By Enum Naseer

The atmosphere is heavy with the smell of rotting corpses, rust and petrol. A beat-up old Rolls Royce, almost on the verge of collapse with a small Union Jack flag on its bonnet, carries the burden of conjoined twins that insist on being driven to the Promised Land creaking and moaning under the weight of their dreams. The fraternal conjoined twins are a sight- the smaller, weaker twin gives the impression that his enthusiasm for the road-trip is the only thing keeping his soul and body intact while the bigger, healthier brother smirks on.

“The belligerent, misguided zealot and his lofty plans!” the stronger brother snickers.

“I’ve sucked the life out of him anyway and now he wants OUT?” he chuckles.

The road is bumpy: it is confusing and misguiding like a labyrinth. A tussle ensues between the twins for a cashmere sweater that isn’t big enough to accommodate two distinctly different individuals fused together. It is made for only one but they continue to pull at the opposite ends. The petty skirmish is now becoming a show of brute force. They hurl verbal assaults at each other. They lay their individual claims on the ownership of the sweater-“mine because it was given to me”, “mine because it is me”. The sweater is an inanimate and even if it weren’t, its opinionwouldn’t matter.

“Are we there?” they chorus amidst the frantic tug-of-war.

“No, but let me congratulate you on coming this far,” says the driver with ill-disguised sarcasm.

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