. Flattening against the ground, it inflated a little, four stubby legs popping out along its body. Beneath the stubbled “head,” something moved, revealing a long snout and a jaw full of pointed teeth. The Road Gator hissed again, turning threateningly toward the truck driver.

“What?” the man rubbed his eyes, stepping toward the Road Gator.

“No!” Flip cried, pulling against his seatbelt with all his might. “Don’t get close!”

The Road Gator lashed out, latching on to the truck driver’s leg. It twisted, something snapped, and he fell onto his back, screaming. The Road Gator swiveled from side to side, flinging the man back and forth like a rag doll, bashing his skull against the side of his truck. After three strikes, the man fell silent, and the Road Gator crawled atop his body, emitting low, hungry grunts.

Flip grasped the nearest car door handle, using it as leverage to pull himself forward. He wiggled back and forth, adjusting his body, slowly sliding himself out of the tight seat belt. As he freed himself, he glanced out of the window again. The truck driver lay on the asphalt, shredded to the bone, no longer recognizable.

The Road Gator, however, had vanished.

Heart pounding, Flip curled into the floorboards, the blood of his dead mothers dripping onto his neck as he cried. In the distance, he heard grunts, followed by heavy footsteps, like rubber dragging across the road. The sound grew closer, and Flip heard the thing’s hunger, its genesis producing an overwhelming desire to feed.

The grunting, the scraping, came to a halt somewhere outside of the rear passenger door of the car, mere feet away from where Flip had assumed a fetal position. Then, a crunch, and sharp, black teeth as long as carrots penetrated the metal, crinkling it. Powerful jaws beyond Flip’s line of sight flexed, and the Road Gator ripped the door from its hinges, flinging it onto the highway.

Flip hyperventilated, crawling backwards, squeezing himself between the car seats. Unfazed, the Road Gator raised one leg, planting it on the back seat, and lifted itself into the car. Flip saw no face, no eyes, no remorse; simply a force of nature, come to collect its share of souls. The Road Gator parted its mouth, hissing gently, as if trying to soothe the young boy.

Sirens sounded in the distance, and the Road Gator slowly turned its head toward the noise. Flip felt hope in his chest. Maybe the creature would flee. Maybe he’d be rescued, and they’d find a way to save his mothers. Maybe . . .

As if sensing Flip’s thoughts, the Road Gator returned its attention to him, hissing again. Behind it, Flip saw more Road Gators slither from the trees, joining in chorus, egging the creature on. It lowered its head, and for the briefest second, Flip thought he saw it smile.

Then it pounced, and Flip was no more.

The bedroom’s darkness felt soft, almost tangible, seemingly capable of dampening even the loudest of noises. Child’s toy’s were strewn about the carpet in carelessness, the floor nothing more than a plastic junkyard. A clock mounted on the wall ticked away, the second hand pursuing the skyward-facing number “twelve.” It soon reached it, landing alongside its time-telling brethren. The clock whirred, lit up, and spat out twelve chimes in a little musical flurry.

Midnight.

A warm, forgiving summer breeze softly blew through the open window, rustling the dark brown curls of the small girl, asleep in her bed. The world was completely still, and deathly quiet.

“Hello, Tina,” a voice whispered.

Tina’s eyes snapped open, and she sat upright in her bed, searching for the source of the noise. Her eyes widened further as she discovered it. On the windowsill, backlit by the moon and stars, sat a ventriloquist's dummy.

Nearly three feet in length, the figure sported a miniature black-and-white tuxedo, with a black bow to match. Its head, though slightly pale, sported brown curls identical to Tina’s. It possessed no irises, though; only coal-black spots embedded in its face. The lips, painted a faint pink, curled upward into a smile, which split disturbingly as its mouth flapped open.

“Who . . . who are you?” Tina softly asked.

Silence, for a moment, before the dummy spoke. “My name is Trina. It’s nice to meet you!”

Its voice maintained a low whisper, but it held an excitement, an underlying anticipation, as if it knew a secret that Tina was yet to discover.

Tina leaned to the side, trying to see beyond Trina. “Who’s outside the window? Who’s controlling you?”

Not waiting for an answering, the girl moved to climb out of her bed.

Trina’s voice quickly dropped several octaves. “Don’t you dare move from that spot.”

Shuddering, Tina obliged.

“No one controls me,” Trina continued, her voice returning to its soft whisper. “No one.”

Tina looked at her closed bedroom door.

“You won’t make it if you run,” Trina warned in a sing-song voice.

“What do you want?” Tina asked the dummy, her voice trembling.

Trina tilted her head to the left, then to the right, seeming to survey the room. “I just came to chat.”

Sitting against bed’s headboard, Tina pulled her blanket up to her chin. “What do you want to talk about?”

The dummy’s head lolled to one side as it said, “Well, I wanted to get to know you. I have a feeling we’re going to be best friends soon. Wouldn’t you like to be best friends?”

“Um . . . I don’t know,” Tina responded. “I don’t know you.”

“That’s rude,” Trina hissed. “I’m trying to do that right now, aren’t I?”

Tina curled into a ball. “Yeah, I guess.”

“So, Tina,” the dummy spat, the name leaving its mouth almost threateningly, “what do you do for fun?”

Pointing at a nearby desk, Tina said, “I like to make things. Especially out of paper.”

Trina leaned forward, further into the room, but didn’t leave the windowsill. Her head swiveled to the side, absorbing the flat surface covered in coloring books, construction paper, pens, pencils, and glue. Suddenly, the dummy straightened up, as if intrigued.

“Say, what’s that shiny thing?”

“Oh, that?” Tina glanced at her crafting desk. “It’s a utility knife. It’s kind of like scissors, but I find it easier to cut up little things.”

Trina laughed in a soft, steady tone, like air leaking from a tire. “Who doesn’t like to cut up little things?”

The dummy’s hands lifted, landing palms-up in its lap. “Give it to me.”

Tina opened her mouth to object. “But . . . it’s mine–”

“I said give it to me,” Trina interrupted.

Leaning over the edge of the bed, Tina picked up the utility knife with shaking hands. The object was mostly silver handle, with a small, triangular blade at the end, no more than an inch long. She moved to leave the bed.

“No, no,” Trina objected. “Just toss it over here. Don’t let it go out the window.”

Tina raised up on her knees and tossed the knife to the dummy. It sailed through the air, almost floating, and landed perfectly into Trina’s lap. Trina’s head drooped for a moment, like a puppet with cut strings, before straightening back up, the knife clenched in her small, wooden hand. The dummy examined the knife, then released it onto its lap.

Sighing, Trina whispered, “Why do such little girls have such deadly toys?”

“I mean, I am eight and half,” Tina replied indignantly. “I can take care of myself.”

“Can you?” the dummy asked. “Tell me, where you do go to school?”

Tina sat back again. “Chadwell Elementary.”

“And your parents? What do they do?”

Tina thought for a moment. “My dad is a chef. My mom is always on the TV, talking about boring things. I’m not sure what she does, honestly.”

“She sounds important,” Trina whispered. “So, I’ll ask again, do you think you can take care of yourself?”

Tina’s blood ran cold. “What do you mean?”

“Well, important people make enemies,” Trina explained. “Enemies who might want to use you to get to them.”

“Oh . . .” Trina lowered her gaze. “I didn’t know that.”

“It’s okay!” the dummy exclaimed, its voice quiet, but harsh. “That’s why I want to be your friend! We can learn so much from each other. Don’t you think?”

Tina offered a half-smile, nodding.

Outside the isolated bedroom, footsteps sounded, muffled by the carpet. Trina turned to the door, and Tina followed suit. Over her shoulder, the girl heard the dummy whisper, “He’s here for you.”

“Who?” Tina squeaked.

The door gently swung open, revealing a tall, muscular man in a black ski mask. Tina tried to run, to scream, but she was paralyzed. He looked at her, leveling a knife.

“Come with me, kid.”

Trina began to vibrate, her head spinning around repeatedly. “Don’t play rough with my friends.”

The masked intruder stepped forward, mouth opening as he registered the dummy. “What the hell . . .”

Tina’s wits returned, and she sprung from the bed, dashing past the man and into the hallway. He turned to give chase, but the bedroom door slammed shut, separating them and sealing him inside the room. The man banged on the barrier.

“Hey! What is this?”

Then, a snap, like a bent twig. The man screamed, his voice now shrill and feminine. Another snap, and then a third, in quick succession now. The crunching continued, reminding Tina of the sound of chewing on breakfast cereal. His screams petered out into a pathetic whimper, finally falling silent.

A loud thump resounded behind Tina, and she spun around, running straight into her mother’s open arms.

“Sweetie, what happened?” her mother asked, pulling Tina close.

Tina began to sob. “There’s– there’s– there’s someone in my room.”

Her father appeared, brandishing a baseball bat. “Honey, open the door.”

“No!” Tina screamed, but her mother ignored her cries, twisting the knob.

The door drifted open, revealing a dark room, a carpet covered in toys, a ticking wall clock.

But no man. And no dummy.

The family wandered inside, Tina’s heart pounding in her tiny chest, and searched the bedroom.

Nothing. No signs of life.

Hesitantly, Tina walked to the window, peeking beyond the sill. Just past the edge, caught on the brick outside, fluttered a torn piece of black cloth. Far below, her utility knife lay on the grass, red and wet.

Tina gasped, backing away. Her parents rushed to the window, but she continued to distance herself. After several steps, she collided with her crafting desk. Her hand brushed against the wood to steady herself, and she felt sharp splinters prick her skin. Shivering, she faced the desk, revealing a small heart carved into the surface. Scratched within the heart were six words.

Tina and Trina: Best Friends Forever!

The endless blue light stretched in front of Curtis, swimming before his eyes just as he swam within its lukewarm embrace. His breathing echoed in his ears, bringing a sensation of calm throughout his entire being. His wet suit limited his mobility, but the lowered gravity gave him more freedom than any clothing ever could. In the nearby ether swam his father, a silhouette in the infinite calm.

Curtis’s waterproof watch told him that they’d submerged ten minutes ago, but the surface was almost completely lost from him. The dive was supposed to be short, so his air supply wouldn’t last more than an hour.

They reached the sand-covered ocean floor, raising silt like a cloud of dust and impeding the progress of a wayward crab. Curtis’s fingers brushed along the jagged earth, losing warmth as they were slowly pulled toward a great, dark chasm. His eyes widened behind his plastic lens as they beheld the awe-inspiring abyss.

His father peeked beyond the chasm, too, and turned to Curtis, offering a thumbs-up. Curtis signaled back. Today was his tenth birthday, and this crushing expanse of melancholy beauty was his present. Excitement overwhelmed him. He wanted to see more. He needed to see more.

Ignoring the sound advice that his father had given him just minutes before, he leaned over the side and began swimming straight down. The brilliant colors of the sea faded away as powerful walls of the canyon quickly extinguished the sunlight. In the corner of his eye, he saw his father frantically scramble after him, trying to stop him. Trying to rob him of the full extent of his gift.

The invisible pressure of the water began to take its toll, and Curtis gritted his teeth to force the pain of the crushing headache away. The temperature decreased as steadily as the darkness increased, chilling him to the bone. Something suddenly moved between the remaining light and himself, but before he could see it, his skull was struck from behind, and the world faded to black.

________________

Curtis awoke with the dull memory of the previous pain pulsing in his temple, and he grabbed his head with both hands. The ground upon which he was perched shifted beneath him, and he instinctively reached out, feeling out and taking hold of a nearby rock. He tried to open his eyes, but the skin of his eyelids seemed to stick to his face. It took all of his strength to separate them. A horrible burning sensation attacked his face like a thousand hornets from hell, and the force of his scream urged air bubbles to surface around his mouthpiece.

When the invisible force – likely a large fish – had stuck him, he must have careened down the empty abyss unabated before the overhanding ledge halted his descent. His face apparently slammed into the rock, shattering his goggles and cutting either one or both of his eyes. The wound didn’t feel severe, but it left him blind, surrounded by a freezing darkness.

Curtis groped the ledge, his fingers tracing the outline of the rock, and sat up. A distant beep from his diver’s watch warned him that his oxygen would expire in less than ten minutes. The otherwise silence triggered a new worry: Where’s dad?

Panicking, he shot in the direction which his internal compass indicated as “up.” His face slammed into the side of the underwater cliff for the second time, this time knocking his mouthpiece askew. He tasted seawater and blood, gagged, and quickly forced the bubbling tube back into his mouth.

The horrible taste of salt and copper remained, however, as he blindly felt his way up the steep, rocky surface. Fear gripped him like a vice, and he dissociated from it, trying to think of a better place. Instead, simpler unpleasantries came to mind: Skinned knees; dropped ice cream cones; released balloons. And, after every one, the tears.

Yes, the ocean tasted like tears; after all, what were tears but salt and water. In fact, the ocean was just that: A billion small tears, combining to form one massive force. The tremendous silence that came with the ocean matched the tremendous sadness that came with the tears; both gave the frightening sensation of total isolation. And here Curtis was, lost in a billion tears, trying to find a breath of fresh air that could take him away from this quiet, somber world.

The pressure around his head, in his head, slowly relieved itself, and Curtis moved faster, more exuberantly. His hands felt up the wall, like lions’ paws padding across their den: Pat-pat, pat-pat, pat-pat. Then, they had nothing to grasp, and he tumbled back onto the ocean floor.

Still, no sign of his father. No one came to grab him, to save him, to take him away from this lukewarm hell. So, he persisted.

Unfortunately, the difficult part was now at hand. His father had warned him that if he rose to the surface too quickly, he’d contract the Bends, which he understood to be a decompression sickness far worse than death by drowning. So, he was forced to take his valuable time as his life expectancy impatiently ticked away. And tick away they did, disappearing like frightened fish into the seaweed.

Where was the end? He’d been swimming for much longer than he should have, but the only thing that surfaced was an unspoken fear: What if he was swimming sideways instead of up?

Curtis now had two choices: Keep swimming and hope that he’s going the right way, or alter his course and pray that he hadn’t sealed his fate.

He chose to keep swimming.

His watched beeped again. He was under the minute mark now, his time reduced to a handful of heartbeats. He sped up, foolishly willing to risk a long, painful death instead of the short, immediate one which threatened him now. His breathing increased, and he tried to slow it down, reminding himself that he needed to conserve the oxygen. It was too late, however; his next inhalation was stale, and he knew that his time had run out.

Curtis sucked on the tube as a last-ditch attempt to breathe and pulled the mouthpiece away from his face. The silent tears rushed past his cheeks, as if God himself was crying for the fate which he was soon to share with so many others. His lungs ached for oxygen, his muscled ached from fatigue, and his heart ached with despair. He was convinced that he’d never see his father again, or anyone else, for that matter.

Then, his head broke the ocean’s surface.

He gasped loudly, simultaneously coughing and sucking up the warm, wet air. The wind had picked up since he’d submerged, and he struggled to keep his body afloat amongst the crushing waves. Grinning wildly, he reached up and cleared the saltwater from his eyes. Curtis now realized that it was only his left eye that had been cut, so he kept it closed, using his right one to view his surroundings.

The boat, however, was gone.

Curtis’s grin fell. He must have been swimming at an angle the entire time; he had no way of knowing how far he was from the anchored vessel. The crew would never hear his shouts from such a distance, especially over the active wind.

Something moved in the water ahead of him. He caught a glimpse of grey, and his heart sank as he realized what had struck him, and what had likely become of his father.

A large fin emerged from the water less than ten feet away, followed by five more, as if magnetized to the blood leaking from Curtis’s mouth and left eye. The wet coating caused the fins to shine like razor blades, cutting his spirit as effectively as real blades cut his body. All six fins formed a circle around him and spun slowly, menacingly. He felt as if he were in a blender, surrounded by those huge, sharp blades. As they moved closer, threatening to dice him to pieces, fear slowly unraveled his sanity, and he gave the sea a few tears of his own.

"Hello?" I asked fearfully, for I had just come across a leg and a pair of eyeballs sitting on the street. In the corner of my eye, I saw people disappearing in the air, and when I turned to see, I found that this time they had left both of their arms behind.

could anybody find my head ?i think i lost it

does anybody remember me? of course not because i am dead

i love the smell of napalm in the morning

the an running down the street looked funny,i mean after all its not everyday you see someone with an axe for a head running