Richard Grinley put an end to his new story, a story of deception and revenge. He piled up his papers, quite frustrated. It took twenty years for fame to dawn on him. It was exactly twenty years ago Rory Grinley was born to him and Sylvia Grinley. Rory was his source of relief. Richard shared his stories and ideas with him and Rory quietly absorbed.
Sylvia Grinley, in the other room, was lost in deep thought with her spectacles on her forehead. She always contemplated on quite a few matters, matters that meant life; never argued with anyone and loved inking her thoughts on paper. Her works were philosophical and highly influential. Fame came to her when Rory hit puberty.
Richard and Sylvia met under normal circumstances. Richard never cared about marriage. Sylvia, too, unlike other girls, spent her teenage reading works of philosophy. She wanted herself to be crowned - ‘The new Ayn Rand.’ They married each other with a ‘Yes, I Do!’ in the church without the slightest hesitation. They made their parents happy. Time passed until now when both Richard and Sylvia never interfered in their respective professions though both were writers. It was believed both share the most understanding relationship, silently admiring each others’ works and hence smiling on their success.
Sylvia broke her thought process to realize she was getting late for her morning press-conference. Richard had already comforted himself on the bed, snoring. In the morning, Richard kissed his son in his sleep and left for the launch of his latest book, a courtroom drama. Sylvia left for her press-conference; both by their own means.
“Mr. Grinley, you have written stories about murder and tasted success. How do you think your latest courtroom drama will affect your progress?” asked a journalist.
“Success comes if the work is good. My mysteries have made the readers and audience think. This drama has a similar approach. I’m confident,” replied Richard.
“Mr. Grinley, your works are said to resemble Tom Clancy, Christie and a couple of others. Who exactly do you draw inspiration from?” asked another.
“I read a lot of Christie. I admired Clancy’s plots. But I have my own identity now. And my stories are NOT a medley. Thank you,” replied Richard in an avoiding, proud, silent tone.
"What’s your next one going to be?” asked a kid seated in a corner.
“Ask my son,” said Richard with a grin on his face.
Mrs. Grinley made herself comfortable on a chair placed at the center of the stage, with several mikes in front of her. The room was filled with journalists, photographers and young writers, girls dominating.
“Mrs. Grinley, your work was outstanding. People loved it. I loved it myself. How do you weave a plot through philosophy which appears so complex yet so easily understandable?” asked an Englishman.
“Thank you. Aah, yeah I give quite a lot of thought to it before I write. A few plots arise from personal experiences,” she replied.
“Mam, may I ask with your permission, anything about your experiences?” asked a girl quite curious.
“Sure you may,” said Sylvia.
"Your works involve a lot of emotion and instances of tragedy giving rise to realizations, have you really gone through such a phase in your life?” the girl asked.
“I am a woman of fifty now. My memory has experiences aged forty. My works are a source of relief for me. I have made people believe in my books and their content. I’m happy now.” she replied.
“Mrs. Grinley, your husband Mr. Richard Grinley, being a writer himself, does he admire your profession? How do you manage to share your success? Do you admire his plots of mystery and suspense?” asked an old man.
"Well, Yes. We are married for twenty five years now. We do not speak much about our profession at home. And his plots are miseries. Life and a plot to kill! Softer works are better for me.” She replied with a smile, with a touch of lie.
Rory had his Sony PS3 control pad in his hands, enjoying his vacation. He saw his mother and father return from their conferences. He paused his game to hear his father speaking to his mother in a frustrated tone, “Miseries huh? What is your book about? Life is a Bed of Roses? There might be thorns along the path of life, watch your step? Well! Here’s a thorn in your life - YOU are a LOSER!” he said slamming his study room door.
Rory quietly ended his game. He saw his mother enter the kitchen to get a can of Tropicana, her face withered. He went to his room and began writing:
“This is a story of two people: Syl Brikly and Rick Brikly. This is a story about their genius, success, beliefs, and silence. This is a story about delusions. This is an attempt to keep people’s belief intact.”
For my mom and dad