The Ship
by Tirumal Mundargi

For the school’s annual philately contest, Vishwanath collected space shuttles, airplanes, trains, cars, buses, motorcycles and bicycles from different countries, and glued them into his album.

Just one ship and I’ll beat you, Bhushan, he whispered. He tried the trash bins of the Telephone Exchange, the Post Office and the Town Municipal Council, jumping barbed wire fences, dodging onlookers. Glass pieces slashed his ankle, his knickers and shirt got soiled. One pink scratch ran all along his left arm.

Back home, mother scolded him and father threw “The Times of India” all across the living room floor. While he helped mother in collecting the scattered papers, father maintained the frown for the whole afternoon.

Evening, Vishwanath tore a page from his notebook, cut it into a square, and folded it several times. He painted the piece, set it into the rainwater drain, and whistled. He smiled as the ship cruised away.

 

TIRUMAL MUNDARGI lives in Bangalore and works nearby. His stories can be found or are forthcoming in Long Story Short, Gowanus, Niteblade, Thieves Jargon, Diddledog, Shine, Pequin, Microhorror, 50 to 1, Flashshot, Wigleaf, elimae, Best of Boston Literary Magazine, Monkeybicycle, and Word Riot. Links are provided at Tirumal’s blog.

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