Together, the two of us were a team. I was No One and he was Someone. We caught fish in the day and ate fish in the night. And in the afternoons, we bred fish, thus continuing on the cycles of demand and supply with absolute precision. The winters were tough (Someone tells me, they are rather rough, for it gave him a cough every time he snorted snuff). It is one such winter when the two of us were literally chilling in the cabin, that Someone asked me what the date was and a few minutes later, arrived at an absolutely nonsensical answer himself.
Now, remember I said that I’ll pick the story up from exactly where I left it? Well I would have, had I not left the cabin as soon as Someone uttered that last question. Don’t get me wrong, I am not one those humans who admire the heat of the snow and bask in the blizzard, rather I’m the kind who avoids the chill whenever I feel avoiding it wouldn’t be a life altering decision, which is pretty much always, by the way. No, the reason I left the cabin, wasn’t for pure entertainment, but instead because there was a knock on the door.
Normally, when somebody knocks, one should open the door. But when two humans knock and then knock each other out and fall back on the ground with blood spurting out of their nostrils, even the most self controlled human beings are urged to open the door, lift the two living corpses up and pull them into the room, upon whose holy door did the two kind strangers knock.
These people, whoever they were, were covered in the thickest wool I had ever seen. The only exposed body part was a nose from either body, both of which were stained with fresh blood. Apparently they had punched each other and lost their consciousness. At this point, dear reader, I know you are dying to know who they are and why they fancied to punch. But, alas! I must disappoint you. Because the truth, oh yes, the bitter truth is so convoluted, that ignorance, atleast in this case, would seem to be a bliss.
Upon unwrapping the wooly wool that hid ‘their’ faces, I jumped back in horror as Someone let out a blood curdling scream. I couldn’t tell what could have upset him so much, but soon deduced from his facial expressions that he, and for that matter even I, know these two apparent trespassers a little too well. They weren’t any ghost or demon exploring the continent of Antarctica. Oh no, but they were, and I’m pretty sure now, Satan himself. Or herself. I mean, Themselves. Wait, satan is singular. I mean, Satan herself twice.
That’s right, they were This One and That One. The female counterpart of our Antarctic Fisherman Team, Antatctic Fisherwoman or something they called themselves, were no longer on the other side of the continent as they were supposed to be. They were here. Here they were. Covered in blood. And wool. With a sinister smile. And those eyes saturated in malice. Seems like they have regained consciousness. Yep, indeed, for an unconscious woman never smiles nor looks hither and tither, let alone two.
“You thought you’ve won, dinchya?” I dinchya know what dinchya meant, but figured out it meant something like the word ‘didn’t’ or something. “No One did think that”, clarified Someone, proudly. “That One told me you would be”, This One blurted eyeing my eyes. “That’s right This One, That One’s always correct, isn’t it Someone and No One?”