why no write?

"So, what are your reasons this time? Why have you not been writing in your blog for a while?", the Boss demanded angrily.

I stood there with my head down, staring at my shoe-string. I thought, "hhm..shoe-string? As in 'shoe-string' budget? Now, I could go somewhere, couldn't I? That's what the book said - 'Shoe-string budget travelling'!"

The Boss slammed the table with his tiny fist (it didn't even sound loud enough to startle a mouse) and shouted "Why have you not been writing in your blog for months!?"

Timidly, I replied "What blog?"

"What blog, you said! Bloody hell! That blog with all your stories in it? The stories that make no sense! Why did you stop writing? You want to kill yourself?"

At times, I think the Boss is right. But all big bosses die. Did you see how Bruce Lee handled the baddies in 'The Big Boss'? I'm not going to die for not writing my blog.

I said, "No, I don't want to kill myself".

The Boss said, "You're impossible, y'know that! Why do you speak in a monotone when there is a crisis? Metaphors. Metaphors are good. Can you do that? Bloody hell, don't you see the urgency in all these? You know, the world is already a fucked up place with you..."

"The turtle crawls on the road, its throat throttles with blood; it chokes on the white lines, and sees the world as a sad sod; oh, oh..how painful is this...", I recited.

"Hey, what the...?! What are you talking about?", the Boss said. The Boss is naturally stupid and therefore, it is natural to be puzzled about the simple things in life.

"You said, I speak in monotone without metaphors. I'm reciting an distorted haiku, so it doesn't sound monotone. And there's lot of metaphors in it", I replied monotonely.

"Okay, okay, fill me in here. You're starting to talk without any sense."

"I am talking sense. You asked if I wanted to kill myself. I said 'no'. Then you said 'why can't I speak without sounding monotone and I should speak in metaphors", I said as I lifted my head to reply. My hands were sweating as I reach for the cheap ball-point pen in my left T-shirt pocket (my T-shirt has only one pocket).

He slammed the table again and stood up, screaming at me "You useless prick! I know what I said to you and you, you..."

At this stage, he reached for his gun hidden under the piles of magazines on his table. Quickly, I took out my pen from my pocket and pointed at the Boss, saying "Boss, this pen is mightier than your gun. Be gone."

The Boss disappeared. I could imagine Bruce Lee standing victoriously in the garden with many men lying unconscious on the green grass of the Big Boss' home. I am fiction.