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C2: Phone Booth in a Park
30UnderThirty;
it
was
a
special
program
that
received
global
buzz
despite
the
geographical
limitations
of
a
local
TV
station.
Channel
Pataka,
with
a
base
in
Hyderabad,
India,
maintained
the
status
of
its
iconic
program
with
little
more
than
genuine
authenticity.
They
focused
on
raw
content,
stories
that
pushed
even
the
hardest
of
hearts
to
tears.
The
idea
started
as
a
seed
by
then
Senior
Production
Manager,
Ranga;
he
valued
the
strength
of
emotion,
tragedies
more
than
most.
30UnderThirty
represented
that
ideology,
featuring
thirty
tragedies
that
tied
to
the
most
impactful
of
individuals
below
the
age
of
thirty.
Daiden
had
become
an
important
piece
for
the
program
since
his
descent
from
gymnastic
nobility,
an
episode
to
headline
the
program’s
tenth
anniversary.
In
that
moment,
the
now
Channel
Director,
Ranga
slammed
his
fist
against
the
wall.
It
wasn’t
anger.
He
separated
the
phone’s
receiver
from
the
side
of
his
face
and
disconnected
the
call;
in
time,
his
shoulders
eased
to
a
smile
on
his
face.
It
proved
to
him
once
more
–
the
value
of
persistence.
Ranga
had
expected
another
rejection
from
his
candidate
for
the
program,
but
the
day
had
favoured
him
in
abundance.
He
steadied
his
composure,
fixed
his
tie,
and
stepped
out
of
his
room
with
confidence.
“We
have
our
star,
people!”
said
Ranga,
with
a
loud,
heavy
voice.
“He’s
expected
to
arrive
tomorrow.
Let’s
keep
this
place
neat
and
tidy.”
***
Daiden
bit
his
lip
in
frustration.
In
memory,
he
had
trained
with
the
concept
of
death.
He
urged
towards
improvement
often.
There
was
never
perfection.
There
was
never
a
sense
of
mastery.
He
approached
each
day
in
practice
without
pride;
it
meant
something,
to
avoid
the
concept
of
proficiency.
The
embrace
ensured
risk,
but
the
result
fell
short
of
death
each
time.
Daiden
was
a
cripple
now,
a
liability
just
as
his
father
had
described.
He
wondered
if
it
made
sense
even,
to
uncork
the
anger
in
his
heart,
and
to
strangers
no
less.
His
finger
rested
on
the
controller
of
his
wheelchair
at
a
gentle
angle,
and
its
motor
responded
with
a
low
growl.
He
shook
his
head
and
pressed
his
finger
further
back;
it
moved
his
wheelchair
away
from
the
entrance
and
onto
the
pavement.
Daiden
almost
left,
but
paused
at
the
sound
of
hurried
footsteps.
He
turned
his
head
to
notice
a
young
man,
shirt
half
out
from
the
sprint.
The
latter
raised
his
hand
in
a
request
to
catch
his
breath.
He
later
steadied
and
offered
Daiden
a
smile,
arm
outstretched
for
a
handshake.
Daiden
obliged.
“That’s
the
wrong
way,
if
I’m
not
mistaken,”
the
young
man
joked.
“I’m
Arvind,
I
work
as
an
executive
at
Channel
Pataka.”
Daiden
nodded
in
acknowledgement.
“I
hope
you
haven’t
changed
your
mind,”
said
Arvind,
questioningly.
“We
have
been
waiting
months
for
this
opportunity.”
“I
needed
some
air,”
lied
Daiden.
“There’s
a
park
nearby;
I
need
fifteen
minutes.”
Arvind
looked
at
the
setting
sun
and
relented;
he
couldn’t
hide
his
nervousness.
But
given
the
delicate
situation,
he
refrained
from
voicing
his
opinion.
He
watched
Daiden
depart
and
turned
to
inform
his
boss
of
the
development.
***
Daiden
smiled
at
the
landscape
in
front
of
him;
it
was
a
genuine
smile,
his
first
in
a
long
time.
He
waded
into
the
unevenness
of
the
park
–
grass,
moist
mud,
scattered
pebbles,
he
needed
to
feel
something,
something
to
tremor
his
dull
heart.
As
his
fifteen
minutes
passed,
the
sun
set
to
allow
for
the
emergence
of
moonlit
darkness.
The
birds
were
quieter
now,
and
the
strays
nestled
closer
for
the
sake
of
warmth.
Some
hunted,
the
cats
especially
–
their
eyes
entirely
alert,
and
bodies
in
camouflage.
The
cold
had
now
started
to
bother
Daiden,
but
he
wasn’t
allowed
the
opportunity
of
a
shiver.
Instead,
his
phone
buzzed.
He
avoided
the
first
call,
but
the
vibration
refused
to
relent.
With
a
sigh,
he
answered,
and
then
frowned
at
the
urgency
with
which
they
–
Channel
Pataka
–
wanted
him
back.
Daiden
decided
to
oblige
for
once.
He
couldn’t
find
it
in
his
heart
to
avoid
a
commitment.
Daiden
slowly
turned
and
retraced
his
path
through
the
park;
the
lights
had
started
to
come
on.
He
heard
chatter
further
away,
but
the
area
had
descended
into
silence.
Nobody
was
around.
Daiden
wished
to
embrace
the
moment,
and
he
did
–
arms
apart
and
with
a
deep
breath.
His
heart
pumped
faster
now;
he
didn’t
mind
it,
a
refresh
before
the
big
interview.
But
then
the
phone
rang
once
more.
Just
not
his.
***
As
people
wandered
away
from
the
park,
it
occurred
–
under
an
aura
of
stealth
and
silence.
The
world
distorted;
the
earthen
fabric
rattled
from
the
disturbance.
It
grew
more
violent,
until
a
crack
allowed
for
the
emergence
of
red
light.
Lightning
struck
from
the
other
end,
and
it
pushed
for
greater
volume
and
impact.
The
red
shone
brilliantly,
and
the
distortions
caved,
opening
what
appeared
to
be
a
dimensional
rift.
From
within,
a
shadow
emerged.
Its
eyes
narrowed
to
a
slit
and
isolated
to
a
phone
booth.
The
shadow
held
the
appearance
of
a
sickly
individual,
bound
to
the
stench
of
death,
with
armour
and
weapon.
Its
arm
trembled
under
the
weight
of
its
sword,
curved
like
a
sickle.
With
a
groan,
it
approached
the
phone
booth
and
nodded.
Its
aura
crackled
and
fluctuated
in
intensity.
Once
more,
its
eyes
scanned
the
vicinity,
narrowing
further
at
the
sight
of
a
man
on
a
wheelchair.
The
shadows
cloaked
the
creature’s
face,
but
the
eyes
expressed
enough.
It
turned,
entered
the
phone
booth,
and
disappeared.
In
time,
the
phone
rang,
to
begin
the
recital
of
a
contract
in
ancient
tongue.
***
It
called
him;
as
strange
as
that
sounded,
the
phone
urged
for
an
audience.
Daiden
approached
with
caution,
compelled
by
what
could
only
be
described
as
an
otherworldly
force.
The
wheels
rolled
at
a
gentle
pace,
and
the
rings
echoed
in
transformation.
Daiden
had
started
to
hear
whispers,
and
then
a
tune.
It
was
a
song,
the
chorus
of
pained
women.
His
fingers
ached
at
the
melody;
it
bothered
him.
Daiden
clenched
into
fists,
the
cold
biting
away
at
his
fingertips.
The
whispers
troubled
him
further;
they
were
in
a
hurry,
reciting
conditions
for
something
immense
and
different.
Daiden
refused
the
resistance
of
common
sense
and
persevered.
He
positioned
himself
in
front
of
the
door,
and
struggled
through
the
entrance.
His
hand
now
rested
on
the
receiver.
It
could
change
everything;
his
mind
echoed
the
words.
[Do
you
wish
to
accept
this
call?]
The
words
pierced
his
ears,
a
strange
language;
it
didn’t
follow
the
logic
of
sound
–
not
from
the
outside,
but
inside.
They
repeated
once
more,
inside
his
head,
but
softer
this
time.
Daiden
felt
his
palm
moisten
on
the
receiver.
His
heart
started
to
beat
more
strongly,
reminding
him
of
his
brightest
moments
in
competition.
He
hadn’t
felt
it,
not
in
a
long
time.
It
started
to
feel
right.
Without
pause,
Daiden
answered
the
phone.
He
heard
it
then,
followed
by
something
sharp
and
painful.
His
fingers
attempted
to
massage
his
throat,
but
moved
higher,
sensing
something
warm
and
moist.
He
reached
for
his
face,
but
met
with
nothingness.
Slowly,
his
arms
lumped
into
a
state
of
lifelessness.
Daiden
observed
this
from
the
floor,
or
rather
his
head
and
nothing
more.
He
struggled
for
air,
and
then
no
more.
[Thank
you.]
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Quest - Reading Lv.10/1
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