Past Tense – Part 3(Symptoms)

Before you Start – Do read Part 1 and Part 2 of the story.

Day 11
After disposing of, the letter, I started my search for suspicious things. But everything was so quiet and straightforward. The staff worked like nothing ever happened. It was impossible to differentiate between who was the part of the experiment and who was conducting it. I wanted to escape. But, that would make Anisha’s efforts and sacrifice worthless.


Day 22
Failing to find anything inside the Hospital, I decided to head outside. It was really easy to go out and roam all day. The thought of running away was becoming more assertive. Outside of the Hospital was quite an empty place. A society was there, around 2 KMs away.


Day 33 –
I wandered for ten days and found nothing useful. My nights were becoming sleepless.
I was walking in the corridor. At the same time, a doctor requested me to deliver some files, he held in his hands to Room No. 78, as he had to attend to an emergency.


The room was on the 7th floor. As I was going up, it was getting colder. As if ACs at this place were set at very low. It started becoming uneasy. A chilled wave, as if some whisper, went through my ear. The corridor on the 7th floor was nearly empty. I entered the room. A young woman of around 24-30 was lying there with eyes closed. The machine reading showed her moderate pulse rate. Oxygen and glucose pipes were attached to her hand. I kept the file near her table and headed outside the room. While closing windows, I was looking at her through the glass. Her head moved towards me, and she opened her eyes directly, looking at me as if she knew where I was. She smiled at me, pushed her right hand, took out the oxygen pipe attached to her, and then the glucose pipe. There were tears in her eyes, a smile on her face and blood coming out of her hands. She kept on looking at me. I realized she wasn’t moving anymore.
Some of the rules in the Hospital were weird. If someone died here, they needed to be cremated in hospital premises or buried in a graveyard 3 KMs away from the Hospital.


Day 34 –
I was growing weaker. The negativity in the environment was killing me slowly. I decided to run away. Early morning, around 10 AM, I took a taxi to the railway station. Around 14 hours of travel. Out of the bus, I ran towards my house. Rang the bell, but no one opened it. I noticed there was no lock at the door. I shouted for mom, no one answered, then for dad, but all I heard was my echo. I entered my room. It was the same as I left it. Fell asleep on my bed immediately.


Day 35 –
I woke up around 11 AM. I was in my room, the hospital staff room. How was this possible?


Day 43 –
I repeatedly tried to run away, every time, I ended up again in the Hospital. There was no escaping. No one to talk to, no one to share anything, even after being surrounded by so many people daily. It felt like I was all alone. The people who met me talked only about work. As if they had no personal life or life left outside except this Hospital.
During the evening, I heard a woman sobbing outside my office. I rushed out to see, as it was the only feeling or expression I had heard after a month. She was an old lady, small in height and was holding a broom in her hands. She might be in cleaning staff. I went near her and asked, “Why are you crying, mother?”


Old Lady said, “My son died here some days ago. He used to work in the accounts department. He was new here, and they say he fell from the building while talking to someone on the phone at night. I am a single mother, and the hospital staff offered me a job of the same pay as they were giving to my son.
It’s been a year since I met him, he called me on the night of his death, he wanted to meet me. He fell while talking to me. I found a letter while I was going through his old things. I cannot read it. No one here has the time to read it for me, and everyone is ignoring my request. I request you to please read it for me.”
She cried more while taking out the letter she kept in an old school bag, which she was carrying on her shoulders like a kid.
I started reading the letter, to realize it had the same contents as of Anishas’ letter. The handwriting was also insanely the same. My hands were shaking, holding it, not knowing what was exactly happening here.

“Please read it further”, the old Lady requested.

To Be Continued…

By Satyam Kumar Tiwari

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Suicide is never an option. Allow us to help you. Anonymously speak up yourself here – ‘Speak Up

© held by Author and Young Indian Revolution Journals Pvt. Ltd.

Shop on yirkart.com for stationary items and use Code ‘SATYAM15’ for flat 15% off on any product.

Past Tense – Part 2(The Letter)

Before you Start – If you haven’t read part 1 of this story, then first go and read it – Past Tense Part 1(Experiment of Will)’

Anisha and my favourite room was the kitchen. During our teenage years, whenever we will meet, at her or my house. We would end up looking for new recipes and cooking something new.
I was planning to break into her room at midnight, but luckily the cleaning staff came to me and asked to collect all the essential stuff and pack it to be delivered to her parents.


The room had weird essence of cold. As if something was surrounding me. Pale violet in colour, a 1BHK flat. Everything was lying around as if someone tried to search for something. But, I knew where to find what I want. Her kitchen looked like she didn’t use it much. Very clean, no signs of oil, and primarily polythenes and packed food wrappers. I started my search for don’t know what, she wanted me to look. She knew I wouldn’t have much time to find it, so she hid it in plain sight, inside a pack of chips which was sealed again, after opening. Why plain sight? Because I had a weird temptation for chips. Closed packets carried a smell, which I loved. So whenever I see sealed chips packets, I always open them and smell.


It was a letter –
“Just like you, I was also invited by someone to work here. It looked like an opportunity which no one would like to miss without realising the fate it carried. It was beautiful to work here, and it felt like I was working for some greater good. It felt like completing some social responsibility. But, just like what I did, the person who called me died under mysterious circumstances. They declared it suicide. They might have done the same for me, but it isn’t what it appears to be. After some days, four more deaths happened, and they were again labelled as suicide. I was scared and decided to leave the job, but my contract didn’t allow me to. I filled it in excitement without reading many things just like you did. I changed my hotel building to the one which is newly built. In which you are also staying. I kept on working and finding reasons for their deaths.

Slowly, I was able to figure it out. It might be a job for us; it might be a hospital for patients, but it’s an experiment or ritual for them. And, not just controlling the hospital, they are working among us. Many who ran away, after knowing what is going to happen, were eventually killed. Those who complained to the police kept losing someone significant until they came back to work. It’s an experiment named ‘Past Tense’. Game, where staff and patients are mere pawns. The patients, most of them, are not sick. They got a well long time ago but did not agree for leaving the hospital. You do not know who is honest and who is from them, so trusting someone from inside was never an option. Within a month, I was able to understand this much.
I started looking for what is the experiment for and who are those people. And many, many other questions. It took me around three more months to gather some more information.


Beneath, the building used to be a prison, a secret prison, away from society’s eyes. People who committed the most heinous crimes were kept there, away from the community and other prisoners. They were too manipulating and didn’t commit the crimes themselves but made others do it. They had fans, followers, and contacts. So arresting them and punishing them in daylight was not possible. They were kept at a place where no one could find them, precisely beneath this hospital. But it seemed that wasn’t enough to stop them. Now they control it by living among us. Whoever comes to work here dies on the 333rd day by suicide. But there was man, who out-smarted them seven years ago. He escaped this fate of death. I tried to find him a lot and was about to reach him.


A book kept a record of every staff member who came here and the number of days that person lived. But my time was up, and I failed to find it. As per my contract, I had to find someone after 300 days of my tenure to replace me. Most of them don’t know the real reason why the authorities asked them to hire any of their friends to work with them, but I knew. Still, I called you. I am sorry for it. I had no other choice.
But, you know what you have to do, and you have more time than me. Find that book, find that person, help yourself and others. Burn this letter after reading. If you use it as proof or for some other purpose, it will be at a cost to mine and your family.”

To be Continued…

By Satyam Kumar Tiwari

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Suicide is never an option. Allow us to help you. Anonymously speak up yourself here – ‘Speak Up

© held by Author and Young Indian Revolution Journals Pvt. Ltd.

Shop on yirkart.com for stationary items and use Code ‘SATYAM15’ for flat 15% off on any product.

Past Tense – Part 1(Experiment of Will)

An average guy with a below-average resume, “Sam,” said my father. “This is the 36th rejection you have faced from a company; I think we don’t have any more left here.” he continued. I knew that very well, and they never told me what the issue is. All they say is, “we will contact you.” My mom says my father started earning when he was 16, and here I am, 25. Getting a job is not at all difficult, but getting a job matching your passion was what I craved for.


A call brought some happiness to my family. It was a job offer. One of our tenants, we had good relations with, their daughter was working in a hospital as an assistant manager. She said that the hospital is going to need another manager, and she recommended my name. The pay is handsome, better than what others provide. She had left our house with her family two years ago; still, she remembered me and wanted me to work with her. That was my charm.


It took me around 14 hours of train travel and 2 hours in a cab to reach the place. A hospital in Noida named “Hope”. It was a multi-speciality hospital having three gates and some part still in construction. She was standing right in front of me, at entrance no. 2. Having a flashback of some part of my teenage, might be evident in this situation. Wearing her uniform, she walked towards me smiling. “There are rooms for staff in the hospital for stay, and I have already asked them to keep a room ready for you. It’s 31C, and you can freshen yourself up, take some rest and call me after that.” She said while walking with me towards the accommodation building.


After around 4 hours, I called her. She asked me to come to the reception. I have to walk straight from the exit and take the second right. “He is the guy you were talking about.” said the receptionist. I was given some forms to fill. Due to my experience, I filled 12 documents in 10 minutes. The basic pay mentioned was Rs 60,000 plus different allowances. The receptionist said my interview is scheduled after 45 minutes. By that time I can have lunch in the nearby canteen. I asked Anisha out for lunch.


Anisha has changed a lot, lost some weight, has more of a sad and pale face and talked a lot less. She answered my questions saying that it might be due to pollution and water in this city. “Working in a hospital is very different from working in any other sector. The people who come here are already stressed and on the verge of losing hope. You might feel their sorrow, pain. Try to give a hand in their mourning. But they might never believe you are doing it for real. Initially, I used to be sad all day, and slowly I started to adjust by becoming more emotionless, not much engaging. It’s a different life here, from the outside world.” These words by her were the only important part of our conversation, rest all was remembering our childhood. They postponed the interview, as seniors were busy, and I was selected on a provisional basis and asked to start work from tomorrow.


As she said, working in the hospital was different. My part of the work was to check if there is any communication error in the various departments and make sure everything goes smoothly. On my first day, I was given the dermatology department, as there were fewer sub-departments there than in other places. In between, I used to see people in pain, suffering, confused emotion. They were running from one place to another. Helping them was also an essential duty for my conscience. Anisha accompanied me to most of the places so that I will be familiar. She was doing it, in so much hurry as if there was no tomorrow. I had to carry a notebook and make notes of all the places. My first working day lasted for more than 10 hours, but she said, don’t worry, it is just for today.


After having dinner, she came to drop me at my room. While at that gate, I looked into her eyes. She held my hand and said, “take care, good night.”


Sending me butterflies in my stomach, she went to her room, which was on the fourth floor. I felt like my life was now setting itself up. I had a proper job, probably a girl who is in the same field of work.
It was early morning, and I heard some noise outside. I looked out through my window; there was an ambulance standing there. People surrounded a dead body, which was lying in what I assume was a pool of blood. Someone from staff jumped from the building. I wore my jeans from the last day and rushed down to see who was it. A moment of complete blackout struck me, realising it was ‘Anisha’.
The following two days were difficult, explaining to her and my parents what happened. Her parents didn’t attend her last rites; it was weird.


My father asked me to come back while I was looking at the piece of paper, which she might have put in my jeans, that night. I found it in my pockets after she died. It read –


“I am sorry, I had no choice. If you want to escape this fate, find the one who ran from here seven years ago. That person can only help you. I tried a lot to look for him, but my time was over. And don’t try to run. They will find you! They are running an experiment called “Past Tense“. Find our favourite place in my room.”

To Be Continued…

Written by Satyam Kumar Tiwari

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Suicide is never an option. Allow us to help you. Anonymously speak up yourself here – ‘Speak Up

© held by Author and Young Indian Revolution Journals Pvt. Ltd.

Shop on yirkart.com for stationary items and use Code ‘SATYAM15’ for flat 15% off on any product.

The Tale of Your Angel

You did this because you loved her. You did this because you wanted to protect her. You did not want to see her suffer. You did this because you love her.

close up photo of pink and red fairy graphic textile
Photo by Digital Buggu on Pexels.com

Sitting near the pond, watching the sky lose its blues and the sun its charm you find yourself drifting back to her thoughts. They called you crazy for the love you had for her, but it really was the most genuine feeling you had ever felt, wasn’t it? She was your angel.

The chirping of birds reminds you of her pleasant voice. “Daddy, what are you doing? Where’s mommy?” She’d asked you with so much innocence that you just could not get yourself to tell her that mommy had left. How could you explain helplessly watching your wife burn to death, to your six-year-old daughter? All you could tell her was that you loved her, which was anyway the only truth she needed to know.

With each twinkling star blessing the dark sky, thoughts of her start to bless your empty mind. You miss hugging her tight after you would find her hiding under the table. Oh, how she loved playing hide-and-seek with you. You feel remembering those times.But not for so long, as the cold breeze brings the sad memories — memories of when they tried to take her away from you. Oh! to be without her, it still boils your blood and enrages your mind. What did they think of themselves? What did they even know about you? How could they even try to separate her from you?

But then again, soothing songs of the crickets save you from the sorrowful thoughts, just like you saved her from them. And brought her back home — and swore to protect her, your angel.

You really start to miss her now, even more when you see the full moon, it reminds you of her — she was just like the moon – a bright ball of hope in a dull sky, which is your life.

Looking at the red moon reflecting itself in the even redder water of the pond, you smile. You smile seeing her petite body float right besides the moon. And your smile grows brighter, contrasting to her skin growing paler in the cold water.

As you remember gently whispering “I love you my angel” into her ears. Right before tightly holding her mouth and drowning her in the cold water. You know mommy awaits her in heaven, for you had sent her there before sending your angel. You smile because you know you saved he. From this cruel world, from those people who wanted to take her away from you, you smile because you know she is with her mommy, you smile because you know that you gave your angel her much deserved heaven.

Reflection – I wrote this story for my creative writing class as my flash fiction.The father kills his daughter so as to save her from this cruel world.