Can a dead person come back as a ghost and a zombie, both?
I wandered listlessly up and down my suburban, two floored home. Mum had been crying constantly since five days now. Occasionally she would, and I believe it was on purpose, bring out discussions on how I farted so loud last Diwali, that my fart could be heard above all the fireworks. And how I had the most heinous singing voice, especially when I tried singing Yo Yo Honey Singh.
I was sick of people discussing me, and especially sick of seeing mum, dad and , my little brother, cry over and over again. Seriously people, I was right there.
And guess what, for once why couldn’t they discuss good stuff, like when I was the school prefect or the college journal editor? Was it so hard to say nice things about me?
I sprawled unceremoniously on my…
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