[voodoo_dreams]

Aham, here's a true story from one of my days at MCC.. I hope many of you will be able to relate to it.

"1000"
“849, 848, 846… …” I struggle to utter the numbers while I breathe in a lung full. My heart beats fast; faster than I’ve ever felt it beat. I sit on my invisible chair, my arms stretched forward. My legs quiver and I fight to maintain the posture I am supposed to maintain—Spine straight, perpendicular to the thigh—till I die. Or till I count down to 0. The infamous “Invisible Chair” treatment. Effective and time-efficient.
I steal a sneak around and check if Alam, assistant house prefect of Nazrul house pays attention to my count. He sits in front of me on a stool, arms crossed. His legs rest on top of another stool. He sits still, silent and patient. No activity for the Cadets till Tea today. This might take a while.
Our eyes meet. I shoot my sight away.
“840, 839, 838… …”
“What did I do this time?” I rest my chin on my chest and wonder.
“It’s probably for dodging Magrib(Afternoon) prayer yesterday…yeah, that’s probably it…It can’t be anything else, he wouldn’t be this pissed-off if it were anything else.. But how did he find out?”
“Ishtiaq, I just wanted to remind you that there’s not going to be a games-period today. That leaves me and you with roughly 3 hours before we go for tea. You think I can make you repent by that time?” Alam chews his words out.
“Brother Alam, I am not sure why I am being punished... ..” I pause.
A “Junior” from grade 7 appears from nowhere, breaks, lifts his chin up and asks Alam’s permission to pass through us.
“The bastard had to **** me over in the corridor. If this junior dares to catch a glimpse of me in this situation, I’ll rip him a new one tomorrow.” I say to myself while my eyes follow his.
Alam nods. The junior falls out, and walks past us with his chin down. The Junior lives.
“Are you sure Ishtiaq? You don’t know why you’re here right now?” Alam asks--his voice cold and cruel. A ruthless, heartless, blood-thirsty, Satan worshipping monster he is. Loves nothing more than torturing people. I sure wish he dies a painful death.
“I am sorry brother Hassan, it won’t happen again” I accept defeat. Protesting will only prolong the process.
“Sure it won’t. I’m in charge of making sure of that. Now carry on with the countdown…”
I obey.
“817, 816, 815… …”
“Some ****ing **** snitched on me… No mistaking about that… … Shantonue? Titas? Naah, they’d never do that. Any Hindu junior?”—only a handful ofHindu cadets are allowed to stay back in the House while the majority--Muslim cadets--go pray in the Mosque. fficeffice" />
“814, 813, 812...” .
I feel a drop of sweat form under my left eyebrow, crawl past my nose and barges into my mouth. Warm and Salty. I hear him get up from his stool and walk toward me. I stop the count, lift my chin up and look at him.
“You know you are in grade eight right?” He barks
“You’re still at the bottom of the pile….Why don’t you ****-faces never get this? Why the **** would you sign up for sick-report without permission? Even ****ing grade 10 asks permission!”
I look at him in disbelief. I haven’t signed up for morning sick-report in weeks.
“But, Brother Alam!” I protest.
“Shut the **** up!” Alam yells.
“But…”
“You interrupt me one more time and I swear I’ll make sure you don’t walk for a week.”
I lower my head—it’s no use any more. Alam-the-butcher never lets you talk when he decides to squeeze the juice out of you.
“Ishtiaq! Now why the **** did you look away from me when I’m talking to you?”
My legs feel weaker. I sink into my invisible chair and end up squatting.
“Long up! Right now mother-****er!!”
I climb the wall behind me and stand up, breating fire, huffing. I am innocent!
“****ing animal” I murmur. Then I lean forward. All the way till my hands touch the cold winter floor, shifting my weight from my legs to my hands. I walk backwards on the wall and drag my hands as close as I can to the wall. I stand upside down; my legs up against the wall. “Long up”
I feel the rush of blood flowing into my head, I feel my face turn red. I struggle for a breath. I stare at the floor hanging in front of my face and try to think of the safest fall when I collapse. Ever second takes an hour to pass. I wait for eternity. I wait For a Dooms day, for a tycoon, for a tornado, for a nuclear holocaust, for a world war 3, for a Mars-****ing-attack—I’ll settle for anything.
“Who the hell is this idiot?” Someone talks from my right. I try to see who it is but only manage to see his shoes.
“This is him. The junior you were telling me about. For ****ers like this we had a million sick-reports this week. We’re coming last on this weeks “Discipline” for sure.
“Who, Imtiaz? Didn’t he limp and pretend his ankle’s are fractured or something? Cunning piece of **** he is.”
I recognize the voice. Cadet Morshed, the House-prefect.
“Ishtiaq, you mean? You said Ishtiaq right?” Alam inquires.
“Imtiaz, I said Imtiaz, from grade 8. Is this Ishtiaq getting punished for his friend Imtiaz? hah ha” Morshed chuckles.
Moments
“Get down” Alam finally orders.
My feet slam onto the floor,immediately. I stand on all four of my hands and legs and gather my breath back. They wait. I stand up. My head spins. The whole word spins.
“Poor guy…buy him a cold drink you ***-whole.” The House-prefect walks past us.
“You idiot, why didn’t you tell me you didn’t do it?’ He says.
I keep silent. It’s all over now. My heart slows down slowly.
“Well, I guess what’s done is done.” Says Alam. I look him in the eye.
“Go to you room now” He looks at his wrist-watch.
I fall out, turn right and start the long walk back to my room.
“And send me Imtiaz” Alam says from the back.