Qasim

Part 1

The clang of crockery ricocheted off the bare walls. Dim golden lights illuminated the small kitchen. Orange and blue flames burnt the gas that protruded from a metal stove, upon which sat a small kettle, filled with water, whistling a silent laugh.
       In a corner, by the faucet, rinsing dishes, was perched a boy of young age... This little boy served the police inspector.
       Whilst, cleansing the crockery, the boy kept humming softly to himself, singing phrases that escaped his throat effortlessly.
       "Yes, I'll be there, Sir. Yes, right away.... will be done in a jiffy"
       Now, after scrubbing the pots, the task of rinsing them thoroughly with water and organising them in the shelves remained, and the job was not something that could be hurried with. Not having enough sleep for the past several nights, his eyelids were at the brink of fluttering shut, his head kept growing heavier, heavier and heavier; but resting with the chores undone... How was that even an option?
       The stove blew out blue flames with a peculiar loudness, the water in the kettle tittered with it.
       The urge to sleep attacked the boy once more, washing over him in waves, the boy swayed his body, and humming, "Yes, I'll be there, Sir. Will be done, Sir" dedicated himself to the task at hand.
       Stacks of dishes mourned the boy's circumstances, gazing at the same scenario every day. Tears dripped down the tap, disguised as water. The bulb overhead, disorientated... just stared solemnly at the child. The air inside the room felt strange, suffocating even.
       "QASIM!...QASIM!" Came the yell, by the most intimidating voice Qasim had ever heard.
       "Yes, I'll be there, Sir!" The boy, who had been murmuring the same words, ran to the direction of the voice, towards his master.
       Inspector, poking his head out of the blankets, stared daggers at the boy, dishevelled. "Stupid boy! You forgot to put a pot and a cup here, AGAIN!?"
       "Right away, Sir...Right away!"
       Once he was done putting a pot filled with water and a cup in his master's room, he recommenced his prior chore. Right when he was about to lower himself, he heard the familiar voice again, booming through the vacant corridor.
       "Qasim!...Qasim!"
       And once again replying, "I'll be there, Sir" Qasim stormed towards his master's room.
       "This water tastes ridiculous" a pause, "Go, fetch me some soda from Parsi's mart, get back in a jiffy, I'm dying out of thirst."
       And with that, Qasim rushed over to Parsi's, which was situated at a distance of about a mile from his personal hell hole.
       He returned, clutching a bottle of soda too large for his small hands. Pouring some of the sparkly liquid in a glass, he served it to his master.
       "Why're you frozen here, huh? Haven't you got dishes to wash?"
       "I'll clean them right away, Sir" he let out a squeak, his voice quavering more than he had anticipated.
       "And yeah, after cleaning them, polish my black boots, and remember, if I see a single scratch on the leather, you'll be..." he cut off mid-sentence, a smirk playing about his full lips.
       Qasim was well aware of what that smirk meant, he did not dare ask.
       "Yes, Sir" Qasim inclined his head, nodding curtly.
       He strode back to the kitchen and continued his prior appointed task. Drowsiness overwhelmed every bit of his body, his eyelids grew heavy, his mind was growing opaque, slowly succumbing to slumber... Reminding himself that he still needed to polish his master's boots, he gave his head an aggressive shake and started to mumble the familiar rhyme.
       "Yes, I'll be there, Sir, I'll be there! Boots will be shining, right away!"
       Grievously, the storm of drowsiness, even after a thousand tries, came nowhere near ceasing. He was beginning to realise that he could not defeat the monster that was initiating to assume control of his mind and body...slumber. But, he had yet to orientate the crockery after washing was completed. He was stuck between a hard place and a rock.
       Out of the blue, a strangely appealing thought hit his mind like a train.
       "Urgh! Forget the dishes! Burn the boots!... Why don't I lie down here, rest for a while... chores can wait...", he reckoned to himself.
       Visualising the pleasant idea, he decided against it, though dismissing it made him falter. Tentatively, he started scrubbing the dishes once again.
       After a while, the storm raged, orchestrating another attack. And right then, he had this strong temptation, to pour the boiling water from the kettle over his head; to desist this invincible, never-ending urge to sleep, but he found out that he wasn't brave enough to do that.
       Splashing cold water on his face several times, he finally managed to complete the long, exhausting task of rinsing and placing the pots and dishes.
       Qasim heaved a sigh, finally relieved. Now, he can have his tranquil slumber. And sleep...that beautiful sleep, that overwhelming temptation, his eyes and brain, even his body were awaiting intensely, remained afar no more.
       Switching the kitchen lights off, he went out to the viranda, and spread his bedsheets. He lay supine, comfortably and before he could embrace sleep, the words 'boots, boots!' Roared in his ears.
       "Alright, Sir!...I'll polish them right away" muttering those words, he ditched the warmth of his bed as if his master had instructed him once again.
       Qasim had yet to complete polishing a single shoe, when the storm took over him.