Home   |  Issues  |  The Daily Star Home

Phineas and Ferb in Dhaka

Story: Rannia Shehrish
Art: Fahim Anzoom

Cycling under the hot summer sun was what the boys were busy with when Irin showed up with her, “Whatcha doin'?” Well they really weren't doing much. After hearing Irin's story of being unable to go to the bookstore due to the traffic, Phineas burst into his, “I know what we're gonna do today!” speech.

*pause*
“Where's Perry?”

Agent P
The directions led him to a rundown warehouse in Dholaikhal. He was greeted by darkness, a musty smell and invisible voices jingling, “Doofenshmirtz Dholaikhal Warehouse.” Distracted by the melody, he tripped and rolled into a welded metal cage. The door closed, trapping him, the lights turned on and Dr. Doofenshmirtz came in, beaming.

“Agent P, what a nice surprise! You must be wondering what I am doing here - in this hot, dusty place with no electricity. Well you see, when I was young, my dad sent me to the town to get ice for him. I walked five kilometres in the scorching heat to the town every day and returned home with sore feet; exhausted from carrying the heavy weight on my back. While he entertained himself with glasses of cold water, I was left with a parched throat. Since I couldn't have water - no one can! So I built the Vaporisinator. With this I shall evaporate all the water in Dhaka and people would be forced to buy my high priced water. I shall be rich!” He choked out an evil laugh.

Busting
“Shumi, he looks so cute when he smiles!” Candace and Shumi were busy with their usual chit-chat about Johir, when the noise of hammering and drilling reached her. “Shumi, I'll call you back.” She hung up and raced to the roof where she found the boys busy with their shenanigans.

“What are you boys doing?”
“Building flying cycles,” Phineas answered innocently.
“Oooooo, you boys are so busted!”

The phone call
The loud horns and the rickshawalas' curses almost drowned the phone's ringtone. She picked up the phone to hear her teenaged daughter's anxious voice, complaining about her brothers, “Mom! Mom! The boys built flying cycles!”

“Candace, I am in no mood to talk right now - it's extremely hot and noisy here! I'll be home soon. Bye.” She hung up.

Almost busted
Candace dragged her Mom to the stairs and ran to the roof. The boys and the flying cycles were still there. She was in bliss! Finally she would bust them. “Mom! Hurry!” She pushed her mom up the stairs and to the roof.

Fight!
With a two-pinned hairclip Perry managed to open the cage door. He snuck up behind Doofenshmirtz and landed a slap on his face. The aim of the contraption changed. Boom! Pow! Perry hit it and turned it on. Doofenshmirtz smiled evilly, “There's nothing you can do now!”

Before long the ray was fired and it hit the boys' cycles, vaporising them immediately. Doofenshmirtz, swayed by shock, accidentally pushed the self-destruct button.

Back to normal
“There you see?” Candace asked her mom eagerly.
“See what?”
“B-b-b-but it was right there!”
“Candace, you've been under the sun way too long. Hi boys. Any one wants lemonade?”

The boys had returned from the bookstore with the necessities. “I do! Oh there you are Perry,” said Phineas.

Epilogue
The machine self-destructed and sent Doofenshmirtz flying through the air. Luckily he had a soft landing, in the dirty, smelly waters of Buriganga. “Curse you Perry the Platypus!”


This week's published article was narrated very well and the whole story built up to the end very nicely. For next week we have “The Watch” as the topic. All submissions need to be sent in to ds.risingstars@gmail.com by Sunday noon. Word limit: 350-500 words. Good luck.
...................................................................................................................................................

VOLUNTEER

By Md. Wasif Akram Hussain

It was not a punishment - being chosen was a great honour. There was none greater. Arin was the youngest to have ever been chosen. The Gods did like the pretty ones - or so she was told. Her parents had volunteered her. It was not a sacrifice. No! It was chance to display their love to a greater power - a chance to please their Gods.

The years passed by her, like a simple stretch of grass for a galloping horse. No chores. No worries about food. She was groomed for her purpose. Always popular, the elders beamed at her - proud! It was not like she did not understand the gravity of her situation. She knew very well. In fact, she was pleased with herself. She felt superior to the others. She was chosen, they were not.

Every year Arin would go with the others to the hill near their village. A large carved stone adorned the top. The priests had told her that the rock was fashioned in the form of their gods. Ha! The blood must have eroded it every year. She felt stupid believing it. However, it was not her place to be a sceptic. She just accepted it; it made living that much easier. Year after year, she saw girls a bit older than her sacrificed at that hallowed place. She never flinched. Neither did the others. Sometimes, she held her mother's hand, but she never looked away. That would be her when she came of age.

Surely, the time had come. Adorned in white - caked in paint and jewellery, Arin made her way to the top of hillock. A procession tailed behind her. The statue remained. Weathered but prominent. The sight pleased her, silent tears shed in happy resignation. Her time had come - to be of use. On the side, her parents stood, mesmerised and eager for the ordeal to finish. Beaming even! As the priest signalled the start of the ritual, she felt a sense of calm. In her head, she repeated, "The gods have chosen me. I am special." Over and over again.

The drums and the hushed murmur reached the climax. A glinting metal in front of her, the reflecting sunlight dazzling her. With a sigh of finality, she closed her eyes and uttered a last prayer. The swoop of the blade reached her neck. Warmth! The smell of rust seeped through her failing senses and an utter nothingness engulfed her. Her hearing deafened, sight already betrayed her. No cries, no tears. A smile plastered over her face as her body crumpled to the ground in a pool of her essence. Still. Beautiful.

It felt good to have a purpose.



 

home | The Daily Star Home

2012 The Daily Star