Hospitality Overkill

[The protagonist in this story suffers from Hyper-esthesia, an over-increased response to the feeling of touch. Also, there are some elements of violence and blood involved in the story. So, if you feel uncomfortable reading anything here, please leave now.]

"FREE-FITS".

That was the name of the clothes store I had gone to. How I wish I shouldn't have done that ! But ... I had to. Maybe if you heard my side of the story, you would understand. This is just a recollection, so some of it might be what I have made up in my own head. But the truth still stands. If only you had felt what I felt, if only you knew what I knew. If only ....


A few months ago :

It was a regular sunny day in Hyderabad. I decided to buy some clothes since college was starting again and I didn't want to go looking like a geek. So, after much persuasion and arguing and frustration, dad agreed to let me buy them this time at the coolest shop here. "FREE-FITS".

The long transparent door stood in my way as I stared into the store. It was just like any other regular store, except it had a classy feel to it. I pushed the door and walked in as smiling faces greeted me on my way inside. Under a bright white roof, the entire store was filled with leather couches and a deep purple carpet ran the entire length of the store. Barely leaving space for people to walk, the whole space was filled with top-hangers and suit-stands, occasionally throwing in a cupboard filled with belts and ties of different sizes. The problem with these stores was one and one only : They made you feel really royal. Too royal. Something like over-doing hospitality, and spoiling it. Hospitality overkill, that's the word I was looking for.

I made way and searched for my sizes. These shops, though pricey, had many sizes, especially for us big guys. Adjusting the rim of my glasses, I fumbled through the various colors. It looked like I was one of the few customers filling up today as the store was practically empty, except for a pompous short guy on one corner of the store and an annoying family with crying kids roaming around the store. Damn kids.

From out of nowhere, a pale, grinning face pushed his face into my view as he came running toward me. Average height, hairy hands and an old tie hanging down his shirt, he approached and stood, just a few cm apart.

"Hello sir, I am Rajesh. How may I help you?", he said, extending his hand.

"Hey. I am Eshwar, and don't worry, I can take care of myself, thank ...." He broke my sentence as he grabbed my hand and pushed it into his, still smiling.

"Dont touch me.", I said, with a serious tone in my voice as I pulled my hand back and wiped it on my pants.

Now what I should have told you is that I suffer from a rare condition. Although not harmful, it's an extravagant sense of touch which leaves me irritated unless I respond properly to my stimuli. I hated anyone touching me, especially guys who forced their hands into mine.

"Oh, come on, Eshwar sir. I am here to serve you only. Let me check your sizes." He spoke, over-compensating kindness, trying to calm me down. Hospitality overkill.

"No, I actually ... Don't do ..." I was about to talk, when he swung the measuring tape around my waist and started taking down the lengths.

The touch felt heavy, like someone had dropped a boulder on my waist-line. Although it never pained, an unexplained frustration rushed through my veins, leading me to push him away. I took a step back and stood, dusting myself off.

"DON'T DO THAT!" I shouted. The silent aunty from the family suddenly started staring.

"My my, Eshwar ji, you are big. Well, we always have stuff for big people here. Fat man!" He said, ignoring all my words.

"Don't give me anything. I am leaving." I said as I began walking out, dodging his shoulder and again giving him a slight push.

"Sir, I am very sorry, I didn't mean to ... Don't go, sir." He said, gripping my hand with his fist. This time, I felt even more irritated. The rusty hands rubbed against my skin, leading to another rush of blood.

"Don't FUCKING touch me, man! Leave me alone!" I rudely exclaimed, as the other two servicemen looked over at me, staring to see what would happen. The others had already left and I was the only one left there.

"Why ? Are you a girl, Eeshwar? A small girl, you fat boy? Here, let me measure your shoulders," He laughed, placing both his hands on my shoulders and pushing them down. This was it; no more, I decided.

Beside me lay a glass table on which lay a black Reynolds pen. Grabbing it, I pulled the cap out and struck him in the face into the cheek.

As blood spurted out, the cheek left a hole as I swiftly pulled it out. Falling to the ground, he began shouting and writhing in pain as he tried to stand up. I wasn't done yet. Sitting over him, I punched him, straight down the wound as blood now filled my hands. It was still flowing, I realized as I lifted my hand with the pen firmly in my grip.

With my left hand stretching his right eye-lid, he shook his face, trying to get rid of me.

"Yeah, how does it feel, man ? How does it ? I warned you. I warned you!", I roared into his face as he tried to speak. With his entire eye now open, I struck the pen-nib into it, as a white fluid mixed with spleen flowed out of it.

"Don't touch people. Don't ..." I shouted and stood up as he cried in pain, with the pen still stuck into his eye-ball.

"You bastard ..." a serviceman screamed, as he came walking to me. There was a pad lying on the table under the pen. Picking that up, I walked toward him and swung it right up from his neck. As he crashed down, the others looked bewildered.

I threw the pad down and turned back. "Thank you very much, assholes." I said, with a smile on my face as I kicked the glass door and walked out. HOSPITALITY KILLED.

The police arrested me some days later. Rajesh died of a brain damage, apparently. The pen had gone deep into his skull, thus stopping the entire brain function. I will be executed tomorrow, this is the note I leave, for you to understand. If you do understand, then ... Thank you.