The Tantric lived in the forest. He was old beyond age. His teeth were filed to points. He wore a loin cloth. He didn’t need food or water; but ate people and drank their blood when his God required him to. One day he started laughing. He laughed so hard, he had convulsions. He died.
3 comments:
This is my first attempt at fifty-five fiction. I just might expand this into a full story later. And, Pankaj Phukan, thanks for the idea. :)
Encountered n aghori or turned into 1?
You, my good sir, are most welcome. I may also advice you to not to be enamored of the transient charms of the so called 'fifty-five' and reach longer and deeper into the jar of words for some long and succulent writings.
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