Reflections

Tofu In The Box!

2010-05-16T14:56:00.000+05:30

TOFU IN THE BOX
Parody of "Man In The Box" by Alice In Chains

<OPENING RIFF + BEATS>

I'm the tofu~
In the box!
Buried in ~~
My maida!
Won't you...
Come and ~~
Eat me.
(Eat me)

[CHORUS]

Feed my pies
(Can you chew it up?)
Jesus Christ
(Deny your chef yeah~)
He who tries,
(Will go hungry)
Aww feed my pies~~~
(Now you've chewed it UP!)

I'm the curd
Which is Bean!
Shove my nose
IN CUISINE!!
Won't you come and~~
Eat me.
(Eat me)

FEED MY PIES~~
(Can you chew it up?)
JEEEESUUS CHRIIIST~~~
(Deny your chef, yeah)
HEEEE WHO TRIES~~~
(Will go hungry)
AWWWww FEEeeED MY PIIIIES~~~~~
(Now you've chewed it up)

<SOLO>

FeEeEeeEEEEEED MY PIEEEeeEEEES!!!!
(Can you chew it up)
JEEeEEEEeeEEEeEEEEAAAAASUS CHRIIIIIIIIST!!
(Deny your chef, yeah)
HEEEEEeEEEEEEEEE WHO TRIIIIiIIIIIIES~~~
(Will go hungry)
AWWWww FEEEeEEEeEED MY PIEeEeEEEEES~~~~~
(Now you've chewed it UP!!)

<MAIN RIFF & CONCLUSION>

A/N : 1>Main idea by Extremis. Props to ya, dood xD
2>Tofu Pie really DOES exist. There are LOTS of recipes for it.

A Day In The Life : Haruhi Suzumiya

2010-05-10T22:34:00.008+05:30

They believe there is something that created the universe. Then again, maybe they’re just the ones who’re paranoid over not having a reason for existence, not knowing why or how the universe and life were created and are stressed over it. Of course, the stupidest part is that, the statement itself is a paradox. If something created the universe, how did that thing come to be?

But I digress. Thoughts appear freely when you have nothing to do, when you’re looking out the classroom window, caught in a cycle of endless motion of pretending to think and trying to remember. It’s a test and I know I’m going to flunk it. When the stress meter overloads you tend to get sorta indifferent about it all. Eh, might as well look out the window and appreciate the sunset and hope time decides to push down on the accelerator.

And its right then I become aware of a muted rumbling. It’s the girl sitting behind me. She’s snoring.

Haruhi Suzumiya has finished the test in a record forty-two minutes and is now sound asleep, dreaming of aliens, time travelers, or ESPers. Or probably all three at once. Or probably of something weirder the human mind has not yet come up with.

And now she’s stirring.

And now she’s noticed me staring.

“What? “ she grumbles through sleepy, irritated brown eyes.

Eyes meet. Eyes shift to her paper. Eyes spy answers. Eyes meet again.

“Go ahead. You can have the whole thing.” She grumbles again, grabbing her answer sheet and thrusting it out at me and going to sleep again.

Helping me regain composure in class right now, is the fact that she is quite possibly bored and, quite possibly, at this moment, a closed-space continuum is enveloping this area. She’s going to destroy this world and build it again, in another image.

I yawn. Quite frankly, I’m tired of this same thing over and over again. “You know what? You’re bored too easily.” I say to her in a not-very-friendly manner.

“And what’s it to you? “

“It ANNOYS me.”

“Then don’t NOTICE it.” She buried her head in her arms again. “Idiot.” She grumbled.

Don’t notice it!? Its enough that every time you get bored you decide to end the world (GASP) or conjure up some unbelievably weird and epic, and not to mention, dangerous phenomenon(GAH), and now, NOW, you want me NOT to notice it? Oh please EXCUSE me while I contemplate the SO MANY ways I want to kill you.

After the exam, everyone shuffled out. It was the last period of the day, anyway. She’s still in that same position, resting with her head on the desk, and an irritated expression on her face.

THAT’S IT. I’ve had enough. Time to try something out.

“Ever heard of some Huxley guy?” I said, leaning back against the chair, resting my legs on the desk.

“YOU-“ She bolted upright. “YOU.”

“Am asking you about-“

“ALDOUS HUXLEY. You’re asking me about one of the greatest mystics of all time.”

“And you know much about him, do ya?”

“I know more than you’ll EVER know. Y’know,” she was really irritated this time, “Whats the point of this? Why ask me about something which I obviously know tons more than you? What’s the point? What’re you going to tell me? How does that help us?”

“I-“

“No. don’t bother. I’m disappointed in you, Kyon. As a member of the SOS brigade you should KNOW better than to challenge the leader of a group which specializes in mysteries, occult, mysticism, aliens, and ANYTHING strange under or BEYOND the sun. “ Well, if nothing, atleast that shifted her mood from bored to angry. Wait…that was PROBABLY a bad thing. Fast forward with the plan, then.

“There’s this one time he said-“

“And, “ she continued, “there’s that tone in your voice.” Her eyes narrowed. She was seething.

“What about it?”

“CASUAL. “ She spat out the word as if talking of something grotesque. “As if you’re talking of something irrelevant or trivial. I will simply NOT tolerate disrespect towards-“

“EXCUSE-“

“TOWARDS, “ she continued, raising her voice slightly, “ someone I – and by association YOU, a member of the SOS brigade – should have a fanatic admiration for.”

“Yes, as a matter of-“

Her tone changed. She was still as authorative as ever, but there was something different in her voice. Something…softer. “You’ve given up, I know you have. “ She looked at me dead in the eye. “I know it when you look at me that way. I know it when you laze away our sessions at the clubhouse. I know it when, even when you help out, you do it without passion, without feeling.”

“Weren’t we talking of-“

“We’re all TRAVELLERS, Kyon. Travellers of the unknown. Journeying across a world, over places that, for all we might know – does not – contain a semblance of the supernatural, the paranormal, the great mysteries which we want to find out and unravel. We’re travelers of the unknown – our destination everchanging, our paths never fixed, but our goal unwavering. We’re travelers.” She spoke, as if in a trance.

“Travelers. That’s it. See, Huxley-“

“Huxley was a traveler too. We’re brethren. We share a bond. A bond through the ages. A bond which is so easily broken. Kyon, try not to break that bond. Don’t…” Trailing off, she became vaguely melancholy now. AW CRAP. MELANCHOLY?

“Kyon?”

“Yeah?”

“Please don’t break our bond.”

Silence.

I continued, breaking the choking stillness. “Travelers. Huxley once said, true travelers, do not find boredom painful.”

She sat upright, a questioning eyebrow.

‘”Cause, you see, he said, that’s the symbol of our liberty. Our freedom. We accept it, we deal with it. Because we know we need to do something to remove it. We need to continue traveling. We need to keep moving, to accelerate. To uncover new things. We may not know WHAT there is, beyond the next corner, or even if there IS anything at all. But we need to keep moving. “

She held the position.

“That’s the sign of a true traveler. In his journey, he accepts the boredom. And he moves on to remove it. Discover new things. Not be bogged down by the boredom and wish on the world to change automatically to fit your image, but to continue onward with the traveler’s journey. And with that, discover himself. We cant give up on things in life because this world left us no way around it. We need to FIND a way around it. That’s the game. That’s life.”

I smiled at her. She was looking at me with a curious expression, now.

“And that’s why I’ll never break the bond. Our bond. Because I’m a traveler. Just like you. “

Silence.

She shifted back to her grumpy expression and looked out the window.

Silence.

“I haven’t given up. I never will.” She finally spoke, in a quite different voice.

“Haruhi?”

“I won’t force the world to be what I want it to be. I will go on, I will travel. I will discover things. Things that will change the world, without me forcing it to. “

Silence. She had that melancholy look on her face again, As she stared out the window, with a slightly wondrous expression. Her lips moved, she said something, I couldn’t hear it.

“Sorry?”

“I’ll never break our bond.”

And there we sat, in an empty classroom, contemplating whatever was said.

So mazelike to comprehend

So simple to feel.

Out of ideas!? HARUHI SUZUMIYA? NEVER! She bolted to a standing position, pointing her finger in victory at something invisible far ahead. She had that mad twinkle in her eyes again. Oh no. Here we go again.

“YOU’VE just given me an AMAZING idea, Kyon! “

“I did? “, I said, absolutely blankly.

“Yep! Aldous Huxley appreciation sessions! Every day this week!”

“WHAT?” I near-screamed, bolted out of the chair.

“I’ll have to ask her for some books, and, yes, yes…I think we can definitely make it work!”

“Haruhi?” I said weakly.

“Starting tomorrow! YES! Club room, Four o clock sharp. Books, maybe some articles pulled from the net, hmm. Promotions, advertisements, maybe we can run a slot for-“

“Haruhi? “ I said, near catatonic.

“TOMORROW.” She said in final voice. And then she glared at me, chewing out each word. “DON’T. BE. LATE. “

And she’d marched off, her yellow ribbon a streak of dazzling light behind her.

Haruhi Suzumiya, a day in the life.

With me.

I smiled and started off homeward.

Every Fail You Make

2010-04-19T00:03:00.001+05:30

(Parody of Police's song "Every step you take", so you can appreciate this parody better if you listen to the song while reading these as the lyrics ;D)

(Imagine the main beat going like...HA HA HA HA HAHA HA HA)

Every fail you, make....

Every mainstream you, intake...

Every want for the fake - Every love for Justin Beiber you stake-

I'll be laughing at you.

Every Pattinson fail~~~~~

Every vampire fangirls' wail...

Every Twilight fan - Every time I want them banned -

I'll be laughing at you.

Oh cant you see...

Fail doesnt have to belong to thee..

How my poor heart aches-

With every fail you make.

Every pr0n joke you make...

Every love you cheat and take...

Every stupid rap video with booty shakes - Every fail in which you partake-

I'll be laughing at you.

Since you failed I've been sighing without rest~

I dream at night I can only see Megadeth~

I look around but you're still caught in that rat race~

Its so sad when our REALITY is an imaginary place~!

And I keep shouting DIE! DIE !! DIEEEEE!~~~~~~~~

Oh cant you see...

Fail belongs to thee...

How my poor heart aches--

With every fail you make.

Every minority you hate.....

Every Megan Fox tweet you eagerly await....

Every back bite you make-

...And every criticism you cant take--

I'll be laughing at you.

Something To Say

2010-02-13T22:24:00.002+05:30

Something's in the air, its something like the onset of summer, and it feels great somehow. And that feels like...... perfection, perhaps?

Right now, with this ambiance, there's nothing more to wish than a summery morning in sprawling green fields with someone whom I deeply adore because, that someone, didn't appeal to me just by looks and charm and personality, but because the person let me heal, let me feel better when I was - and whenever am - torn up and hurting and depressed. Someone who's the inspiration behind a lot of things I do, if not all ; someone whom I'm glad to have by my side and in my heart. I wouldn't prefer to tell that person how much I love them again and again, wouldn't speak out my adoration extravagantly.....wouldn't need a special day to do it either.

But the day, like any other, is a great one to think about it.

If you're reading this, from the bottom of my heart, I can only say that my life's a better place because of that feeling, and because of you.

We both cherish and enjoy the special something we share, and I'm grateful to ever have something so beautiful and innocent to share with someone like you.

Thank you for all that me and you have been, are, and can ever be.

Thanks for the memories we made, for the time we spent, for the way you make me feel, and for being there for me whenever I need it.

Thank you :)

Elysium

2010-01-15T22:25:00.002+05:30

It was here, here by this little bridge, by the river, right by the yellow fields of a flower I don’t know, all swinging and blowing in the wind under the sun. It was right here, where now the rain falls and the crops and flowers have all died and there’s blood and where I kneel in the mud and the ruin in the rain. It was here…. I know it was here. It can’t have gone away, not like this.

Maybe if I roam here long enough I’ll figure it out, I’ll figure out where its gone and why. Maybe I’ll see ghosts before me, trying to find the same thing.

When I was little, I remember a woman. A lovely woman in a white dress who smiled at me and beckoned me to come with her, elsewhere, always calling. Whenever I used to see her it was in this white soft haze of glamorous glossy pages of magazines. And I looked at this woman and I would think, this was an angel. This was the angel I read about all the time. And I used to run to her but she would always run faster, away from me, in the mist of a slow motion nightmare.

But once I did catch up. The billions of alpha centauries etched across the cool dark background greeted me with her. She was there, right in front of me, I could touch her if I wanted to. And I did. She smiled. She gave me a flower, a wild flower white all over except for the blood red parts in the middle, and somehow I knew, somehow I was convinced that this was an artist’s blood spilled across his canvas, somehow I was convinced this flower was a failed poet’s dream, his ultimate creation that never sprouted wings and never left the pages of his creativity.

I see those flowers strewn all across the scorched earth right now, all over the amalgam of ash and mud that the field is, now. There is that tree under which I first kissed her, felt her ruby lips on mine, felt her lips touch mine and melt into mine, felt my body close, so very close to hers, and then engulfed in a womb of warmth.

Was that when innocence was lost?

Or was it when I killed him?

Saw the blood flow freely, saw the general barking orders, saw the prisoner being tortured, saw the hell on earth that was our battlefield, saw the bullet tearing through his flesh, blood and bone, exit wound near the top of the skull, blowing away chunks of gray matter. Saw his body hit the ground, teeth clenched in a macabre grin as his eyeballs were blown out. Felt the blood and the tears and the rain and the smell of death in the air and none of it mattered.

None of it mattered any more, his blood was justified, her tears couldn’t save him, their death was as inevitable as the unborn’s when the mother dies, and the rain…the rain would wash all the above away, forever. It would wipe the slate clean for another future, another chance, another world, and a better fate.

When it was over I’d found myself in green, rolling meadows. I’d stepped through a door and been blinded by the light, white, pure, cleansing. And there it was. Lovely fresh green set against a glowing blue sky fettered with white clouds. And…and in this field there was a tree, just the one tree. And under this tree there was a girl, a girl with a herd of sheep. They looked perfectly at ease, munching on the olive green grass and bleating demurely, while there was this, this sheep who was different from the rest of the heard. It was all black, in stark contrast to the white fluff of its brethren, and it was separated from them. The herd, it seemed, maintained a conscious distance with it. But there was this girl, this lovely girl of about twelve, she was with the black sheep, holding it lovingly and, it seemed, was shearing it with a tiny pair of scissors. It was so strikingly disproportionate with the fur but it seemed to do the job perfectly.

And then I realize, I’m walking forward, barefoot through the grass. In a daze, I walk forward, past a man with a vintage camera who’s telling my parents to smile with a baby in their arms, past a scrawny little kid who’s fighting back against the school bully, repeating an endless cycle of getting knocked down and getting up, nose a mess of blood and cartilage, and past a glorified murderer.

And I’ve reached the girl. She looks at me as if she’s known me since time immemorial, as if she’s always known I’d be here, now, to see her, and she’s glad to finally see me here. She smiles. I smile back. I feel so complete, I feel whole again, I feel as if a huge weight is off my heart, as if I’m free, my debt paid in full, and my song sung.

And here I am, back at the start, back in the field again, back where the rains have now stopped and where moments ago there was a dull cold that pawed its way in, an old pain, a grief that faded and yet did not, an ache I cannot quite pinpoint, but it’s here and now, and I’ve realized that feeling makes me who I am now. But it was gone, now. In its place a bliss of freedom, a freedom akin to the widening and all encompassing air.

And then I find it.

All is well now, everything is as it should be.

R.I.P

1978-2001

That which we are, we are,
One equal-temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.

I’m dead, but its fine.

Because I was buried right here, by these fields,

……..the fields where I died.

Smells Like Dog Breath

2009-09-22T16:20:00.001+05:30

Load Up On leashes, Bring Your Cats
It's fun to pat, but not to defend
Its ebil horde, has many-a-injured -
Oh No, I got, an ugly bite...

(Chorus)
Hello, Hello, Hello, bow wow?
Hello, Hello, Hello, bow wow?
Hello, Hello, Hello, bow wow?
Hello, Hello, Hello-

With The Lights Out, It's MORE DANGEROUS!
'coz then I dont know, where it LURKEST!
I Feel Stupid, And CONTAGIOUS -
Since it bit me, VACCINATE US!

A LABRA-DOR !
A BOXER !
makes no difference-
ITS A KOOTTA !
Yeah!

It's Worst At What - It Does Best (CHOMP!!!)
And For This Gift It Feels blessed,
Teh vicious ebil, has Always Been
And always will, Until The End...

Hello, Hello, Hello, Bow wow?
Hello, Hello, Hello, Bow wow?
Hello, Hello, Hello, Bow wow?
Hello, Hello, Hello-

Past recovery, MENTAL STATE IS !
Here's our life now, RETAIN IT !!
Wanna kill it ! Don't debate it!
But goddamn, SOCIAL STATUS ! ~__~

A PEKINGESE !
A CATALA !
There's no difference-
TIS A KOOTTA!
Yeah!

(Solo)

And I Forget, Just Why It drools -
So Yeah, I Guess It Makes me cringe -
It bit me Hard ; It's hard to bite-
-it back, Whatever, NeEeveermind...

Hello, Hello, Hello, Bow wow?
Hello, Hello, Hello, Bow wow?
Hello, Hello, Hello, Bow wow?
Hello, Hello, Hello-

With the lights on, It's still dangerous~
TAKE IT OUT NOW, STRAIGHT CHAIN IT !!
It's so stoopid, but dangerous!
Fast increasing, DEATH RATE IS!!

A FOUSEK !
A RETRIEVAH~ !
There's no difference-
TIS A KOOTTA~!

A GREYHOUND!!!
A SPANIEL!!!
A ESKIMO!!!
A SHEPHERD!!!
A POINTER!!!
A PINSCHER!!!

A KOOTTA !!!
A KOOTTA !!!!!!!!
A KOOOOTTTAAaAaAaAaaaAAAAaa.........

--------------------------------------------------------------

A/N : Parody of Smells Like Teen Spirit by Nirvana

Dread And The Fugitive Dog

2009-09-16T12:55:00.001+05:30

Let me introDUCE my dog !
It's name is ZE KOOTTA
It comes for your throat!
Leaves you in a pool of BLOOD!
No time for feeling sorry,
IT MAKES ITS OWN BONES!
Won't ask for anything from you -
IT CHOOSES TO HUNT ALONE!

Oh what's yours is mine
What's mine is mine too,
If you pat its head better count your fingers

What if I do get caught?
For sicing this dog on you?
If I'm right I lose nothing
If you're wrong you lose your life.
Well I oughta get caught
Cause I'm doing something wicked
I'm sicing this violent ebil on you -
And the only consequences
ARE DREAD AND TEH FUGITIVE DOG.

You built walls to protect you
so no ebil will bite you.
Pursued by those out there,
that chew out your air!
Come a long way to find
what you really left behind -
Yes you know it was teh DOG REPELLENT
And Death's coming fast!

What's yours is mine
and what's mine is mine too
If you pat its head better count your fingers

What if I do get caught?
What if there is no judgment?
If I'm right I lose nothing
If you're right, then teh dog makes it right for me
Well I oughta get caught
because I'm doing something wicked
I siced that dog on you,
and the only consequences
Are dread and the fugitive dog

<Guitar solo with drum buildup>

<guitar solo interspersed with dog barks>

<Final, ending guitar solo interspersed with Frank Miller's screams of agony>

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A/N : Parody of Megadeth's song "Dread And The Fugitive Mind"

The Evil !!

2009-08-31T22:47:00.001+05:30

Teh dog is teh ebil (!!)
it bites and it bites,
Eternally man's best friend,
But it smites; we scream "cripes!"
Holds its head up high,
And never once to the ground,
Through the thick and the thin,
It stands by you, pound for pound.

All of which I’d admire, if not for the scar on my shin –
Oh, pray tell,
Over and over and over,

WHY DOES IT NIBBLE ON TEH SKIN!?!?!?
TEH FLESH THAT MINE HAS BEEN!?!?!
IN A MANNER WHICH TO BRUTES IS AKIN!??!?!

Now I really don’t wanna start a fight ;

But seriously,

WHY MUST IT BITE?!?!!??!?!

And who, I ask, is teh fellow
Who says me ain't right??!

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A/N : Dedicated to extremis :D

Eternal

2009-08-05T15:19:00.006+05:30

Mistress treachery

You cheat yourself again

Always you breathe but

Never you live again -

Existing between the fake

And the lie again

Always I hear you but

Never believe again

There you are

Disgracing love again -

Here I am

Rescuing you again

Dreams we sacrifice

Being friends again

Loving each other

Breaking ourselves again -

Useless and vain and stupid and careless
And always
Always for you.

But here we are

Murder ourselves again

Die for each other

Reminisce life again

Argue soundlessly

Beating no hearts again

Taking you down

Calling you out again

Tired of finding out

Why you’re mad again

Running from you

Trying to heal again

Shameless vanity

You hate yourself again -

And over and over and over and over

Always, always you ..........

Only Human

2009-07-19T00:49:00.001+05:30

“No! Leave us alone, creeps!”

Her screams for help fell on deaf ears. Well, it did fall on ears, but she’d rather have them not fall at all. Even this late at night, even at this desolate corner of the street, there were five passers-by that night, in all. All of them had looked up. Two had looked, had been horrified, had hurriedly walked away. Another two had scurried away as fast as their legs could carry them, without daring to look. One had appeared slightly amused and interested, but the men shoving her around now had scared him off.

She looked at her companion in despair. He was slumped in the darkness ; face down on the ground, a pool of blood forming under him. The man responsible for that was still grinning with his lustful stare at her. He was softly pounding the lead pipe against his palm, the one still stained with his blood.

“Let me go! What’ve you done to him?” She shrieked. The arms bonding her tightened.

“Relax, sugar.” The leader walked over slowly, coming face to face with her. Clutching her face in his rough hands, he hissed. “He’s just down for the count. And he’s gonna stay safe as long as you…..lend a hand, hun.”

The men guffawed raucously, and she spat in the man’s face.

“Bastard! Never!” She screamed in his face. What happened next, was a blur to her. She caught a glimpse of his pockmarked face contorted in rage. An intense, sharp throbbing, and she was spitting blood on the concrete, face swollen, seeing stars.

“Hey boss, I think dis one needs a lil’ workin’.” One of the henchmen said.

“No shit. The bitch’s prepped to go.” The other grinned.

“Take her down. “ The boss coolly spoke, wiping his eye.

Her screams were ignored, she was thrown down on the cold, wet concrete. Empty bottles clattered away, cats in the alley scurried away squealing, their home disturbed.

“Me first. “ the Boss stated.

The henchmen held her down while the boss lowered himself over her. The cold, hard ground, the rapturous comments by the villains, her own screams and whimpers, added up to her horror. Right then, she was more scared, hopeless, despaired than she’d ever been. Her life, as she knew it, was going to end, right then and there. And Ben….Ben had not got up after the beat down.

And right then, even with her own life at stake, she thought of him. Of Ben.

Is he still alive?

If yes, thank you, God.

Ben…

I love you.

And she closed her eyes, prepared herself for the inevitable.

A soft, wet sound broke her reverie.

Something warm splattered all over.

Their grip on her eased.

She opened her eyes.

One of the men holding her down, was now pinned against the dumpster, eyes popping out, face one of shock and horror. What was pinning him up against the dumpster had pierced clean through his torso. Blood was a fountain, spilling out all the sin inside.

The other two men, wide eyed, followed the long, thin, spiked tendril that retreated away from its victim, dropping the mutilated corpse with a thud on the ground. The tendril was black, slender, and unmistakably organic.

A monster stood in the alley.

It was reptilic, black and slimy. It’s arms were the long, spiked tendrils. It’s wide mouth lined with razor sharp teeth clacked, dripping caustic saliva on the ground. Its eerily human eyes scanned the alley and came to rest on the two men, but not without sparing a glance at her, down on the ground, watching it all, transfixed in horror.

Instantly, she recognized those eyes.

Ben.

Screaming, one of the men fired wildly. He hit with most of them. The bullets bounced off. The monster shot its tendril-arms forward, ripping off both the man’s arms. Flailing his stumps in disbelief, the man’s screams were mercifully cut short. The monster leapt forward, covering a distance of ten feet, and landed, biting the man’s head clean off. Spraying blood like water, the corpse slumped down to the ground.

The boss, frozen in horror seconds earlier, now stumbled back, and ran as fast as he could, out of the alley. He made quite some distance, too. But he must have known it was pointless.

The beast launched its black horror forward, wrapped its slimy tethers around the man, and dragged him screaming through the air back into the alley. It seized him, went face to face with him.

And ripped him in half.

When the screams died down, he turned around to face her.

“Ra..c.h..el…” It’s voice was a tar pit bubbling up.

“Rachel…” It reverted to its original voice.

She could only look at him, stupefied.

“Rachel.?” It withdrew the tendrils, shed the black slime, twisted its visage into its original form.

“Rachel? “ He stepped forward, reached for her.

She jumped and crawled backward, appalled, sickened, disgusted, horrified.

He was visibly hurt. “Are you..”

She jumped back again, pinned herself against the brick wall. Tears ran down her ashen white face. She moaned softly.

“What’s wro-“ He stopped. Checked himself.

“I’m sorry.” He said, saddened. “But I couldn’t just stay there, couldn’t stay down while those thugs….I…” He almost broke down. “I just wanted to protect you, save you. “

Slowly, agonizingly slow, she shook her head. Her fear-stained eyes never left his. She was shaking.

“Get…..away….” She shrieked out. “GET AWAY FROM ME! MONSTER! GET THE HELL AWAY!! STAY BACK! Let me go!! “ And she was out of control, crying, screaming, shuddering.

“Rachel..” He reached out.

“NO!! KEEP THEM AWAY! KEEP AWAY! KEEP AWAY!! “ Hysterical, she turned and ran. Catlike, she jumped away from the wall, and was out of the alley, on the road. She looked back, one final time, but only to check whether he was creeping up behind her.

He was still standing where she had left him. In the alley.

“I love you. “ He whispered out. Just enough for her to hear. Just enough for the words to penetrate.

He prayed to heavens they would.

“LOVE…..ME??? LEAVE ME ALONE! PLEASE!! “ She was sobbing now. “PLEASE…..! For the love of god, PLEASE! Leave me be! You’re….you’re…” She was sobbing uncontrollably now.

“A monster. “ He completed her.

“…..I..…I’m….”

“Human.” He concluded.

She could say no more, sobbing hysterically, eyes wide with fear, she stumbled back a few steps, then finally broke their gaze, turned, and ran.

He just stood there for ages, in tears, in that dark, cold, lonely alley. Until the raindrops hit him.

She was no more in sight.

He looked up, to the sky. “Only human.” He said, and smiled a little.

Turning his head down, he walked away.

Conversations - III

2009-06-28T23:54:00.000+05:30

“I’m fine!”
“Fine? As in, ‘fine’ fine, or Seattle Grace ‘fine’ ? “

Despite being frustrated, annoyed, irritated (not to mention late for the meeting) and miserable in general, she turned around, confused.

“What?”
“What? You said you were fine. So I asked, ‘fine’ fine, or Seattle Gr- “
“I heard you the first time, I just wanted to know what the devil that means.”
“Which one? The ’Fine’ fine? Or the Seattle Grace ‘fine’? “

Drawing a deep breath, she spoke slowly and clearly.

“Mark, look. Cut me some slack, okay? My landlady’s hounding me, I just got pulled over for speeding, I’m late, the report’s late, the boss is gonna chew me out, I mean…. I feel like I’m in a goddamn Argento movie, about to be jumped on any minute.”
“Splendid. Tenebrae or Deep Red? “
“Mark! “
“Alright , alright! Chill. So, Seattle Grace ‘fine’ – ‘twas a Grey’s Anatomy reference. “

“You mean to tell me, “ she was in silent killer mode again – “ that I just wasted three minutes of my precious time, just because of your pathetic pop culture references? “

“It’s SO not pathetic!” he scoffed. “It wipes the floor with ER. And that’s saying something! “
“Whatever. I’m off. Boss waiting.“ and she stormed down the corridor to the meeting room.

“Yeah. Good luck with Faustus. “ he grinned and called out behind her.

”You too, good luck with Robin’s “ she called back.

Jaw dropping, he just stood there, wondering how she came up with that. As she reached the door, she turned around and gave him a ‘gotcha!’ smile.

Touché.

A/N : You'll miss the prime joke unless you're REALLY familiar with Dario Argento's ''Tenebrae''.

The Monster

2009-04-28T23:25:00.001+05:30

I used to be in love with the world.

The homebrewn grenade rests firmly in his hands. He uses his raincoat to shield It against the downpour.

I used to think we were all perfect. God made no mistakes.

He steps forward. Rain ricochets off him ; darkness is all around, the eternally lonely lights a haze in the downpour.

Most of his face is obscured by the rising turtleneck of the coat. It almost reaches just below his nostrils.

His face must be twisting with rage. Yet nothing is seen ; the overcoat, his visor, hides his emotions.

He throws the grenade in a long arc, his body arches up, and although the explosion is satisfying, the ocean of flames is temporary, it’s quickly washed away by the rains. His operation is effective. There are no survivors.

There are screams, there are shouts. People flee, panicking. He walks away, now invisible in shadows
.
Life’s a monster. He realized that when he was fourteen years old. It was the night his parents were beaten to death in front of him by Mr.Calgieri’s men.

But it wasn’t then that he knew.

He’d run. They’d caught up. Choking on his own blood, they left him lying there, left for dead.

It still wasn’t then that he realized.

He’d crawled and clawed his way through the street, sobbing, drenched in tears, dragging himself through hell. Fifty steps. He could never forget. He’d ran this street distance with her so many times. He’d had just enough strength to reach their door. The Porters’. Them and his family were good friends. He’d knocked. The man had come out, lantern in hand.

James Porter had looked at him. He’d stared back. Dark blue eyes through the crimson mask. Pleading for help.

Somewhere, he heard a voice. Somehow, he heard her through the waves of pain shooting up his body everytime he breathed.

Cheryl.

“Who is it, Daddy?”

Mr.Porter looked at the bloody heap on his steps.

“Nothing, dear. Stay inside. Just some homeless guy.”

He could hear her coming down the creaky stairs.

“What is it? Is he sick? Does he want help?” She was concerned. As always.

-“No dear. I think you’d better go up. I’ll deal with this.”
-“What? What’s the matter?”
-“Its nothing, Cheryl. I’ll handle this. Go help mom with dinner.” The authoritarian in him leaked through his voice. She backs away, goes inside.

He looks at him.

He speaks, in a cold and cruel voice. He doesn’t mean it like that, but to him, it sounds exactly like it.

“Get away from here. Get the hell away from my family. “ He spits out.

“Go away, crawl up somewhere, and hope someone else helps you. “

He just stares at Porter.

“…if they do, well, great. If they don’t, tough luck, kiddo.”

“I know what happened to your mum and dad. Mr. Calgieri’s the wrong man to cross. Your dad had it coming. The bastard. “ He continued.

“Generosity’s not on my list tonight. Cant help, kid. I got my own family to take care of. And unlike your old man, I’m on the Italian’s good side. Don’t wanna mess my rep by taking you in now, do I?” He manages the tiniest of smiles.

“Life’s a monster, kiddo. Deal with it.” He goes to close the door, pauses just a second. “Just get lost. Don’t go bleeding on my doorstep. “ He throws the words in his face and slams the door shut. He can even hear it being bolted.

He stays very still for a long time. When the rain finally pours down, unrelenting, uncaring, he curls up into a sitting position by the door. On the grass. He’s not crying and sobbing any more.

Life’s a monster kiddo, deal with it.

It was then that he finally knew.

And he sought vengeance against it.

He spent the next week sniffing out Calgieri’s place, his address. The next week he fell in with a gang of street hooligans. He fought for his place, learnt what he needed to. Gangs just looking to stir up trouble.

But he had other plans.

A year had passed since that night.

He was here. Now. Standing in the pouring rain. The lights in a haze in the rains, casting splotches of yellow light on the street.

The homebrewn grenade rests firmly in his hands. He uses his raincoat to shield it against the downpour.

He’s standing outside the Porter residence. He can see their silhouettes through the window, highlighted by the light within. Peals of laughter, wisps of talking, clinks of the cutlery. Fork against plate.

He closes his eyes, takes in her heavenly voice once more.

Things from another world, another time. Distant beyond remembrance.

He lobs the grenade through the window.

His aim is impeccable, it crashes through the glass pane, lands in the room.

He turns around and begins walking off.

The building explodes behind him.

There’s screaming, there’s shouting in the streets. People flee, panicking. He walks away slowly, deliberately. He stops at the bend. At a postbox there.

Reaches inside his coat and withdraws something he’s been protecting with his life so far. A letter. Thanking someone. He drops it in.

Its for Mr. Calgieri.

He disappears into the shadows.

I used to be in love with the world.
…Used to be.

Death Of A Dream

2009-04-25T11:29:00.001+05:30

…And the world to me ceases to exist -
Trees fall, the air desists,
All we built and fought for,
All we dreamed and loved for -
A towering inferno in our weary sights -
Washed away by our own nurtured rancour.

…And the sun leaves us forsaken –
Resumes its eternal stupor.
Gaia punishes us for the sins,
Vengeance upon us, Her will.

We hated; we ought have loved
We bickered; we ought have heard -
our obsession with the false, Messengers of the lie.
We sold our souls, let ourselves be ruled
by deceptions cold and cruel,
And we screamed "down with the system!"
When ‘twas the system that we tooled.

…..And while people say a dream never dies,
Dreams drop dead, fall around us,
Strangled by our own vice,
We wage wars as the earth cries.

…….And then we growl and we seethe,

…….And the Creator’s dream dies in us as we breathe.

Via Dolorosa

2009-03-18T15:51:00.008+05:30

As my tiring journey comes to an end in front of the place I was looking for, I can’t help but wonder I was lucky to find it ; it suits my needs perfectly. And close to where I live, too. Shame I never found it earlier.

It’s an abandoned construction site. I drag myself along, to one of the staircases. I’ll have to get to the top.

This is my story.

My parents supported life. Lemme clarify this. They were in favour of life. They opposed clinical abortion, foetal termination, all that jazz. I'll ask you something. Tell me. You, or your wife, is pregnant. You’re happy, she’s happy. It’s a beautiful moment in both of your lives. Hoop-de-doo. But then you find out your kid has a rare birth defect. He’ll never work properly. He’ll be completely, permanently, paralyzed from the neck down, with very limited functioning of his arms. He’ll be confined to a special wheelchair all his life. He’ll never know happiness. Right from birth; he’ll know he’s incurably cursed. A twisted, pitiable creature. He’ll see other kids his age run around, play ball, have fun ; he’ll wheel up to you, and ask, in that heartbreaking, little muffled voice of his, twisted with pain. Dad, mom, why cant I do anything ? Why cant I get out of this chair? Why cant I play ball with the others? Why did Marv call me a retard today? Why does Annie laugh at me with her friends? Why am I so useless? Why am I imprisoned? And when he asks those why’s, be glad he didn’t ask the obvious one.

Why did you let me live?

The stairs can’t admit a wheelchair. I’ll have to leave it here.

It burns me up everytime I think about it. You knew it. Dammit, you people knew it all. Mom, the doctor told you, didn’t he? Dad, the doctor tried to talk you out of it. He tried his best. It wasn’t a pretty thing to do, but wasn’t it right, considering the circumstances?

No. No way. You goddamned pro-lifers wouldn’t listen. You cooked up quite a storm over the issue. You raised hell. You threatened the doctor who tried to talk. You had the support of several groups; people picketed outside the hospitals ; you were discussed on newspapers, prime time broadcasts, talk shows. Catholic parent groups showered their blessings on you. The church congratulated you on your faith and courage ; they promised God’s grace on your child. They said how every child was born to have a bright, shiny future. Always. Naturally. A governor mentioned you two, as reflecting her own political stance on the issue. Pro-life. Oh yes, you had support alright. Fucktards who didn’t have the same thing happen to them, or their loved ones. What if it did? Would they have chosen ‘life’ then? I don’t really know.

I crawl up, slowly, painfully. Using only my near-atrophied arms, I pull myself up the stairs. The rest of my body drags along behind me, up the rough concrete stairs. Sometimes I can’t avoid the rusty metal spikes and rebars poking through ; and they hurt. They cut, scratch. I bleed. But I can’t stop. I simply must reach the top. Someone awaits me there. An angel.

But I do know something. Something you couldn’t see.

You chose life for me.

This is a nightmare I can’t escape from.

I’m drowning always But no it isn’t in water it’s quicksand Swampy wet its something I can feel I exist I’m on something but cant get a foothold I’m slipping falling perpetually I’m sinking I’m being devoured by it I’m drowning it’s slow and painful Slower than drowning in water I cant breathe my nostrils and mouth they’re all clogged up by wet earth I try to flail my arms around get free But I can’t move I’m tied up I CAN’T EVEN STRUGGLE I cannot see cannot feel cannot scream I’m being smothered drowned.

And this dream goes on and on……. I can’t wake up. I… can’t. I can’t……... I just fucking can’t wake up…

I keep on crawling, scratching, clawing my way up the stairs. They seem to go on forever. But no…I’m near the top. I’m almost there…Just a little more…Hold yourself together.

What I have is living hell.

This is no life. No one would want this.

This is a fate worse than death. My birth wasn’t a gift. It was a curse. One that can’t ever wear off or be disposed off. It’s a misery, torment, that I endure. A Sisyphean task that I carry through, as I continue to simply exist, not live.

My life has been Via Dolorosa since the very start.

The Path Of Suffering.

But none of all this matters anymore. That path ends here. The angel of liberty awaits.

I’m finally at the top. No walls to enclose me. No barriers. I look at the sky, at the many shapes of the clouds passing me by. I feel the wind blowing gently all around me. There’s sun shining through. There’s a lovely aroma in the air.

They say life’s beautiful.

Maybe next time.

I push myself over the ledge.

I slowly die, alone,
On Via Dolorosa…
I carry my burden alone,
On Via Dolorosa…
I'm dragged down by the stone,
On Via Dolorosa…
I carry my burden alone..
On Via Dolorosa.
Break my chains, free me.

And what follows, are precious few seconds of freedom.

The only time I’ve ever known what it means.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Author's Note : I won't take a stance on this issue here. Different people have different opinions. I can't, and don't want to make an effort to change the views they personally hold. Maybe this story will offend some people, it's controversial in that regard. But I'll just say this. In a situation as this ; what would you do? Would you terminate, and save the child the suffering that they're to face in their lives? Or let it be born; experience all that misery and agony, and hope that SOMEHOW everything will turn out well for him/her?

Just ask yourself.

Fiction

2009-01-28T21:31:00.001+05:30

“It’s brilliant! Mr. Smith! We’ve never had anything so amazing, so unreal, so engrossing, so masterful, so…so spectacular before! We’ll gladly accept it. It’ll be a bestseller. That’s a no-brainer.”

Harold Smith. His hands, till now, had been placed on the armrests of the expensive chair he’d been sitting on. He was facing the head of a reputed publishing house. His novel had been accepted. They were going to publish it. The publisher sounded pleased, overjoyed, even. The publisher, an experienced man, held legendary status in the publishing world. They talked about his ability to recognize diamonds in the rough. That isn’t entirely an accurate description, though. More accurately put, he recognized a cash cow when he saw one. And this definitely looked a Jersey.

Smith withdrew his hands. He should’ve been happy – this was his ticket to fame. The bestseller lists, the royalty, the mainstream press, he was set. He should’ve been happy, but wasn’t. It takes a lot out of an author, when he has to present hard, cold, true to flesh reality, as fiction. When he has material every publisher would laugh off as being impossible for nonfiction. He has no choice but to conceal it as fiction, purely to sell the story. When you’re a journalist, and the greatest story of your life is so improbable, so impossible, that no reputed paper would run it, and it’s thrown out the window, synopsized to a paperback thriller, you’re a lucky man if you can laugh it off for the sake of the cash. Smith wasn’t. He couldn’t laugh it off.

The protagonist of his novel was John Fielding. 37. Ex-FBI turned private investigator. Leading a one man crusade against John Lansing, the antagonist of the novel. John Lansing – entrepreneur, business supermagnate, Forbes top-fiver, kingpin, emperor of the underworld. A power maniac – intent on taking over the world. A classical supervillain. World Domination his lifetime goal. And currently, he was working on a superweapon – the deadliest ever conceived – as the means to achieve that goal. Fielding was Lansing’s arch enemy . The one man who could stop the most dangerous man on earth. The universe was created in opposites, and Fielding was the Yin to Lansing’s Yang. John Fielding, John Lansing. Sharing first names. Pseudo-siblings in the vein of Cain and Abel. Fielding - foiling Lansing’s plans, trying vehemently to expose his vile nature to the world, all his evil deeds, all his malevolent ambitions.

And the cruelest part was that all of this Clancy worthy story was actually, painfully, true. Smith had found out everything from Fielding. He’d contacted him. Given him irrefutable proofs. Any doubt Smith might’ve had, was almost immediately overcome. Lansing had found out about the transaction of the secret between Fielding and Smith. Lansing was stalking Smith. No doubts about it. He was playing with him as a predator with a prey. Every criminal of the city was his pawn. Every major corporation was tainted by his influence.

And he had Smith on his sights.

Everyone in the city seemed to have it in for him. From his boss, who informed him of the layoffs, to the waitress in the café, to the cabbie, who impatiently waved him off, refusing service. Smith could feel thugs’ eyes on him as he walked down the street, holding his breath and hurrying past dark alleyways. Accidents seemed to explode all around him, missing him by fractions. He’s playing with me, Smith would think. Lansing held him on a thread. He was the puppeteer; he could cut off his strings at leisure, a marionette in his hands. Smith carried a gun, nowadays. A semi-automatic in his vest pocket provided comfort every time he brushed his hand against it. He’d never fired it.

But Smith felt protected, somewhat. He had a guardian angel. Fielding. He’d do anything to throw a wrench into Lansing’s plans, and, obviously, he wanted Smith to survive, in his quest of destroying Lansing’s empire. Bit by bit, gnawing deeper in and out of the dirt and grime, Smith was working on publicizing the wrongdoings of Fielding’s nemesis, under Fielding’s vigilant watch.

Smith walked right into a cab’s way, forcing it to a screeching halt. He was going to be run over. Catching his breath, Smith was excusing himself and moving along, when he saw the driver.

It was Lansing.

“Watch where you tread, Mr. Smith.” He said, smiling. “Your next step might get you killed.” The point driven home, he drove off, leaving Smith standing transfixed on the asphalt.

He walked on, in a stupor. He was living on the edge, now. A walking bullseye for every criminal on the street. But he never expected Lansing to come after him personally. He felt the gun again. He walked on, heart racing. No one else dared write against Lansing, Smith alone possessed that strength, which made him alone incur the supervillain’s wrath. A hit was out on him, the taker was the world. He felt like a Daredevil whose secret identity was discovered by the Kingpin.

He was hungry. On realizing that, he started for a fast food joint a couple blocks away. Arriving a moment later, he reached for the doorknob.

Lansing walked by him, wearing a red tracksuit. He jogged by, without sparing Smith a glance.

Never looking up, Smith stood a long time, hand frozen on the doorknob. Half a minute later, Smith breathed, turned around to look at the departing figure of Lansing. He was still jogging down the street.

Stay calm. Deep breaths. He ordered himself. Pulse racing, palms sweaty, he entered. The place was surprisingly empty for the time of the day. Smith walked in, ordered, and sat at a table.

Lansing entered. He took a table opposite Smith and sat down. Ordering fries and burgers – same as Smith – he smiled slightly, meeting his stare, and dug into his food.

Smith continued eating. The bastard’s following me. Why? And the answer was already there. Word of his visit with the publisher had gotten out. He knows I’m coming through with the book! He had eyes, ears everywhere. He had a fly on every wall. He was following him. I’m not gonna back out now. He got up, having finished his meal. He paid at the counter, not even bothering to look at the attendant. He feared seeing Lansing again. How absurd would that be. Lansing thought with chagrin. He wasn’t hallucinating, obviously. All this wasn’t a figment of his imagination. Every bit of it was true. Real. Tangible. However farfetched and fictionlike it might seem. The attendant couldn’t magically turn into Lansing. Smith shook his head to get his bearings. Lansing was getting under his skin. Can’t let him do that.

Smith wasn’t feeling like it, but he knew he had to go to work. He took a cab there. He didn’t see Lansing in the lobby, the elevator, or even the hallway or the row of cubicles. He breather heavily, glad to be somewhere safe, somewhere away from Lansing.

He had made himself comfortable at his cubicle, when he was called by the boss ; and found himself without a job inside seven minutes. Three minutes later, he came out of the main doors, his belongings in that ever clichéd cardboard box. He didn’t say a word to anyone. Not to the undersympathetic boss, not to his sympathetic colleagues, nor to the oversympathetic receptionist. He hailed a cab, returned home, stowed the boxes neatly away in the corner, made himself a cup of coffee, and then hurled it at the window. It broke, glass flew. He stood amidst the wreckage or a moment, reflecting. He got a broom and swept the floor clean. Strike one. That’s all. I still have the fight in me, he told himself repeatedly. Lansing would never break him this way. He would always get up, pick himself up, move on, nail that superbastard. Jaws set, Smith replaced the broom, set the curtains down on the broken window, locked the front door, and went out. Lansing was reading the newspaper, sipping tea, in the lawn next door, dressed in a gown. He smiled at Smith, who didn’t return it.

He went to a bar. He wanted to down a few, to shake out the cobwebs. For an instant, he thought he saw Lansing as the bartender, sweeping down a hardball glass, grinning pompously down at him. He took a few tentative steps forward, to see he was mistaken. It was the usual bartender, Bob. Breathing relief, he went and sat at his usual seat. He ordered Gin and Tonic, and it must’ve been a half-dozen shots later that Lansing came and sat down beside him, ordering the same drink as him.

Smith ignored him until he spoke directly to him. “Alcohol.” He said, examining his own glass as if it were the Kohinoor diamond. “It’s a slow way to die, don’t you think, Mr. Smith?” Smith felt a simmering anger under his skin. “I’m not in a hurry. I still need to destroy you, you bastard. “ he said, as calmly as he could, his heart doing overtime all the while. Lansing chuckled in reply. “Such confidence!” He emptied his third shot. “You do know, Mr. Smith.” He said as he ordered for another. “ That I do not need to kill you, necessarily, to stop your meddling.” Smith froze.

“What the hell do you mean?” He growled.
“Whatever do I mean, I wonder. “ Lansing sipped his fourth. “I wish I was lucky enough to have a lovely wife, like you do, Mr. Smith.” He said, his tone almost innocent.

Smith felt his hands balling into a fist. “I’ll kill you. If you as much as- “ He was cut off by Lansing’s dry laughter. “What did I say to upset you, Mr. Smith? I merely commented upon my - admittedly - hopeless and unhappy romantic life.” Lansing said, fixing Smith in a cold, icy stare. “ I envy you.” He finished. “ I must congratulate you on your luck, Mr. Smith.” He resumed. “A woman with intellect as well as a perfect- “

Smith had had enough. He cut off Lansing, stood up, and grabbed hold of his collar. Raising his hand for a slug, he was stopped by someone. He looked behind to see who it was.

It was John Fielding.

“Save it.” He just said.
“Ah, the guardian angel. “ Lansing chuckled, adjusting his expensive collar. “I was wondering when he’d show up. “
“You got three seconds to beat it.”
“Before…?”
“Before you’re a casualty, you thug.”
”Violence in your heart. Ah. Youth…I remember, when I was your age..” He got up from his seat, downing his last shot. “ I’d have stayed away from a millionaire who considered me a miserable, annoying, brat.” He set down his shot with a thump, tossed some bills onto the table, and walked off.

Smith never let Lansing leave his sights as he walked out of the door. Then he turned to Fielding, gratitude in his eyes. “Thanks a lot, John.” Fielding patted him on the shoulder. “It’s nothing. Least I could do. You keep an eye out from now on.” Smith just grunted in response. He’d been keeping his eyes open for about five months. But he had to agree ; now that the book was coming out, he was in more danger.

Fielding hung around, having a few drinks with Smith. He needed that, a little pep talk to get his spirits up. Everything seemed to be going downhill for him ; he only hoped the book would turn his fortunes around. Unless Lansing went out of his way to mess it up somehow. Nonetheless, the drink with Fielding seemed to calm Smith down somewhat. Although he could’ve done better without Fielding’s constant reminders for him to keep writing, never give up, and keep an eye open. Chrissakes! He was fairly irritated. What does he think; I’m the guy from Memento or something? I can remember, goddamnit! Anyway, with a relatively better morale than what he had, when he’d walked in the bar, he left, bidding Fielding goodbye.

He took a bus, getting off at Landon Street. From there, it was a short walk to his house. Walking up the street to his house, he saw Lansing, walk in through the front door.

He must’ve stood a full second without breathing. Then, like a dead man shocked to life, he awkwardly whipped out his semi automatic, and ran across the street. He tried the door. Surprisingly, it was locked. The devil breaks into my house, and locks the door?! Working as fast as he could, he unlocked the door with his spare key, and barged in.

Empty. He checked the hallways, rushed through the living room, the kitchen, gun at the ready. Nothing again.

Upstairs!

Emily’s upstairs.

He ran maniacally up the steps, his throat closing in on him, drowning out his shouts to a muted whisper.

The bedroom.

He smashed in.

And immediately wished he’d died before seeing this.

Emily was sitting in front of the mirror, going through her nightly routine, dressed in her nightgown.

Lansing was there, behind her. He held her in a passionate embrace, face buried in her lush flowing hair, he was raining kisses down her throat and neck.

At the sound of the crash, both of them turned and looked at him in unison. Emily horrified and confused, Lansing with a smug grin. “Hello, Smith. “ He cooed, as Smith stood there, fixated in horror. “Sorry for missing the courtesy of shaking hands. As you can see,” Lansing smiled, taking a look at Emily, “I have my hands full.”

Smith screamed his lungs out, raised his gun, and fired.

Lansing fell with a neat hole between his eyes.

Smith was horrified, exhausted, and too shocked to comprehend anything but one. The obvious truth.

“What’s the matter!!?” Emily screamed, “What’re you doing? Where’d you get the gun? Why’d you fire at me! WHATS WRONG WITH YOU!?”

Just then, Smith, horror in his eyes amplified, saw a second figure rising from the bed.

John Fielding.

“What’s wrong, honey? “ With the identically smug grin Lansing once wore, Fielding spoke, having risen. He was naked, save for the sheets he was lying under.
“Oh hello, John. Finally figured everything out, have you? “ His smile never faltered.

A bomb went off inside John Smith’s head.

“GOD! “ He screamed, again and again.

“GOD!!” He fired at Fielding, shooting him again and again until he fell off the bed, chest ridden with bullet holes.

“GOD!!!” He fired at Emily, missing the head several times. He ditched the plan and shot her through the chest and stomach. He fired wildly until Emily was a bloody heap on the floor, bloodshot eyes horrified, looking up at Smith in mute agony.

“Help me…” He collapsed, down on his knees. Crying uncontrollably, he placed the cold hard steel against his temple and pulled the trigger.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

THE NEW YORK BANNER
19th JULY, 1997
MURDER-SUICIDE AT LANDON STREET

Staff Reporter

In a tragic incident last night, Mr. John Smith, 37, and his wife Mrs. Emily Berners-Smith, 39, perished in - what is believed to be, after preliminary investigations - a murder-suicide. Reportedly, Mr. Smith shot his wife, before turning the gun, a Benneli semi-automatic, on himself. The two bodies were recovered from the bedroom of the couple’s residence. A total of nine shots were fired, three of which killed Mrs. Smith, and one which did the same for Mr. John Smith. The rest of the five shots missed, apparently. They were recovered, lodged in the bedroom wall.

Quite peculiar, as to why so many shots were fired, and missed. “The guy must’ve lost his nerve. They’d been married for almost twelve years…It’s a shame, really.” Officer Edward Martins, NYPD, was quoted as saying so, later. Neighbors and acquaintances of the deceased couple report the marriage to be a happy and peaceful one, the love shared between them flawless. Thus, the plausible cause and/or motives for this tragedy have the authorities baffled. Although some attribute it to Mr. Smith losing his job, and his recent financial problems. “The intense emotional strain could probably have driven him over the edge”, a noted psychologist commented, “The recent downsurge of economy has hit us pretty hard ; and this tragedy can certainly be credited to it.”

The case remains open, and a formal investigation will be carried out by the NYPD, in this regard.

Author's Note (IMPORTANT. PLEASE READ)
-----------------------------------------------------

Ugh. It seems no one "got" the story. -_- Anyway, here's the real explanation. I think I was too subtle with it, for anyone to understand.

*BOTH FIELDING AND LANSING, their existence, their biography, their qualities, their actions in this story, were SIMPLY PRODUCTS OF SMITH'S IMAGINATION. They were in NO WAY real. Smith had this psychological condition where he TRULY BELIEVES his created characters(in his novel) are REAL. So whatever Lansing/Fielding do in this story are ILLUSIONS/HALLUCINATIONS of Smith's troubled and disturbed psyche.

That explains why :-

1> Lansing could be omnipresent - everywhere, everytime - threatening Smith (doing all dirty work HIMSELF,despite being a supervillain)

2>Only *TWO* bodies were recovered in the end (Read the last para again, carefully. I clearly wrote "the two bodies".) Lansing/Fielding were NOT REAL, and hence there were NO BODIES to be recovered. Smith discovering their 3-way adultery with Emily, as well as Smith's murder of the two, were again, HALLUCINATIONS. The only people REALLY, physically dead that night, were Smith and his wife.

Therein lies the twist + tragedy of the tale!! -_-

A Day In The Life..

2008-12-22T21:57:00.001+05:30

When I woke up, the day was breaking. I wanted to lay down and go right back to sleep, I was so tired already. You know, one of those post-wake-up blues, when you just want to go right back to bed? Yeah, one of those. And I almost did, too. Then I noticed the sunlight, coming in through the window, filtered through the curtains. You wouldn’t have believed it, if I’d tell you, that that sight totally rejuvenated me. I was from zero to sixty in less than two seconds. I jumped off the bed, and walked to the window. I slid the curtains aside, almost ripping them off in my excitement. The sunlight…one of the few good things left on this earth. I looked over the window. Nothing much to see, really. The city, bustling with life, cars honking, people walking around, trying to mind their own business, babies crying, the works. Nothing much to see, but it cheered me up nonetheless. It was a beautiful day.

IT’S A HORRIBLE DAY JUST LIKE ALL THE REST WHATS THE MATTER WITH YOU WHY DO YOU ALWAYS HAVE TO BE SO DAMN OPTIMISTIC SO DAMN UPBEAT FOR A CHANGE LOOK AT SOMETHING THE WAY ITS SUPPOSED TO LOOK EVERYTHING IS DARK GLOOMY PAINFUL EVERYONE’S PHONY RETARDED EVERYONE HAS IT IN FOR YOU IT’S ALL NEGATIVE LIFE’S NEGATIVE THERE’S NO POINT IN LIVING GODDAMN IT POP A FEW PILLS AND OD CUT YOUR WRISTS BLOW YOUR BRAINS THE FUCK OUT WHO THE FUCK CARES ANYWAY WHO THE FUCK GIVES TWO SHITS ABOUT YOU ANYWAY HUH IT’S A HORRIBLE DAY JUST LIKE ALL THE REST

Yep. It was a perfectly beautiful day.

YOU’RE IN DENIAL ASSHOLE SOONER OR LATER ITS GONNA KICK YOU IN THE FACE

Beautiful. Great day to be alive.

I turned on the radio, the music flowed around the room, as I got ready for the day. I was all positives, cheerful about today. Didn’t know why, but I felt it would be a grand day. God, I almost sang along while brushing. I was that happy. Today’s the greatest day of all. I couldn’t tell you why I felt that, I just did. I knew it. Then when everything was done, I got dressed. I chose a brown jacket to go with my yellow shirt. I contemplated the blue one, but, I don’t know why – the brown one just seemed to be begging me from the hanger. Pick me. Oh, please pick me. I won’t let you down, I swear. Please! Pick me! It breaks my heart when I hear something like that, even from something like a cruddy old jacket. Breaks my heart. I couldn’t wear the blue. I went with the brown.

TYPICAL HUH EVERYTHING THAT BEGS YOU YOU OBLIGE YOU GIVE UP CHANCES GREAT CHANCES IN YOUR LIFE BECAUSE OF THIS FUCKED UP ‘THING’ OF YOURS YOU GET A BONER FOR EVERYONE AND EVERYTHING THAT PLEADS WITH YOU AND REQUESTS YOU GOD IT MAKES ME SICK SEEING YOU IT’S SO PATHETIC IT’S HOLDING YOU BACK IT IS FORGET THE SKY JUST THE GROUND IS THE LIMIT FOR YOU YOU’RE DOOMED

I pulled on my mask, stepped out through an alley door. Whistling a tune. Went out to the street, took out my gun and shot the man nearest to me. He screamed and fell, clutching his chest. Others around us screamed, pointing at me. I calmly shot them. The man with the orange sweater – I shot in his stomach. He looked like the type of person who didn’t like to die so fast. It was point blank, I really didn’t need much aim. But my aim’s pretty good. When I was a kid, I could shoot a bird on a wall about sixty yards off, with an air-rifle. You should really hear about the time I got into this terrific mess with my uncle Kenneth, over this air-rifle thing. It’s a pretty long story. And a sad one, too. I got that taken away from me. I remember, I was six then. God, I’d cried so much.

DON’T DIGRESS LOOK HERE SHOOT THIS BITCH IN THE HEAD SHE’S SCREAMING TOO DAMN MUCH GIVING ME A HEADACHE

She fell, the horrified look in her eyes a permanent one. She had beautiful eyes, not as good as Dana though. She had the most beautiful eyes I’d ever seen. In fact, she had the most beautiful smile I’d ever seen, too. She was amazing. If you’d seen her, you’d agree with me.

RETARD JUST CONCENTRATE YOUR PUNY LITTLE BRAIN ON HURTING THESE PEOPLE SEE IT’S NOT THAT HARD ESPECIALLY IF YOU THINK ABOUT HOW MUCH THEY HAD IT IN FOR YOU YES THEY DID ’M SURE THAT FRIENDLY LOOKING ASSHAT WITH THE COVERALLS WOULD’VE CRACKED YOUR HEAD OPEN WITH THAT WRENCH OF HIS HE’D HAVE FIRST CHANCE HE’D GET

The man with the blue coveralls I shot through his throat. Hey, you know what? Red mixed with blue makes a really nice color. Violet. Definitely one of my favourites. That reminds me. I’ll have to get some flowers for my room. I was thinking maybe something in violet. Roses? Which brings us to another point. Why does everyone run after roses? I mean, what’s so special about them? Yeah they’re pretty and decent smelling and all, but to tell you the truth – roses have no character. Lilies on the other hand – ah. There you have a nice flower. Lucky lilies come in purple. Unlike others. I wish everything in the world would come in purple. Then I’d love them more.

I slipped past, into another alley. I know these alleyways like the back of my hand. I pulled off my mask and threw it into the garbage. I stuffed my pistol in my pocket and twisted through several alleyways, emerging out of one near another section of the street. I stepped out, got in a bus, and was off. I could just hear the commotion coming from the other part of the street round the bend. People were running there.

When I reached the office, I went over and sat down in my cubicle. Within minutes I was paid a visit by my boss. He got all in my face, on one of his tirades. He was just being a real pain in the neck. I wish he’d stop blabbering so much. He made my ears ache.

THIS BASTARD DESERVES TO DIE BLOW HIS FUCKING HEAD OFF I DON’T CARE HOW YOU DO IT JUST FUCKING DO IT FOR FUCK’S SAKES KILL HIM HE DESERVES TO BE KILLED THERE HE IS SO CLOSE TO YOU YOU CAN’T MISS POINT BLANK SHOOT HIM IN HIS HEART OR BETTER YET BLOW HIS BRAINS OUT IT’D BE GREAT YOU COULD PLASTER THE WALLS WITH HIS BRAINS THEN THE OFFICE IS A DRAB ANYWAY KILL HIM KILL HIM

I smiled at him pleasantly, and told him the reports were already done, the additional work would barely take fifteen minutes. He’d have everything at his desk in half an hour. He hadn’t expected that. He blinked, grumbled something appreciative and stormed off. Dana from the next cubicle reached over and gave me a thumbs up. I was her hero right then. Dana’s a wonderful girl. I really wished I could take her out for dinner sometime.

WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING YOU’RE COMPLETELY IGNORING ME TO HELL WITH YOU I TOLD YOU TO SHOOT THAT BASTARD YOU DIDN’T AND NOW YOURE FLIRTING WITH SOME CHICK LOOK HERES ANOTHER CHANCE BRAINS ARE BRAINS ANYWAY HER BRAINS WILL LOOK JUST AS GOOD ON THE WALL DO IT YOU HAVE YOUR GUN YOU’VE STILL GOT FOUR BULLETS LEFT IN THE CLIP JUST POINT AND SHOOT PULL THE TRIGGER AND KILL HER

So I gathered up my courage and asked her.

“Hey Dana, do you…umm..” Oh god I was fumbling with words! I hate it when this happens. Can’t even talk to her straight.
“Yeah?” She was looking at me expectantly. A slight, pleasant, smile on her face.

SHOOT HER IN THE HEAD OR RIGHT THROUGH THAT PRETTY LITTLE SMILE OF HERS GOD SHE LOOKS SO TERRIBLE AND ORDINARY YOU COULD GET MUCH BETTER AND MORE ANYWAY SHE’S GOOD FOR KILLING MAYBE SO DO IT RETARD WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR

“Well I was …er..” That’s it. I was out of words. I had to something quick. I had to do something right, and I had to do it fast. “I..that was..” I was slipping!

THAT’S IT I KNOW THE FEELING YOU’RE FEELING SO STRESSED NOW YOUR HEARTS BEATING SO FAST YOU NEED TO DO SOMETHING SO DO IT TAKE YOUR GUN OUT POINT IT AT HER AND SHOOT I KNOW YOU’RE ITCHING FOR IT THIS IS WHAT YOU SHOULD LIVE FOR FOR GODS SAKES SHOOT HER IN HER PRETTY LITTLE FACE IF ITS SO BEAUTIFUL TO YOU JUST DO IT DO IT KILL HER

“I’m free tonight. You want to take me out, right? Sure. I’d love to.”

THIS IS YOUR LAST CHANCE GODDAMNIT SHOOT HER SHOOT HER TAKE YOUR GUN OUT AND KILL HER LET HER DIE AND DIE AND DIE I WANT HER TO DIE YOU WANT HER TO DIE WE ALL WANT TO SEE HOW HER PRETTY LITTLE EYES LOOK STARING HORRIFIED AT THE CEILING BLOOD SPLATTERED ALL OVER HER BODY ALL CUT UP AND SLASHED TO RIBBONS CHEWING ON HER SKIN YOU’D PEEL OFF AFTER SHE DIES TRUST ME YOU’LL LOVE IT WHY ARE YOU IGNORING ME DAMMNIT

“Oh…wow. That’s…awesome, really. “ I could feel myself smile, right through all the cold sweat.
“So, when should we meet? “
“Er..eight o’ clock?”
“Eight’s fine.”
“Mendelbrot Café? “
“Mendelbrot’s a great place! It’ll do nicely.”
“Okay! Good then. See you at eight.”
“Yeah. Now lets get back to work before the boss gets freaky.”
“Yeah. Right.” I gave a big, cheesy grin.

I hummed along quietly, happily, while typing on the computer.

It was a beautiful, beautiful day.

Thank You

2008-12-16T22:06:00.001+05:30

I know it was you. I know it was you who did it. I know it was you who forced me out. You forced to quit the band, taking your songs with you, unless I was out. We were in a rut then. We were dying to get our album out. You threatened to pull the plug on it unless I was kicked. I know you did it. I know you relished doing it. I know it satisfied your ego. You felt better, doing it.

You know it killed me. The band was all I had. Music was all I really ever lived for. And you could take that away from me in the five minutes you took, rambling on about your opinions and what you wanted. Laying down the options. A binary choice. Either I left, or you did, with all your work that was so essential to the band.

The letter I was given, said a lot. It said why I was no longer needed in the band. It told me why I was being replaced. It told me that the band would be better off, this way. It didn’t tell me the truth.

Did they know the truth? I think they guessed.

When women don’t sleep with you, they don’t deserve to be in the same band as you, do they?

I could have told them everything. But what would that have accomplished? They desperately needed you. Your work. Your abilities. Your songs. The band needed the new album to survive. Without you, there would be nothing for them as a band.

So I had to go.

Do you know how much I had to go through, after that? Let’s start with the bidding goodbye part. I had to do that with every one of my bandmates. None of them could look me in the eye. They had the floor fixated in their gaze, their heads bowed. Except you. You were basking in the glory of your achievement. The band was finally yours, now. You were fit to shape it in any way you liked. Whichever way you wanted. Why wouldn’t you have that grin on your face? I swear, I felt like slugging you right then. But all I did was walk by you, out of the door.

Then there were the journalists. I told them like it was. It caused quite a stir. You were ready, of course. Along with the testimonies by the rest of the band. How I was like a pop diva more than anything, how difficult I was to work with, and how you and the band were uncomfortable with the direction I was taking the band in.

Ironic, isn’t it?

That last insinuation you made against me. I was taking the band in a direction all of you weren’t comfortable with. Yet when your skanky new girlfriend took my place as the lead singer, the band turned into an ugly mix of glam-goth rock. You had mainstream success like never before. The band was the talk of the world, Angelforce was the new Evanescence.

The purists reviled all the band’s albums after that, including that one.

You fired every original member that hadn’t already quit.

I gritted my teeth, went about with my life as a rock and metal journalist. Oh, I turned down an offer to review your album. They got the point. Didn’t pressurize me after that.

I gritted my teeth and watched the vision I had, all go to hell.

Then I met him. He’s the best thing to happen to me, I swear. Imagine a person who’ll take away all your sorrows, made you feel good about yourself, no matter how messed up you were. Inside, and outside. Imagine someone who didn’t try to be nice, he was. Didn’t try to show how much he liked you, he just did. And he knew you realized it, too. Didn’t try to act interested when you were talking, he genuinely would be. (Unless I talk about something deplorably uninteresting just to test him, ha ha) Imagine someone who didn’t tell you that he cared so much for you, that he’d always be there for you, that he’d never ever leave you, that he’d die without you. He didn’t need to tell any of those. He knew I knew, and I knew he did. We knew that.

He made me forget all the bitterness, all the dark inside. He helped me move on. And without his help, I don’t think I could ever move on, ever let it go.

I want you to know, I’m happy now.

How do I know?

When the sun sets, and we’re down on the beach. Standing together. Holding hands. The waves washing over our feet, the sounds, the sights, the smell, the aura of contentment. That’s when I know, I’m happy. Happier than I could have ever imagined.

I heard about your band’s slumping sales, decreasing fanbase, and fading popularity. You alienated most of our fans with the changed musical style. And the new fans you’d made are sick and tired of the monotonous, musically bare pop-metal you pump out, album after album. The band’s off-stage dramatics don’t help much, either. The entire industry predicts ; it’s all downhill for you, now onwards.

You’re probably furious, reading this. You must be thinking I’m jumping for joy, now. I’m not, beLIEve me.

I told you – I’ve moved on. Put the past behind me. I’m not denying anything - music is still my life. It’s still a part of me. Our days with the band – Something I’ll never forget - It’s something I’ll cherish for the rest of my days. But I don’t dwell on that anymore. I don’t bring it up to hurt myself. No, not any longer.

So here I am, writing this letter to you.

I want you to know, I don’t hold a grudge against you for anything. Yeah, it sounds crazy, but it’s true. I felt angry, disgusted at you. I hated your guts.

I realize now, you were the one responsible for so much good in my life.

The future that I dreamt of, the present I’m living. I’m blissfully happy. It’s all because of you. If I hadn’t been forced to leave, if I hadn’t moved New York, I would never have known happiness such as this, awaiting me. I’ll forever be in your debt for that.

Once again, thank you.

Be well.

Yours indifferently,
Jillian

----

In a misty veil, misplaced,
Where castles in the air will be -
No longer seen –
As something out of reach.

In time –
The dream will be erased,
So many things will never be -
The way they seemed –
And pride will have its fall
At last…

The Sinners

2008-11-25T21:12:00.002+05:30

The Silence

I saw it all.

I was in the corridor, working with my teammates to put out the fire engulfing the staircase. It was going badly, and we all had our complete attention to the job at hand.

But I saw it all.

They were the absolute bests of our force. The kind of people rookies were told to look up to. Good human beings. Inseparable friends.

Then I saw it all.

I kept quiet.

Partly because I knew both were dead, and I wanted them to be remembered unblemished, unfaltered, well respected.

But mostly because I didn’t want others to think I was insulting their memories, attempting to discredit their characters. I was always seen as somewhat of a rival to them, professionally, and regarded as being jealous of their success, and their friendship.

Their deaths were mysterious; a lot of investigations were carried out. A few years later, the investigations were reopened, on request of their families. They went nowhere, of course, since the bodies were damaged beyond forensic analysis. And as I said, there were no witnesses - I never spoke about it. The departments, their families, were all distressed, unable to accept the explanation that they could’ve just succumbed to a mistake in the field. They were perfect. They weren’t the type to make mistakes.

I kept the truth to myself. That caused a lot of stress and suffering to many people.

Am I sinner for that? For hiding the bitter truth? Isn’t it better this way?

The Coward

They call it a ‘near death experience’. It’s a phenomenon; when in a potentially fatal situation, your entire life seems to flash by your eyes. Other experiences during a NDE – time seeming to slow down, you viewing yourself in that predicament, hovering outside your body. A flickering light in the distance, cutting through all the darkness. Impending doom. You’re lucky if you get out of it alive.

It’s true, I guess. At least, that’s what happened to me. Images of my family. A montage of memories, flashing by. The flames burning around me, rushing forward, salivating, licking their lips in anticipation of the sinner’s flesh.

But am I the only sinner here? No. But that doesn’t matter now. Condemnation is what I’m fated to. Divine retribution, perhaps. But it seems difficult to believe that divine powers condemn a sinner so easily; consign them to oblivion without chances of redemption. Then again, I wonder, if I’d been given chance at redemption, would it have mattered? Would I have done the right thing on my second chance? And the answer is in a resounding negative.

The betrayal shatters the image of the betrayer. Destroys his mask. We all wear a mask; compassion, kindness, sympathy, peace, mercy ; merely masks to our real nature. Our real nature – that of a survivalist, through and through. We’d do anything to survive. We’d sacrifice all to save our necks. This mask is destroyed – this savage, brutal survivalist in us is brought out only when we are challenged with our lives, when we are challenged with our survival. This is human nature. Minus all superfluous traits.

Judging by that light, I did nothing wrong.

He called for me, pleaded with me to turn back, to come back for him, save him.

I ran.

He was engulfed by flames. Pinned under concrete that would require heavy machinery to budge. I was one man. I couldn’t save him. To walk through that inferno would be risking life. I chose my life over his.

I left him to his fate. He was gone already.

We’re firefighters. Entrusted to save lives. Rescue people. But we’re humans. When given that little nudge, selfishness overtakes altruism. And that’s precisely what happened here.

Just another day at work, just another building on fire, just another bunch of lives in our hands. Everything was going smoothly, clockwork, until something exploded on the floor above. Probably the gas.

I remember him, standing a few feet to the left of me, manning the hose. And then, he wasn’t there any more. The floor above had given way, he was pinned under half a ton of rubble and debris. On cue, fresh flames erupted, numerous small explosions raged all around us. Knocked to me feet, I saw him feebly calling for me, arm raised out, reaching out for the hand – my hand – that would never meet his. I hesitated for a bit, and then staggered away, as flames devoured the room behind me.

I reasoned with myself – the rationales playing out in my mind. It was the smartest thing to do. I couldn’t possibly save him; I’d only be adding myself to the casualties, trying to save a dead man. He’d have been dead in minutes. No. I couldn’t have saved him. I had to go, save myself. Survive, for the sake of my lovely wife and two children. I chose my life, my family, forcing myself to forget his. I wrestled with my conscience, and strangled it.

I’d just finished killing my conscience, when it happened.

The Vindicator

I stood there, in that hellhole, wishing to be burned in the white hot, cleansing flames. There was every bit of justification for what I’d done. Nothing in the world could indict me of evil. But somehow, it felt wrong. I felt I’d sinned. There was a storm raging in me, a replica of the firestorm all around me. Conflicts with my conscience.

But…he could have come back. I knew he could. But he didn’t.

Betrayal is something easy enough to talk about, to write down, to listen to. Betrayal in reality, is something far more dreadful. You never really know the emotions until you experience them. The agony, the defenselessness of it all, when your outstretched arm is never held; when help never comes. You trust someone enough to know that they’ll be there for you, when it all goes down. And then you see, it doesn’t happen. That person turns his back on you, not caring about you in the least.

The sheer helplessness of lying there, when death is certain but slow. You have all the time in the world, but you can’t do a thing to save yourself. Your only source of hope walking out, saving himself. That feeling, however short lived, equals a lifetime of torment.

We’re firefighters. Entrusted to save lives. Rescue people. Why did he abandon me, then? Why did he leave one of his own behind? My pleas fell on deaf ears. My face burned, my arms burned, my body wracked with pain. My lungs were filled with superheated fumes. Still, I called for him. I pleaded him to save me, to come back, to not end our friendship in betrayal.

He looked at me. He looked at the flames. He looked at me again. He ran.

I experienced betrayal.

The flames around me set off the flames of revenge in me. I wanted vengeance. I wanted to make him suffer as I did.

The flames fueled me. Near superhuman strength allowed me to crawl out from underneath the wreck. My legs gave out from under me, but I crawled on, the pickaxe in my hand.

I found him soon enough. Just as I wanted him.

Alone.

He must have sensed it, he turned around to face me.

Somehow, I couldn’t use the blade of the axe. The blunt end had to suffice.

I was sure I’d broken his neck. My thirst for revenge - my strength. I relished the impact.

He fell – down to the floor below, through the gaping hole in the floor.

He was unconscious, he wasn’t dead.

Yet.

The flames would do that job for him.

My injuries would do the job for me.

Free As A Bird

2008-11-15T13:18:00.008+05:30

My first impression of him was that he was a very strange boy.

He was far too frail, far too weak. It was because he was sick. That’s what we’d been told, anyway. When I look back, I don’t remember him exactly. It’s an elusive memory. Looking into the past – trying to remember him - is like looking through a stained glass with a downpour outside.

He never did a thing worth remembering. He wasn’t the boy who shocked the world with an amazing feat. He wasn’t the boy who was brilliant in studies, despite his disabilities. He didn’t do a Shakespeare. He wasn’t Alva Edison. He wasn’t …special. He was a normal, crippled boy, paralyzed from the waist down. Confined to a wheelchair since he was seven.

He used to watch us playing in the Mason’s courtyard. Watching, from their window that seemed to remain perpetually open, throughout the day.

I don’t know, but I always had a distinct feeling that he’d be there, looking out his window, at any time of the day. If I went out to check, any time of the day, or night, I’d find him there. Gazing outside, spellbound. He was fascinated by everything, it seemed. The grains of dust of the courtyard we played in, the grass growing in the lawn, the insects crawling in it, each drop of water from the sprinkler hitting the ground, the clouds, the sky, everything. But he seemed content with just watching. Rarely came outside, preferring to watch the world from his window instead.

“Who do you want to be, when you grow up?” – he’d ask.
”I don’t know. “
“Haven’t you ever wondered? What it would be, if you could be someone? “
“I am someone.”
“No. Its like……something you’d love to be. Someone who’s special….You know, like an astronaut, or a …baseball player. Or a pilot.”
“I could be a big lawyer like my uncle. He must be really special to people.”
He would shake his head, disappointed. “A lawyer wouldn’t be something special. It’d be boring. I want to be something that I’d love being. ”
“Like what?”
“I’d love to be a baseball player.”
“Why?”
“You know…running base to base, scoring the winning run for your team, sealing the victory with a homerun, taking a diving catch, sending off the opponents’ star player. Bottom of the ninth. He hits a huge one…its going…going….off the far end…its almost gone…McCarthy’s making a run for it, running back, gloved hand outstretched….it’d be the second catch of the century if he gets it…He hits the wall, jumps up, crashes into the wall! And…he’s got it! McCarthy has won it for the Giants! Unbelievable!”

And right then, he’d be rudely interrupted by one of us. Someone would always speak up.

You can’t be a baseball star, Clive, your legs are all messed up.

He should’ve been miserable then. This would be his cue to stop abruptly, give a teary eyed glance at the speaker, and then turn his wheelchair away from us, and towards the open window. He should then look outside, his vision smoke-screened by tears, trying to hide his tears, in a breaking voice, he’d announce it was time for us to leave him alone. He wanted to be left alone.

But he never did all those things. There were many who laughed at him, made fun of him, ridiculed and mocked him day in and day out. Of course, they never came out blunt in front of him, but he knew that they did it, nonetheless. He knew it better than anyone else. I knew it hurt him. It made him feel useless, hopeless, worthless. And he hid it. As I said, he never reacted in a way everyone expected him to. He never got angry at us, his face never betrayed sorrow. Someone would say he couldn’t be a baseball star. He’d pass it off like it was nothing, with no more than a second’s pause, he’d move on to the next idea. Something else he wanted to become. Something else which appealed to him.

We could never stop him. We always stopped the one who jeered at him. Maybe it was pity, sympathy. Maybe it was because we liked how he spoke. Describing his dreams, his ambitions, in a clear voice, making complicated things so easy to understand. He spoke in such a…grown-up way. For us kids, then harboring a lifelong ambition of being an adult, it was oddly mesmerizing to see him, one of us, having advanced so far down the path of adulthood. Anyway, to us, it didn’t matter, really. We just liked the way he spoke, I guess.

If some big-nosed brat pointed out that he couldn’t play baseball, he’d state how he wanted to be a racing car driver. “Dying moments of the last lap. McCarthy and Jennings are going neck to neck. His engine is going overdrive. Plates are falling off, sparks flying, tires squealing under the immense velocity, barely able to keep up. McCarthy initiates a feint! Jennings shifts to the left, thinking he’d be overtaken from there. Is the ploy working? McCarthy speeds through on the right! No! Jennings blocks! The last corner coming up! It’s now or never for McCarthy! Here they go! Blazing into the corner, hugging the best lines possible! No! McCarthy pulls up on the left! Amazing! He’s overtaken Jennings! It’s home stretch for McCarthy! That’s the checkered flag! McCarthy bags the Championship!”

His torment, his prison – in himself. His body.

His only means of escape – through himself. His mind.

He ran thirty yards to take a backhanded catch to win the game. He sped through U-bends without braking, edging out his opponents. He rushed into Woo-esque gunfights bare handed, beating the Mafia to a pulp, second only to Bruce Lee. He ambushed and shot down an entire wing of fighter jets, scrambling on behind him. He bombed the enemy headquarters and ejected at the last possible second, escaping unscathed, to receive a hero’s welcome from his squad.

His family was torn up over it. It’s one of those things that doesn’t make sense. His father was angry with his mother. He felt it was her fault. Her mom was one of those old fashioned moms. She never really got angry. She never let loose all her frustration. She took all the abuse and humiliation. She shed silent tears. For years she bore the double-edged sword of mental and physical misery. But here is where we stray away from the stereotype.

The father loved his son. His crippled, disabled son. His flesh and blood that he so despised. The reason over which he fought with his wife.

He loved him, more than anything else. One moment, enraged, he would shout at the mother, blaming her for the useless, worthless son they had. The next moment, he would shower his son with love, promising never to leave his side. Always to stand by him, support him through all the twisting overpasses, bridges, lanes and alleyways that metaphorised life. And all that was genuine.

But the worse part of it was, he knew the hell his parents went through, the conflicts they faced; with the world, as well as between themselves. He could understand their pain. He could feel every agonizing bit of it. He hated himself for it. It all compounded his torment.

Somewhere deep within that cheery façade, he hated life. He wished it would be better. Of course, who wouldn’t? Especially someone in his place. None of us want to feel pain; we all want to be happy. We all wish things would turn out better; wish we would only be blissfully happy. As I said, he was a normal kid. He’d hurt, just like normal people would. It seems strange, not to mention downright creepy, that an eleven year old would discuss and talk about death. But he did.

“Sometimes, don’t you think, that you aren’t really doing people around you much good? “ - He’d say. It was a rhetorical question. He carried on, not waiting for an answer. Not that we could answer, anyway.

“Sometimes, I think people would be better off without me. I don’t wanna upset everyone around. “

“I think, is a life like this worth having? Living as a burden on those who care deeply for you? I take a decision. I make up my mind. I need to leave. This world would be a better place without me.”

“And then, Bobby, I think more about it. I go over the pros and cons. What if, life was one of those things, those type of things you don’t know you have, till it’s gone? This thought sticks with me. I call off my decision.”

“There’s more things I need to do. More things I need to see. It might not make me too happy, but I need to find out if life really is what it’s hyped up to be. Maybe I’ll off myself when I’ve seen enough. Done everything I can do. But not now. “

His quasi-philosophical moments were the ones which freaked us out the most. Exchanging glances, we’d excuse ourselves, suddenly thinking of a thousand fun things we could do, a thousand errands we needed to run. We’d bid goodbye and leave, with him staring out the window of his bedroom, the sunlight filtering through, illuminating his face. A boy who grew up too fast. Seen far too many things, experienced way too much, way before the right age.

Shuffling out, I’d always be the last to leave. And I’d hear his latest play-by-play. Last quarter, two seconds to the end. They’re down by two points. They need three to win. Porter, their star shooting guard was sidelined moments before. The game starts up again. Barely a second to go. McCarthy has the ball at halfcourt.

I’d leave, closing the bedroom door behind me. I didn’t need to hear the rest. I knew how the game would end.

He wanted to win. He loved to win. He needed to win.

The result was predetermined.

He was born to lose.

So he had no choice.

But to live to win.

Hurt

2008-10-22T16:28:00.012+05:30

Pain is a wonderful thing. Someone once said that personal, private, solitary pain is more terrifying than what anyone else can inflict on us. It’s really true. What would the world be without pain? The perfect utopia? No. Some unnatural, unreal, pretend-world. Yeah, it’d definitely be the latter. We appreciate happiness, joy, delight – only and only because we know what pain, suffering, sorrow is.

I hurt myself today
To see if I still feel
I focus on the pain
The only thing that's real
The needle tears a hole
The old familiar sting
Try to kill it all away
But I remember everything

So many of us are fascinated with death. The supernatural, actually. The purported posthuman state of existence. But people fear death even more than pain. It’s really strange, that they fear death. Life hurts a lot more than death. Life was created for that purpose. It’s gonna smash you, mash you, let you have the full brunt. It’ll show no mercy, no regrets. It’s like a never ending fire-at-will order against you. Life’s sadistic. It loves pain. It’ll keep you down. It won’t let you hit back. It won’t let you rise above. But so what ? That’s life. We get hurt. We get pissed off. We cry. We pick ourselves up and keep moving. We keep on taking pain, we keep on bleeding. We deal with it. That’s life. And in death, the pain is over. So we have something to look forward to the journey, after all.

It’s odd we think about these things at the dusk of our lives. Like me. I had a lovely wife, kids, a perfect life. And no, this doesn’t turn out bad in the end. This doesn’t turn out to be some neo-noir crime drama, the lone fall guy going on a rampage against crooks messing up his family. No. None of that. This is reality. In reality, once we make it, we usually have good lives. As I was saying, lovely wife, kids, cushy job, a perfect life. It went on. I was in heaven for almost forty years. The kids, Brian and William, grew up, did great at school, got 1300 in the SAT’s, got plush jobs, fell in love and got married to two of the most angelic beauties me and Karen had ever seen. They made it. We were damned proud of ‘em.

And there ended the fairytale life I’d been living for the past four decades. I retired. The kids had already moved out, I guess that’s a natural thing here, but it just feels so….. damn unfair for parents when that happens. A void is created in our lives. We try to push it away. We tell ourselves it’s right. It’s supposed to happen. I want them to be doing well, right? They can’t be living in this old house with their folks forever now can they? No matter how hard we tell ourselves that, it still damned hurts so bad inside. Our kids are a part of ourselves. We cant just let it go, we can’t move on completely. It feels so empty without them here, with us. We suppress that feeling, but yeah, it hurts inside. It’s crazy – it’s something only a parent would understand.

So the kids went. I kept up my stoic view on things. Me and Karen – we tried to make it through the second half of our lives together. The house was somewhat empty, the heart was somewhat empty, but we kept going. Karen was my soul mate in every sense of the word. If she hadn’t been there then, I would’ve lost my mind. We’d accompanied each other on each other’s journey of life. We never knew sorrow. One of us was always there to pick the other up. We kept on moving forward, come what may.

Brian was busy with his work and family. So was William. For a while, both made trips here with their families. And of course, during festivities too. Those were delightful times for us two. Those were probably the only things we looked forward to, in the year. But gradually, it all faded away. Brian moved to Long Island, William stayed here, but rarely visited.

And then, Karen passed away.

It was horrible. Of course, William, Brian both turned up for the funeral, so did some family friends. It was horrible. I couldn’t stand it. The very brightest candle of all was extinguished. As long as she was there, I had something to live for. Something to look forward to, as long as I was still breathing. She’d helped keep me on my feet, through all the toughest turns of my life. And now it was all gone.

I wear this crown of thorns
Upon my liar's chair..
Full of broken thoughts,
I cannot repair..
Beneath the stains of time,
The feelings disappear,
You are somewhere else,
I am still right here…

The void was complete. The utter emptiness was finally absolute. An ancient man. Alienated. Lonely. Nothing to live for, nothing to do in life, but ride out his fat pension.

Alienated : by his own flesh and blood. He was old. Unnecessary. Lonely : His sons had already been lost to him. And now, he’d lost the most important thing in his life.

Sitting in this lonely house, that’s what I muse about. That’s what I discuss with my own consciousness.

What have I become?
My sweetest friend?
Everyone I know,
Goes away, In the end..

This isn’t really pain as we know it. This isn’t nearly suffering as we understand it. But yes – this is pain. This is suffering. This is the almost total lack of any feeling whatsoever. This is the void, the bottomless void in my life. This is the total absence of all happiness and pain. This is my own personal hell. And this pain is more than any other pain that could be inflicted upon me, by anything.

All that you’ve just read isn’t just some old, bitter man’s ramble. It doesn’t beg for your sympathy. It just states the facts as they are, in my case, at least.

This is an old man, wishing he’d rather have pain instead. It’s better to feel pain, bone crushing, physical pain, than this hell. It’s better to feel physical pain, than this pain, that is the void, eating away at me.

And you could have it all
My empire of dirt
I will let you down
I will make you hurt……

I feel like the eponymous character of Hemingway's The Old Man And The Sea.

Ready to welcome death with open arms.

Fighting to stay alive, as long as I’m able.

If I could start again -
A million miles away,
I would keep myself.
I would find, a way.

Superhero

2008-10-15T10:59:00.002+05:30

The rain washes over me, the cold hard spikes drilling into me like Lucifer’s thorns. The rain is seen as cleansing, purifying to some. A novelty, a luxury I have no ability to appreciate. To me it’s just what it is. Cold. Hard. Penetrating. The kind of menace that can fill you with gloom, despair. The kind of menace that foretells destruction. The memory, associated with this, I make every effort to forget. The menace haunts me nonetheless.

Every drop that hits me, every blade of raindrop that hits me, makes my soul scream with agony. It makes me remember who I really am. A powerless being. Engulfed by the delusion of being powerful. Able to make a difference. All because of a goddamned accident. A chance. Luck. I got lucky. I got a chance to do something with my insignificant life. But I never realized that ; I never thought I could make people’s lives better. Safer. Protected.

But it was them. They accepted me. They talked about me on the front pages and primetime broadcasts. They rolled out the comic books, films and action figures. Their children looked up to me, imitating me, wanting to be me. They named me their savior, their defender, their guardian angel.

Their hero.

And I believed them. I truly believed them. I was on top of the world. I could face the world, It seemed ; I had their support. I had their confidence. I had their love.

But then on, it was a downward spiral. It was just like tonight. Raining. The downpour obscuring the details. All you see is a haze. It clouds your judgment. It clouds your spirits. And situations like these, make a noir poet outta you, and you speak and think only in metaphors. But all the noir imagery in the world wouldn’t glorify it. It’s just the way it was. Hard up, dirty truth.

They all saw me kill the man on top of that bridge, throw his body down, crashing down to the underpass, a fall of more than a hundred feet.

But… how could they have known?

I never killed him. He did it himself. The man was under orders of my arch enemy. It was all deception. A ploy to get rid of me. A smear campaign.

And it worked.

The media was all up in a frenzy over it. The TV channels, magazines, and papers that were fawning all over me yesterday were now clawing at my throat.

Everyone loves a hero. But as it was, everyone hated a villain too. And they made me out to be exactly that. A ruthless killer, who would throw innocent civilians off bridges for petty crimes. Suddenly, they were digging up my past. Who was I? Where did I come from? What was the source of my powers?

A full fledged smear campaign. It worked better than they could’ve ever imagined. The people turned against me. My dark past, one I had consigned to oblivion, coming back as a weapon in their hands. Their hands. The peoples’ hands. The same people who loved me, who placed their implicit trust in me, now my enemies. They picketed in the streets, they held meaninglessly violent riots, voicing their protest against me. And yeah, next to join the crucifixion crew were the parent groups. They lashed out the hardest against me. They’d seemed to have forgotten the appreciation week they organized for me, and all my fame with their own kids. All the comic books, movies, action figures, playsets, vanished overnight, labeled as having glorified violence.

It was my arch-enemy that planned and executed this Machiavellian scheme. But no, in my eyes, the real antagonist in all this was the people. The goddamned bunch of hypocrites I vowed to protect and preserve, whose lives I vowed to make safer. The people, who named me their fucking guardian angel.

The people, their media made me the hero. Made me the villain.

Sure, I’m a villain. Just as you say.

In this fucked up world that I’ve been a victim of - devoid of any and all justice and fairness - we’re all villains. We’re all a bunch of goddamned criminals.

You made me the hero. You wanted a hero.

But you don’t deserve a hero.

You made me a villain.

Do you want a villain?

No?

But you sure do deserve one.

No worries.

I’m here to oblige you.

Better find a safe place to hide….

Love In Vein

2008-09-26T14:55:00.003+05:30

Lying cheek to cheek in your cold embrace, it’s an awkward mix of satisfaction, pleasure, the terror, and the horror. I am oddly at peace here. An eternity of hell would be preferable to this, and yet I wish to be nowhere in the world, but here, with you. I know….it’s you – all I feel now is because of you. You have me in your enchantment.

You lay there, sleeping……. ‘sleeping’….that’s a strange word in this context. Do you even sleep? Maybe, ‘sleep’ is just a word I use, describing something I do not understand. Maybe, you’re not asleep now, anyway. Maybe it’s just your way of putting me at ease, your way of comforting me; making me feel like I still dwell within regularity. Even as I wonder this, you’re wide awake, reading my thoughts with faint amusement, savoring the immense control you hold over me.

As if on cue, her eyes snap open, and she smiles. A sly, knowing grin. I was right.

She rose up, drawing her raven hair back, and drew up her legs to her chest ; never breaking eye-contact with me the entire time. “You didn’t let me finish the job last night. “. Her voice is like a knife on velvet. Sensuous. Lethal. So soft, so tragic. She could kill with angelic grace. And I’d beg for it.
“I…didn’t..” I manage to stutter out something.
“Didn’t what? Hmm? “ The voice gets softer, even more charming.
“I didn’t…want it.”
“No? Why ever not? “
“I don’t think I want to turn into…..”
“That’s what they all say, love. Funny how that never stands.”
“No.” I said, my voice finding some solid ground. “ I’m sure I don’t want it. “
“You’ll want to stay your utterly weak, fragile, far too frail self then? ” She’s almost smiling. She knows she’ll talk me into it. She knows she’ll get her way.
“Yes.”
“Can’t I change your mind? “ She asks, almost cooing this time.
“No..”
“Are you sure? “ Her voice is almost a throaty moan now, as she leans forward, eyes locked with mine again, and holds my face in her hands, kissing me deeply. She digs at my mouth with her tongue. It’s intoxicating. I find myself unable to resist her as she slowly pushes me back down, enveloping me. It’s blissful, ecstatic. The kiss lasts almost for a minute, until she raises her mouth, and, smiling, bares her pearly white fangs, poised to sink down on my throat.

I push her away, and get up. The resonating cascade of emotions that had been built up, breaks apart in an instant. She’s almost hurt by what I did. She just sits there, leaning against the pillow, turning her head sideways, locking me in her disappointed gaze. “You’re so damn stubborn.” She says. Venomous emphasis on every word, voice clearly betraying discontentment. “Yeah well you can’t blame me for trying to be humane.” I reply, still struggling, trying to return my breathing to normal.

She folds her arms, clearly annoyed. “I can’t believe you humans.”.
“Why ever not?”
“I can’t believe you humans…it’s almost ridiculous!”
“What is? “
“Your fascination with our kind. I don’t get it at all. You endlessly revere us, your literature, your arts – even some of your lifestyles - overflows in awe of us. And yet , you dread us. You’re terrified of us. I just don’t get it….what is your fascination with us anyway?”
“….I don’t know. It’s probably a morbid attraction of sorts.”
“What is it about us? Our world – what almost all of your kind knows as a myth – why’re you so allured by it? What is it about us that explains your enduring fascination?”
“You’re asking the wrong guy. I’ve never been remotely interested in it.”
She barely heard me. “Is it the overtones of sexual lust, or the immense power which we hold? Is it our immortality you covet?”
“Look, I really don’t know what dark, hidden parts of humans’ psyche are aroused and captivated by your kind, and-“
She cut me off. “And if that is what humans are attracted to us for, at the end of all this debate, I still don’t get why you’d refuse your initiation.”
I was incensed by that last insinuation. “You know I’m not attracted to you for all those reasons. I don’t really give a damn about your power, your immortality, or whatever.”
She was a bit taken aback by this sudden flurry. I could see it in her face. Strike one. I went on. “I’d known you two years before you cared to share your little secret with me. And I’d already fallen in love with you then.”
She couldn’t come up with a scathing reply to that. In fact, she couldn’t come up with anything at all. Counting strike two, I pitched on.
“It was because of…..ah hell – forget it. It was for a lot of reasons, and you …not being..human….wasn’t one of them..”
Strike three. But that wasn’t about to stop me.
“And I’m really sorry to disappoint you – but I really think I’d prefer staying the way I am. I could do without all that power. I could do with only you.”

And there it is.

Silence.

Sadistic torture, times like this.

“Sorry for that.”. It’s a quiet, subdued statement. She also means it.
“I’m really, really sorry. “ . She reaches over, holding my right arm with her own, eyes carefully cast downwards. Somehow, it’s a sight that makes my heart turn over with affection. I’m a sucker for it.
“But….I do want you for life, you know. You’re the one I’m in love with. There’s no getting around it. There’s only one way we can be together, forever.”
I didn’t have anything to say. I knew she was right.
“And you know I’m right. “ She continued, fighting back a grin. Reading my mind again.
“So.” –she continued. “What should we….. do about it?” That silky, entrancing charm was back.
“I really don’t know. Lets-“
“No. I got a better idea.” She cuts me off, grinning.
“Like what?”
“Well….since you’re not too keen on turning….”
“Yes…? “
“Well…..I could …you know…slow down your aging……” She says furtively, an amused gleam in her eyes.
“How?” I asked, bewildered.
“Here - I’ll show you.” I feel her lips curving into a smile, as she kisses me again ; pushing me back down on the bed.

If I was your vampire
Certain as the moon -
Instead of killing time,
We'll have each other until the sun.

If I was your vampire
Death waits for no one.
Hold my hands across your face
Because I do believe our time has come.

The way we see it
We are one and the same
Destined to be in harmony
Both seeking hearts to burn with, in accord,
Burn In flames

She says "love is blind
We're all destined for change"
Put her lips up to my ear
Her breathe, cold, freezing on my face.

This is where it starts
This is where it will end
Here comes the moon again.

Piano

2008-09-01T00:05:00.009+05:30

“Derek….? Derek are you in there?” – Standing outside the door, she asks.

I do not answer.

“Well, if you see Anna, tell her I’m looking for her, okay? “. The voice fades out as she walks away. Anna’s mother.

Anna.

Beautiful, angelic, divine.

There she is, sitting at the piano. She’d been playing. Playing for me.

Me alone.

The keys are dusty.

The strings are out of tune.

But she had played. Her elegant fingers had run across the keys like the finest silk. She’d produced the best music of her life.

And she’d done it for me, me alone.

We’d known each other since kindergarten. We’d played together, laughed and cried together, had the most ridiculous fights, and…..

…and we’d fallen in love.

It’s almost like, it was destiny. Fate. Somehow, we’d always known. We’d always felt that way. And we were inseparable.

And she could work her magic on the piano… It seemed to come alive at her touch. There, beside the piano, I listened to her play. As her performance began, I held my breath, and listened. Her music seemed to touch my heart, touch my soul - purify me, ecstasise me. Bathe me in flames, bathe me in purest water, erase and rebuild me.

It made me feel heaven.

Voices, now. Anna’s mother’s. My mother’s.
“Can’t find her anywhere!”
“And Derek too! You don’t suppose…they’ve…”
“We’ll search the balcony again. Then we’ll come back to this door. They could be in there.”

Anna.

There she sits, at the piano. Resting, after that outstanding performance. I do not disturb her. She needs her rest. She’s tired.

She had, of course, opted to perform at the Annual School Concert. And after the music teacher heard her play, she’d been enthusiastically accepted. She would finally get the chance to show how good she was at the piano. She was delighted.

She was truly surprised and hurt when she told me the news. I wasn’t happy with it at all. She was supposed to play for me and me alone. That was the plan! That was how it was meant to be! That was how me and her were supposed to be ! Always and only for each other, and nothing else… How could she betray me!

I think I shouted at her. I just went on and on. And I never realized how much I was hurting her until I saw tears streaming down her angelic face. She turned and ran. Ran from the boy she thought she’d known. She was seeing a completely new side of him, now. One she didn’t like. One she was scared of. But….what could I have done, Anna? You made me mad, you made me lose my temper. But it was all because you betrayed me Anna ! How could you? How could you squander away your precious magic on fools? Why did you want to waste it all on emotionless stones who could never feel or understand your enchantment?

A knocking on the door, now. Voices calling Anna’s name. Calling my name. They want the door to be opened.

And the day after, you told me so many things…..you told me how I needed to understand. How I needed to appreciate your wishes. You told me to understand how much this meant to you. You told me how important it was for you, playing before your first audience. How important it was to show how good you were.

Those words hurt more than anything else, Anna. You tore my heart apart. You left a hole where it should have been.

You betrayed me, Anna.

I stood in the wings, hearing you play. I held my breath and heard you play. Just as I always do. I was prepared to feel the same emotions, just as I always do.
But I could feel nothing, Anna.. nothing but noise. Not music. Not your magic. Not the enchantment. Just noise. And then, I heard the raucous bunch of animals stand up and cheer for you.

I couldn’t help it.

I knocked you out, and dragged you in here, in the rehearsal room. An old, dusty piano was here.

When you woke up, on my knees I begged you, pleaded, reasoned with you, to play for me. To make me feel. To feel the love we share….to feel closer to heaven….to feel sanctified, purified, and cleansed.

Drowning yourself in tears, you played for me. You played as if you hadn’t played in centuries. You played as if your heart was breaking. You gave it everything. You played as if you would never play again. You played your best.

You played for me.

I stood there, beside the piano, just as I always do. But there was someone else with me this time. A glimmer of metal, thin and sharp.

Forgive me, Anna.

I do not know when or how it happened……but I know why I did it.

You were meant to play for me, and me alone. None were supposed to taste of your divinity, your mesmerizing ability.

None but me.

Forgive me, Anna.

Curiosity becomes suspicion. Suspicion becomes fear. Fear manifests itself in the form of screams. The bang on the door, they tell me unlock the door. They ask what lies behind the door.

Behind this door?

She sits at the piano.
But she doesn't play anymore.

Oh, that was so long ago…….
She tells me, “I’ll always stay with you. I would never betray you.” Somewhere down the line, she’d also says that she’ll “play for me alone”, if I would let her live.
All lies.
I pour her blood into the fire of my rage.
The keys are dusty.
Her divine blood, running across, will clean them.
The strings are out of tune.
Her divine blood will lubricate them.

I lock the door.

The door has nearly given way, now. Any moment they’ll enter, and see her. See me.

Oh, how they scream…

I do not hear mother, crying hysterically.
I do not hear father, enraged, calling my name.
I do not hear the crowd of people trying to knock down the door, their sobs, and their screams.
I hear her play..
She works her magic on the piano… It seems to come alive at her touch.

The blade.

There, beside the piano, I listen to her play.

Her blood still stains it.

As her performance begins, I hold my breath, and listen.

My wrists.

Her music seems to touch my heart, touch my soul - purify me, ecstasise me. Bathe me in flames, bathe me in purest water, erase and rebuild me.

Anna….

The Morning After The War

2008-08-17T11:18:00.006+05:30

She stood on the edge of the field, hair billowing in the wind, staring out into the seemingly never-ending horizon. Eyes lost in a thousand-yard stare, she saw everything and nothing.

As if roused from her trance, she suddenly seemed faintly aware of her companion.

“Violet…remind me, if you will. Exactly what are we fighting for? “
Her companion barely looked up from her book. “Who? “
“Everyone! Them, you, me, us….what are we all fighting for? “
“Well, as Papa says, it’s for ‘liberty, justice, and freedom of expression’.”. Carelessly, she spoke out the words, eyes glued to the book all the while.

“Liberty…Justice…Freedom of expression…” she faintly murmured the words, while continuing her stare. Then she repeated them, over and over again, till they had no meaning.
Her companion looked at her now, through her thick horn rimmed glasses.
“Dearest sister, I don’t think you should worry any more about that.” – she spoke with immense conviction.
“Why not?”
“The war’s over.” And she went back to her book.

For the first time, something had broken through the girl’s seemingly impenetrable reverie.

“So? “
“So, we forget about some dead soldiers and- “
“Wait. Vi, what do you mean? “
The girl was taken aback by her sister’s sudden reaction, but spoke anyway. “I said - we should stop worrying about the dead soldiers and move on with our own life.”

Her features contorted now, into something resembling disgust. “Vi ! How on earth could you say something like that?” She said.
-“Look, I don’t want you worrying your little head over something as complicated as this, that’s all. “
-“Why? “
-“Because you won’t possibly be able to fathom it with your limited wisdom.”
“That’s just a fancy way of saying – live a comfortable life, no worries, brainwashed by thoughts of grandeur.....Oblivious of the fact that that grandeur is made available to us by those dead soldiers you spoke about! “
The other girl colored now. “So what are you saying? I’m heartless, I’m unpatriotic, just because I want to look out for me and my family, just because I want to distance myself and my loved ones from the horrors of war? “
-“Yes I am! Should we forget about the sacrifices made by our soldiers? Should we forget their blood, sweat, and tears – which make this country what it is today? Which give us those very things Papa speaks of, Liberty, justice, and freedom of expression? “
-“I’m not saying I forgot their labor! I’m not saying I forgot their sacrifice! I’m just saying that we honour them, pay their dues, and then, forget about whatever bad happened, and move on with our lives, look to the future. One without all that violence. “
-“So, what you mean is, you want to reap all benefits that comes with the sacrifice. Only, you don’t want to make that sacrifice yourself. You want someone else to do it for you, so you could enjoy the perks that come with it? Is that what you mean?”

“Look, patriotism isn’t all about how big a sacrifice you could do for your country. It isn’t all about how easily you would be wiling to lay down your life for your country.”
“So what is it according to you anyway? Live a great life, enjoy your freedom, wave flags every Independence Day – wishing “Happy July 4th!” to every one of your neighbors and friends and setting off a few crackers afterwards?”
“No it isn’t. Yes Lily – you’re right. Patriotism is about sacrificing for your country. But as I said – it isn’t all that. It’s not all about how hard a thrashing you could give all those who threaten your nation. And it’s sure as hell not about how much you hate countries which oppose your country. “
“What is it then? Out with it already!”

“Well…it’s simply how much you like your country. How much you care for your home team. How much you’d cry if we lost at the games. How much you’d feel bad for your country, every time you saw the news, and saw a meaningless act of violence, by one of our citizens, against another of ours….. Every time you heard or read about racial hatred and mistrust in our country….. Every time you heard or read about political and bureaucratic corruption……….In short, it’s about how bad you’d feel anytime any of these happened. It’s about how badly you’d mean it when you mutter “God save this country.” when you hear these. And then, it’s all about how badly you’d want to help. How badly you’d want to make things right. So that others would look at us as something more than just an ATM machine for the world, morals gone to high hell, egomaniacy and self-supremacy right up to the sky. “

“So you’d run down your own country just to prove your precious point?” Lily asked, seething with anger. Frustration, more like.
“Not running down. Constructive criticism. My country…..When right, keep it right. When wrong, make it right.” Violet spoke calmly.

They could have gone on and on with this tirade, but just then, their father arrived. Laughing off their protests and repeated requests to continue, he ushered them into the house.

But before going in himself, he stopped abruptly, turned, and looked at the sky, pondering the question.

“What is patriotism anyway?” he whispered silently to himself.

He smiled, cast his gaze down and walked into the house. He knew the answer.

It isn’t what you do, or how much you do, but how much love you put in the doing.

Testure

2008-06-28T23:27:00.010+05:30

Dr. Grey placed the subject on the table, using the winch controls to lift and position it on the test bed. Its struggles resurfaced the moment the winch was retracted. But Dr.Grey was ready for this, he flipped a switch, and immediately, the straps and reinforcing binds locked around the subject, around its arms, legs, waist, and its jaws.

Grey nodded to the other scientists in the room with him, Dr. Brown, and Dr.White. They nodded back at him. The first part of this experimentation session was complete, without a hitch. White then pressed a switch, turning on the microphones in the room. Being in charge of progress recording, he would provide a running commentary of the experiment.

“AEC Biotics, Lab ID - 346632B. Time, zero-five-zero-seven, local time. Experiment elapsed time, zero minutes and zero seconds. Personnel in charge - Doctors White, Grey, and Brown. Subject species ID - 0001. Subject status – Live, and in full consciousness. Ideal testing conditions.”

White paused for breath, as the other two set up the equipment. He then went on.

“This session is now officially underway.”

Brown moved forward with his scalpel, as Grey gagged the subject with a rubber apparatus. Calm, composed, hand held steady, Brown plunged the scalpel, slowly and determinedly, increasing pressure as he went, piercing the skin around the subject’s left eye.

“Dr. Brown has made the initial incision. We will be proceeding with assignment one - testing batch five of the anti-CVA drug.”

The scalpel went on with its work, guided by the experienced hand of Dr. Brown. The scalpel went around the eye, describing out a circle around the entire orbit of the eye. The subject’s inhuman screams of pain and horror were muted by the rubber gag, to only a faint whimper.

“Subject will be going into shock soon, it seems. Threshold levels almost reaching limit.”

Grey quickly plugged the IV in, ensuring a steady blood supply to the subject’s tissues. Brown had now peeled the soft tissue around the eyes, and was working on dislodging the left eyeball.

“Dr. Brown will now be removing the left eyeball to get to a critical blood vessel in the brain, which will be clamped to induce a stroke. We will then administer the experimental anti-CVA, to possibly eliminate the stroke, and test the accuracy of the fifth batch of the drug.”

The eyeball came off with a quite audible ‘pop’, and Grey quickly provided Brown with a surgical tray, on which Brown placed the eyeball, after he severed the optical nerves attached to it. Maneuvering around, inside the now empty left eye-socket, Brown found the blood vessel. He then took the clamps handed over by White, and clamped them shut. Looking around, he nodded to the other two. Their work was almost done.

“The blood vessel has been clamped. We are now waiting for the stroke - the Cerebrovascular Accident - or the CVA to set in, after which we will administer the anti-CVA.”

The doctors stood around the subject, satisfied with their work, while the subject – moaning and whimpering, writhed around, strapped to the table, in unimaginable pain and agony.

A while later, the monitors flashed red, bleeping. The doctors were ready for this, and immediately rushed forward, with Dr. White on commentary.

“The stroke has set in. We are now into the last stages of this experiment. If the subject’s condition stabilizes, we’ll have made a major breakthrough……a rapid countermeasure to CVA, or heart attacks, in our species.”

For the first time, Dr. Brown spoke. “Dr. Grey, I think you should have the honour.”
“Thank you, Dr. Brown. It will certainly be a pleasure.” Grey replied, in a somber tone.

Taking the syringe from Brown, Grey plunged it into the subject’s upper thorax, in the vicinity of its heart.

“Experiment elapsed time, forty-five minutes, and seven seconds. Batch five of the experimental anti-CVA drug has been delivered into the subject’s system. The subject is currently under medical surveillance.”

After seemingly an eternity of waiting, the monitors flashed orange, remained so for about ten seconds, and finally flashed green. The bleeping was restored to its original, gently monotonous tune. The doctors, sighing in relief, shook hands and congratulated each other. They’d finally made it…..after six years of painstaking work, laced with failure.

“Experiment successful. Repeat, successful. Only side effects include complete paralysis, but that effect is only applicable in case of the subject’s race. Our species would not fall victim to it. In conclusion, batch five of the anti-CVA drug must be labeled ‘approved’, and made ready for mass manufacture. Subject to be euthanized by high-intensity microwave irradiation of the brain.”

Later, in the recreation room, the three doctors were celebrating their success. The atmosphere was laced with academic joy, and alcohol.

Dr. White was speaking. “Gentlemen, our names will be forever etched in history! Six years – it has taken us SIX long years, but we’ve finally conquered the purportedly unconquerable! Here’s to all of us!”

“Yes. But the animal rights boys are going to have a field day with this if they find out…”
“Oh, hogwash!” snorted Grey.
“No…think about it…Think of the creature we experimented with today. Did you see its eyes as we…continued?”
“Yes! As a matter of fact, I did!” snorted Brown. “I was the one who took it out, for heaven’s sake!”
“No. I meant…you should have seen it’s eyes…looking at you..pleading you to let it go…to spare it’s life.”
“What utter nonsense! It’s insignificant death served a greater purpose! Finding a cure to a near-fatal medical condition!” spat Dr Brown, with immense conviction. “Come to your senses, my good man!”

“I know…but…couldn’t we perform our tests on some other species? I mean…”
“Nonsense again! That is just a pathetic, emotional argument raised by animal activists…! In reality, their species, is the best model of inherited diseases of our species…they share 99% of our genes! Research done on their species, BEST reflects results on our species.”
“Well…….”
“Oh come off it! We treat them as humanely as possible, for god’s sakes!!”

“Anyway…let’s go home. We deserve a good night’s sleep, eh?” chuckled the elderly Dr. White. His suggestion was met with murmurs of approval from the rest, and off they went.

The three rodents scurried away, going up the sloping tunnel, and finally out of the large burrow, and onto the earth. They then went underground again, into their respective residential burrows, a short distance from the main AEC Biotics complex.

Meanwhile, inside the AEC Biotics complex, in a pristine, white room…the subject…. the human strapped to the experiment table, senses dulled by the pain, had no way of knowing that the red light, that he could see with his one good eye – the light which was now blaring down on his face - would irradiate his brain with hyper-intense micro waves, inducing death in less than a second……..

Maybe he would have welcomed it, if he had known.

Just as they, in his place about a thousand years ago, welcomed death - as a means to end the agony inflicted on them.

............The roles have been reversed.

NOTES : Rodents share 99% of the genes with humans. That’s why they’re used for most animal experiments.
Testure = Test + Torture

"Conversations - II

2008-06-17T12:39:00.004+05:30

II . Going back…..

A life, placed in your hands. You have the power to save it. Only you. Not one soul on earth can take that power away from you. Now, what do you do?

Honor that trust I placed in you alone? Or run away, as you are doing now, escape from it all, prove that I was wrong about you?

I don’t want to go back. There’s too much sorrow back there, for me to handle.

You all have been through rough times recently. I know that. But-

Excuse me? You know that? Well then! I don’t see YOU doing anything about it!

Everything happens for a purpose. Trust me. I know.

Oh don’t get me wrong! I didn’t doubt for a second that you didn’t know that fact. You’re the one who planned it all, you sick freak!

Run me down as much as you like. That doesn’t change the fact that-

You know what it doesn’t actually change? That you were behind it all. You orchestrated this whole thing, in this crappy little ant farm of yours!!

I wish you’d let me finish.

Go on! I’m all ears !

You need to go back.

Didn’t we establish that point already?

Let me finish, John!

Alright, alright…..on with it.

You need to go back, John. Look…I’ll give you the facts, hard-up. There won’t be no easy-going waiting for you once you do go back. Infact, it’s going to get even worse.

I-

AND, you’ve already lost that job at Wimpy’s Inn.

What??

Yes. And you’re going to get evicted soon, too. That last payment wasn’t enough to clear your dues.

But he said-

Gunther said that, because he was just getting sick and tired of having you around. He deceived you on your dues, so he could kick you out.

That’s bullshit! I’m gonna sue his-

It won’t help. Trust me – it won’t. He’s got the law on his side.

That son of a –

And what’s more – your insurance company is going to make it look like suicide.

What? But it wasn’t! I tried to-

I know you didn’t mean to, John. But they’re gonna make it look like suicide anyway. And Gunther will be more than eager to provide information on your

Recent problems with depression. They’ll make up a real good case against you. Your family won’t get the money.

I…..

Yes, I know. I’m sorry.

SORRY????!? And you…and you still want me to go back?? After all of your handiworks waiting for me back there? Those you just told me about???

Yes.

You’re out of your godforsaken mind. No pun intended.

As I said, I know things have been going tough for you, John. And things won’t be getting better anytime soon.

TELL ME ! Why should I go back? Why shouldn’t I barge my way through your gates right now???

You can’t.

LOOK – I WON’T BE DENIED OF HAPPINESS JUST BECAUSE YOU WANT TO WIPE YOUR HANDS OFF ME!

Heavens! No! That’s not what I want!

Then why’re you doing like this, anyway? I don’t just get it!

There are plenty of reasons for you to go back, John!

Yeah? Like what? There ain’t much, from what you told me.

You didn’t let me finish.

Alright – lemme hear you finish, then!

You know that girl you saved? Almost killing yourself in the process?

‘Almost’? What ARE you talking about? I thought I was dead – that’s why I’m here, aren’t I??

Well – we’ll get to that later. For now let’s concentrate on that girl.

What about her?

She was the one going to commit suicide, John! She’d lost all hope in life. All she had left was gloom and despair ! Having lost faith, she threw herself in front of that truck tonight. That is, UNTIL you pushed her out of the way and took that truck HEAD-ON.

Yeah so?

Well John, you see – that kind deed of yours…did a world of good for her. She’s begun to believe in life again. She realized, if a complete stranger could give his life up, just to save another stranger’s, then, as she correctly guessed, the world isn’t too bad at all.

What..?

Yes! She’s found new vigor in life! She’s learnt the value of life! And currently, she’s been up for two entire nights, by your hospital bed! She’s with your family, praying tirelessly for you to wake ; even though the doctors have pronounced you comatose, and given up hope.

……Wow….

Exactly! LOOK AT THE DIFFERENCE YOU’VE MADE IN HER LIFE! Imagine what must’ve been going through her mind when she began to believe in life again! Imagine her joy! Imagine her – seeing the world in a whole new light for the first time! And now, imagine what must she must be feeling like! All she ever wants right now is for you to open your eyes, and get up! Imagine the joy you’d give her ; the happiness, the strength to carry on through the struggle, you’ll give your family, by doing that!

-I would…?

YES ! YES ! And that’s PRECISELY why you need to GO BACK, John!

Well……

Well what? You’re going to go back, right?

Yeah..well I guess so…

GREAT! That’s all I needed to hear ! Now…….GET THE HELL OFF THE SEVENTH FLOOR!!!! You don’t belong here YET, Johnny-me-boy.

-“A reading….WE’VE GOT A READING!!”

-“ GET DR. MACKENZIE IN HERE NOW! We’ve got a reading on this guy!!!”

-“ Oh my god!! He’s coming around!! He’s coming around!!! “

-“Get him in here PRONTO!”

-“He’s okay… I can’t believe it! He’s okay! Pulse weak, heart beat’s a bit slow, but he’s going good!! He’s coming to!”

-“John?”

-“ Mr. Wright?”

-“John! It’s me! Wake up!!”

He opened his eyes.

They were there, around him, leaning over him, all anxious faces, laced with incredulity, and tearful joy.

He was there too, invisible to everyone except him. Cracking him a grin and a something of a salute, he vanished into a blinding white glow.

John had to smile too.

Catch ya later, G.

"Conversations - I "

2008-06-04T11:55:00.018+05:30

I. Promises will be made.............

”Can I…….tell you something?”

She was averting eye contact, determined not to let anything slip.

-“Go ahead….What’s on your mind…?”
-”……….I…..I think I hurt her today.”

She looked at him now, forgetting her resolve which was seemingly iron-clad just moments ago.

-“Her?”
-“You know…her.”

She understood now.

-“Oh………...why..? What did you do to hurt her..?”
-“I…..I told her I was in love….with someone else…”

She looked away again.

-“You did...”
-“Yes.”
-“Well….what happened then?”

-“She…..she got mad…and…she asked me if I…if I really didn’t feel the same way... For her… as she did for me...”
-“…What did you say then..?”
-“I…well.. I was…honest with her…I told her…..”
-“What did you tell her?”
-“I told her I didn’t. “

-“I see……..did you tell her anything else?”
-“I told her that I had those feelings for someone else."

-“…and?”

-“Someone I love. Someone I truly want to be with.”

-“…and…”

-“Someone with whom I fight for the stupidest reasons…someone whom I even feel inferior to, sometimes…..someone I feel I don’t deserve....”

-“….and…”

“Someone….I want to continue loving, no matter what the circumstances. No matter what the world feels about that. No matter how much I hurt other people.”

-“……do you really feel that way?”

-“I do.”

She forced herself to smile, and got up.

-“Alright then. Go ahead with your choice. Best of luck !”

She turned away, and was about to walk off, when he caught her hand from behind.

-“There’s more.”

Slowly, almost dreading it, she turned back to him again.

-“What more could there be?”

-“Someone…..who I think.. loves me too….But she’s too scared of the consequences, to admit it.”

She fixed her gaze on the crimson sky now, at the setting sun, at the panorama it unfolded.

-“She……maybe she just thinks of your safety…your future…your career…your life….and so she…wants to….forget the fact she loves you too….”
-“If that’s the case…then I’d have to say that she’s mistaken.”

-“Why is that?”
-“Because…she’s my strength, my inspiration. If she’s with me, it can only do me good. It can only help my future.”

-“..And are you aware of all that, which could come with her love for you?”
-“ I do.”

Her tone was angrier now. She was clearly irritated.

-“And you want to go ahead, despite all that?”
-“Yes.”
-“Then you are the most idiotic idiot I’ve ever seen.”

Finishing that off, she wanted to get up and walk away.

She was stopped again.

Not by him.

By her own self.

Silence prevailed.

Until….after seemingly forever, he broke it.

-“But…the fact remains, right?”
-“Which one?”
-“That she does love him.”
-“Yes. ...It does.”

The suffocating silence reigned again.

Once again, it was him who spoke first.

-“You know…there’s so much sorrow in the world, so much despair.....”
-"I know....…it seems to be everywhere…nowadays…”
-“But……what would you say to someone, who wants to ignore all that sorrow in the world?”
-“What do you…mean?”

-“What would you say to someone, who wants only to be happy, oblivious of the world? What would you to say to
him – who doesn’t want to add to the world’s infinite ocean of negative emotions?”

She didn’t flinch before answering.

-“Selfish.”

-“Exactly. I’m selfish. But……I can’t lie about my feelings. It’s exactly how I feel now.”
-“So….what do you…want to do?”

-“I want to move forward…..accelerate….together…with her.”
-“But…what if…it destroys you?..... Breaks you…..?”

-“It won’t.”

-“And what if it does? You know that’s a very strong possibility.”
-“If it does...”

He stood up, and smiled at her now.

“If it does, then I’ll always have…. her….to put the pieces…..put me… back together.”

She got up now as well.

-“If it’s come to that……then……I think……”
-“….think what?”
-“I think……she’ll be glad to…accompany you….on your journey forward...”

And then, they walked off.

Hand in hand.

Together.

"Missing"

2008-05-28T22:47:00.004+05:30

She permitted herself one last tearful glance at the house, as she walked away. Dead in the night, only illumination coming from the street lamps, backpack strapped, dressed in that baggy red shirt, and those faded, torn pair of old jeans of hers her mom always resented, she was ready. Ready to face the world, ready to take on a challenge - tougher than anything else thus far.

But she did not regret this decision. This was right. This was what she needed to do. She could no longer bear the suffocating atmosphere of their household.

Everything she did was wrong. Everything she knew was useless. Everything she wanted to do was against ‘the honor and tradition of their respected family’.

Please, please forgive me,
But I won't be home again.
Maybe someday you'll look up,
And, barely conscious, you'll say to no one:
"Isn't something missing?"

She tried, she tried – god knows – she tried so hard, so many times. She sacrificed all her dreams, every one of her ambitions, her interests.

And she did it all

for her family. Her family. She tried. She dressed as they wanted her to, spoke as the wanted her to, behaved as they wanted her to. She took up the

activities they wanted her to, enrolled in all those classes they wanted her to, took up those subjects which they wanted her to, made friends with only the ones they wanted her to. All that to make her parents happy.

She tried to change, but it wouldn’t work. She couldn’t sacrifice her identity.

-“Can’t you hear me? I’m sick! I’m tired of this! You’re killing me!”

-“Quiet, young lady! This is certainly an improper and insolent manner of talking to your parents!”

-“Go to hell! All of you! All because of you - I’m not me any more! Get me? I’M NOT ME ANY MORE!”

-“That’s it! We’ll tolerate no more from you! Go to your room!”

-“I’M NOT ME! Mom, Dad! Can’t you see? All I am now is a puppet! A robot!”

-“Anna, GO TO YOUR ROOM!”

-“NOTHING MORE THAN A MADE-UP, DOLLED-UP, SUGAR COATED VERSION OF ME - YOU ALWAYS WANTED - BUT WHICH I NEVER WANTED TO BE!!”

-“ANNA! ENOUGH! GO.. TO… YOUR.. ROOM!”

She wiped off tears welling up in her eyes, and moved on, towards the gate.

Her needs, her aspirations, her interests, were always secondary for her parents. Tertiary even. All they wanted her to be, was more of something that would

Fit their aristocratic, cultured, snobbish family background. More like her sister. Obnoxious, high-and-mighty, arrogant, head up in the clouds……

….and a total bitch. – she added as an afterthought, a grin crossing her lips.

She swung open the gate and stepped forward, into the street.

You won't cry for my absence, I know -
You forgot me long ago.
Am I that unimportant...?
Am I so insignificant...?
Isn't something missing?
Isn’t someone missing me?

This evening. She had just returned after a trip with her friends.

-“Who were those?”

-“My friends. Who else?”

-“Friends? My dear Anna, you really shouldn’t mix with riff-raff like that.”

-“Excuse me? Riff-raff? Those are my friends.”

-“They aren’t exactly, what you’d call, desirable company.”

-“I don’t care, mom. They’re the only ones who understand me now, only ones who care for me. Not like you guys!”

-“Anna! Do not exhibit your insolence further !”

-“No! I think I should, Dad! Let me give you a piece of my mind!”

-“Melissa isn’t like you! Thank god we have a child we can relate to, unlike you!”

The words stung deep…..deeper than anything else. But she continued on.

“Oh that’s right! Melissa ! The wonder child…Melissa, Melissa, and Melissa! That’s all I hear, all day! Couldn’t you just accept me for what I am? And let me be myself? “

-“NO! We want you to be MORE like Melissa!”

-“Then BLOW OFF! I CAN’T, AND I DON’T WANT TO BE LIKE THAT BITCH!”

The slap was resounding.

It threw her to the floor.

-“One more word out of your mouth, and you’re out of this house!”

She got up, silently. No retorts, no angry comebacks this time. She started going up the stairs.

-“It’s time I thought if I really WANT to stay here.”

-“Is it? “ - her father fumed. “Go then. Go wherever you like. It’s not like you’ve got anywhere else to go! You’re bound to come back here!”

No dad. You’ve misjudged my strength.

Even though I'm the sacrifice,
You won't try for me, not now.
Though I'd die just to know you love me,
I'm all alone.

Isn’t something missing?
Isn't someone missing me?

She walked on through the deserted streets, along the pavement.

Alone.

And if I bleed, I'll bleed,
Knowing you don't care.

Her cellphone rang.

It was Kyra. One of her best friends.

“Kyra?”

“Hey girl!! Wassup?”

“Hey…nothing.”

“Nah?..I just called to check up on ya…your folks seemed pretty upset when we dropped you off at your home this evening…”

She fought back tears.

Her friends cared for her.

She knew that, always.

”Hey..Kyra?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I….tell you…something?”

“Sure girl! Anything! We hear ya!”

“Well…it’s like this…

I’m not alone, after all……..

"Ace Of Spades"

2008-05-06T20:17:00.002+05:30

The cold hard lead pumped into the man’s body seemed excruciatingly gratifying to him,
and he did it again, and again, till his magazine was empty.

He turned around. The corridor was rapidly filling up with men with automatics, all out for his
blood.

If you like to gamble, I tell you I'm your man -

You win some, lose some, it's all the same to me!

He clenched his teeth, tightened his vice-like grip around the handle of his dual Beretta
92FM’s, and, overcome with rage, he opened fire on them. He could feel the sickening smell
of cordite, and it fueled him. He could feel the pistols growing hotter in his hand with each
successive shot. He relished the feeling. He could see their blood spraying, flesh torn to
chunks as the unforgiving lead bullets ripped through their bodies. He LOVED it.

Orgasmic pleasure. He welcomed the feeling. But he was not satisfied. He wanted more. More carnage, more,
more, and EVEN MORE! He must have more!

The pleasure is to play, it makes no difference what you say

I don't share your greed, the only card I need is the -

He cursed loudly, ducked behind a overturned desk, and started reloading his toys. As he
punched fresh magazines into his dual Berettas, feeling the adrenaline surging through his
body like never before, he kicked the desk out of his way. He was alone now, in plain sight,
far from cover.

The men came at him like a wolf on a lamb, seeing their prey utterly vulnerable.

Suckers.

He unloaded his pistols, not at the men, but at the fire extinguishers lining the corridor.

BOOM

The Ace of Spades

The Ace of Spades!

A series of deafening explosions rang out, blowing them to smithereens. The few that were
left were swiftly cut down by gunfire.

MORE!

His sadistic urges were satisfied with a fresh batch of cannon fodder, rushing out of the
double doors. There must’ve been at least four dozen of them.

The corners of his mouth twitched, and a demonic gleam came over his eyes.

MORE.

He threw away his dual pistols, and took up the M16 that one of the henchmen had dropped.

Showtime.

The bullets came at him like hailstones, tearing into shreds the walls of the corridor through
which he ran.

Playing for the high one, dancing with the devil

Going with the flow, it's all a game to me!

At the end of the corridor, he dived forward, and onto a conveniently placed trolley.

Time seemed to slow down as he shot past them, the trolley accelerating with his momentum.

They didn’t have a chance – he was too quick for them. Never once did he take his finger off
the trigger, and the bunch of them fell like puppets with their strings cut off, being shaken
like a rag doll in a macabre dance, as their bodies were riddled with bullets. He was only
aware of the blare of his roaring automatic, and the spent shells hitting the floor like rain.

Seven or Eleven, snake eyes watching you

Double up or quit, double stake or split!

As the trolley sped towards the end of the hall, he kicked up and dived off it, sending him
soaring into the air.

Time came to a standstill again as he reached the extreme point of his jump, his body
suspended in the air, in a magnificent arch, and a pack of bloodthirsty demons below. He felt
like an Angel of Death.

The Ace Of Spades!

The Ace Of Spades!!

Still in the air but diving forward, he was faintly aware of himself whipping out his automatic
and opening fire on the rest of them, and the distorted boom of the gun as it spat fire and
death again and again, at the men below. He maneuvered his firing gun, covering every angle
to his front and side, nailing every single one of them.

Pushing up the ante, I know you've got to see me!

Read 'em and weep, the writing on the dead man's hand again!

But he was falling too fast, and hit the ground with a thud, the impact sending his gun
clattering away.

But that didn’t matter. He had won. None was left standing but him. Staggering to his feet,
he pulled out his spare pair of Berettas, despite not needing them any more.

Click.

He turned around slowly, the barrel of a gun pressing deep into the back of his skull.

You know I'm born to lose, and gambling's for fools

But that's the way I like it baby -

He had missed one. Badly wounded, bleeding from innumerable new orifices in his body, but
still standing. And more importantly, he had his .357 pressed dead square on his forehead.
The man flashed a bloody grin.

I don't wanna live forever!

Immediately, before the man could even gauge what was happening, he raised the handgun
in his right hand and pressed the trigger.

Click.

The Beretta 92FM sputtered and died, the hammer crashing into nothing but empty cartridge.

The man was even more shocked than him, hardly believing he had won.

And then he started laughing. A sick and maniacal laugh, through a mouth leaking blood in
copious amounts.

He dropped the gun in his right hand, and joined him too, and they both laughed, the
booming sound echoing through the pristine hallway, now bathed in blood.

A morbidly hilarious moment before death.

He then raised the Beretta in his left hand and fired.

.....But don't forget the joker!

The laughter was still frozen on the man’s face as he fell - a neat, perfectly circular opening
to a bloody cave, in place of his former left eye.

The Ace of Spades!

The Ace of Spades!!

He threw the gun onto the dead man, walked into the elevator, and took it down to the
ground floor.

As he walked out of the sliding doors and onto the pavement, onto the ocean of humanity, he
pulled out his cellphone and punched a number into it.

“Yes. David?”

“Anna, I’m getting bored of this.”

“Are you done at Lexington’s Corporate headquarters?”

“TE and close, 38 minutes.”

“Excellent. I’ll notify Mr. Richards.”

“Yeah yeah…whatever…just tell him to find me a more challenging one next time, huh?”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Over and out, Dave.”

He put on his PB600 shades, lit a cigarette, and inhaled deeply. He immediately paused, took
a careful look at the brand name on the pack, and sighed, clearly disappointed at what he saw.

Shit…...forgot my herbal cigs again...

“Goddamn.....I hate these corporate hostile takeovers…...” -  He grumbled as he kicked
his motorcycle to life and shot off into the night.

"Black"

2008-04-30T22:05:00.008+05:30

I wanted to write a story.

I couldn’t.

I sat at the chair, I picked up the pen – but all that came into my mind was her face, her smile, her thoughts, her words, her…..her....

Sheets of blank paper, scores of textbooks, pens, were laid spread out before me as her heart once was.

I closed my eyes.

I could see her clearly. She was smiling.

Just as she was, just as I last saw her in those photos she brought back from her trip. All five horizons seemed to revolve around her soul, from the earth to the sun.

I sighed. Drew a huge breath and sighed.

Even the air tasted different. The air I once tasted and breathed had now taken a turn.

I couldn’t write the story.

I opened the door and went out. I needed to take a walk, get some fresh air, clear my mind. I headed for the park.

People walking around, minding their own business. All happy, joyous, colorful, lovely.

It sickened me.

I sat down on the park bench, staring into nothing.

Quickly I was surrounded by some kids, playing their hearts out.

Their happiness, their smile, their joy was infectious. I almost felt like smiling, seeing their antics. I could feel their joy in my heart, and was happy for them.

So why did I sear?

Why did I push them away, get up, and run from there?

I know.

It was their smile, their joy, their happiness. Everything I no longer had. It had set in motion torturous and twisted thoughts in my heart.

After a while, I slowed down. People would question my sanity if they found me running through the streets, disheveled, on the verge of tears.

I pushed my cap further down, almost completely obscuring my face, and walked, staring determinedly into the pavement.

I looked at the sun, swimming in the horizon, about to go down for the day.

Damn, how quick that sun could drop away….

I unlocked the door to our apartment, and entered.

I went to the computer desk, unlocked the drawer, and rummaged around in it’s contents, until I found what I was looking for.

A picture frame, with a collage of her photographs in it. I’d taken a printout, from her pictures on my computer. I’d hidden it away in that locked drawer, away from my parents or any other prying eyes.

I held it, looked at it.

A solitary droplet of tear fell onto the glass.

I threw it away.

The frame crashed against the wall. The sound shattered the silence prevailing in the room.
I turned away.

As much as I didn’t want to, I forced myself to look back at it.

The frame was lying in an ocean of broken glass, with her still smiling back at me.

I dropped down to my knees, and fished around in the sharp glass until I was holding up her picture.

You know I’m talking to you now. Tell me, now my bitter hands cradle broken glass – Of this picture frame, or of what was everything? Everything I dreamt about me and you? Everything you promised me, everything you made me believe?

I took a look at the pictures again.

What did I see?

All the pictures had all been washed in black. Pure black.

I had to turn on the lights in the room to understand that it was just blood. My blood.

Blood? To me, that isn’t blood. It’s just what it initially appeared to me.

Pure, dark black.

That’s my world, now.

All your love, now gone, has turned my world to black.

All I see, all that I am, all that I'll ever be....

Black.

I went back to the desk.

I couldn’t write the story.

Because it’s not a story.
It’s true.
I’m true.
All my feelings are true.
My love for you is true.

But you don’t want to realize that.

I know someday you'll have a beautiful life,
I know someday you’ll be loved.
I know someday you’ll forget I ever existed.
I know someday you'll be a sun in someone else's sky

But why -
Why? Why? Why?
Why can't it be my sky?

Why is it my world, my life, my heart, my love -
That is dead and black?

............

……And I’m sorry again.

I couldn’t write the story.

"Better Man"

2008-04-27T14:53:00.004+05:30

Okay, okay…calm down…calm down dammnit! Calm down…get a hold of yourself! Okay..okay….alright….deep breaths..deep breaths…alright..alright……his car’s gonna stop outside any moment now. He’s gonna come in. And then…then you gotta tell him…you gotta tell him…you can’t do this any more…you can’t take it no more….yeah.. yeah that’s it…then I’ll tell him…

Waiting, watching the clock, she practiced her speech, and what she’d tell him – the moment he stepped in the door, and went “Honey, I’m home!”

….No! No!….it’s gotta be after that…….it’s gotta be after the hug and customary kiss…..yes…..yes, it’s gotta be after that…..it’d get ugly otherwise.

Almost in a delirium, she repeated the same lines over and over again in her mind, practicing in front of the mirror. It’s gotta be perfect…Oh god! Please ! Let it be perfect! Gotta explain it all to him…nice and easy….else it’d all go bad! He couldn’t take it then! No! No! It’s gotta be perfect!

Her eyes fell on the clock on the wall.

Shoot!! Four already!! He’s gonna be here any minute!”

And she was in a state of utter panic.

No! Ohmygod….! Nothing’s done…nothing! What should I say? How should I say it? How do I break it to him? How…? Oh god….oh god!”

And at that moment, she heard the screeching of tires outside. He was home.

Tell him, tell him…..can’t take any more…can’t go on like this anymore…I can’t pretend any more… - she practiced her speech, last minute cramming.

The door opened.

“Hey Roberta! I’m home!”

He was laughing, scanning the room for her. When his eyes finally found her, he rushed at her, arms wide open, and pulled her into a loving hug.

“I missed you so damn much! Was a tough day at work, Hon….couldn’t wait for home!”
She was awkwardly hanging on to his hug, but eventually eased up, and hugged back.
“Hey…welcome home!”

They finally broke apart.

Still smiling, he raised an eyebrow, locked eyes with her, and asked playfully, “Really? Miss me much?”

There he goes again…there’s something in his words, his smile, his face…shoot! I’m forgetting! No!! I can’t remember!!! NO! After all that practice??!

“I….”
“Well? Hmm?”

Everything fell apart in the space of a second. All that she had planned, all her resolve, dissolved away into nothing.

“ I did……I did miss you….a lot! I love you, hon!” She said, smiling at him.
“Great! So give me a kiss!”

She did, responding to him. But deep inside her, something was wrong.
Something was broken again, shattered again, screaming again..… yet again, yet another day.

She lies and says she’s in love with him, can't find a better man...
She dreams in color, she dreams in red, can't find a better man...
Can't find a better man…

Five-to-ten, at night.

They were cuddled in the living room sofa, watching the nine-o’clock movie.

It was one of their favourites, the movie was into its climax, and he was well into it.

She wasn’t.

Her mind was wandering down St. Elsewhere, thinking of the days gone by. In particular, she was thinking about a special Day, a special place, a special person.

Five years ago, New Years Day, at the hilltop, beneath the old apple tree.

“Why weren’t you honest with me? Why did you break my heart? Why did you toy with my feelings? Why? WHY? Answer me!” – He demanded.

She was on the verge of tears.

“I’m sorry! I couldn’t! I couldn’t refuse you then…. but..”
“But? But what?”
“I….I realized….I’m not sure I have the same feelings for you…I’m sorry….I just can’t..I can’t fake it….I can’t fake that I’m in love with you..”
“Why? What’s wrong with me? Why…Why can’t I have you in my life…?” He was on his knees now, tears flowing unchecked.
“I’m sorry! Please! “ She was down on her knees now too, holding his face in her hands, trying to console him.
“Please….! Forget me…forget that I ever existed…I know I’ve hurt you terribly…and I have no right to console you now…..but I’ll stil try…..Please……forget me…go on with your life….be strong…! You’re so precious. you’re such a wonderful person……You could have any girl you want! There’s someone out there for you too….Please..get up....I can't stand to see you sad.."

He stopped crying for a second and looked at her straight in the eye.

“If……if I’m so damn precious..so damned good, why can’t I have YOU?”

She said nothing, tears streaking down her face, she got up, and wiping her face vigorously, walked off, leaving him crying, on his knees.

Memories back when she was bold and strong
And waiting for the world to come along...
Swears she knew it, now she swears he’s gone

That night, after the movie, when they finally fell asleep, the last words they said to each other were… “I love you.”

She lies and says she’s in love with him, can’t find a better man...
She dreams in color, she dreams in red, can’t find a better man...

But in her dreams, back at that hilltop, beneath that apple tree,
She tells the truth and says she still loves him,
Can’t find a better man...
She dreams in color, she dreams in red, can’t find a better man...
Can’t find a better man..

She loved him, yes...she didn’t want to leave him that way
She tries every day, but she can’t be back for him again.
……..But she can’t find a better man.

"Dead"

2008-04-19T13:08:00.015+05:30

The Fort Glens was a lonely place. It had a hefty name for a bar, was far from a fort, had lousy service, and - no surprise - business wasn’t too good. But that never occurred to him. He came here often, and never with a companion. He liked this place, and, curious enough, he himself couldn’t tell you why. Maybe it was the place’s location, at the Belleview Sunset Point, middle of nowhere….maybe it was the barmaid, maybe it was just that he could relate his own state of being, with the place’s “shabby-but-somehow-attractive” nature. Or maybe it was because he was lonely as well, just as the bar, which rarely had customers.

Lonely.

No love, no relations, no connections, not a care in the world. For some that might be a good thing, even something to be desired, by some. Blessed are those whose cares are few. But a man who has had the privilege of experiencing it, would tell you different.

He downed his umpteenth shot of vodka, and signaled for another. The barmaid, a woman in her , and quite attractive, came up. She’d been seeing this carelessly handsome,twenty-something man walk into her bar, and seat himself on that very stool, for almost three years, now…… and yet, she knew next to nothing about him.

He’d set down his twenty-sixth shot tonight, and was now playing with his lighter, flicking it on and off.

She filled up the twenty-seventh, and hesitated a while before handing it over to him. She did eventually, though, then turned,and contemplated walking away, before turning round again.

“…Hey Mac, it’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

He hadn’t touched his drink yet. He was still playing with the lighter.

“I’m sure it has.”

He had not looked up.

“Yeah well....you’ve been comin’ in ‘ere every few days an’ nights……for what, three years now?”

“I’ll have to take your word for it.” – he answered, with the same air of indifference.

“Mind introducing yourself?”

He looked up now, into her eyes.

“ I mean…” – she looked uneasy now.. “ you’ve bin’ ‘un of my regular customers for a while, ain’t it? So yeah….I guess an introduction’s on your tab.” – She gave an unsettled smile.

He smiled too, and pocketed the lighter.

“Well, for starters, I'm a guy who wants to be famous and rich and happy, but he’s terrified
he has nothing to offer this world, nothing to say and no way to say it. But he can say that in
three languages.”

He gave a little laugh, staring into nothing.



”He believes that he’s more than the sum of what he consumes…. But he’s alternately thrilled
and desperate, Skyhigh and fucked.”

She had looked up, and stopped wiping down the bar. He had her full and undivided attention.

“It's a global conspiracy, actually, with key players in the highest levels of power, that reaches
down into the lives of every man, woman, and child on this planet.”

“So, of course, no one takes me too seriously. I'm an annoyance to my superiors, a joke to my
peers. They call me Loony…Loony Anderson, whose entire family was killed by some
psychopath when he was just a kid….and who now chases after shadows with a badge and a
gun, shouting to the heavens or to anyone who will listen that the fix is in, that the sky is
falling…. and when it hits it's gonna be the shit-storm of all time…”

The smile fixed on his face, he was staring at the drink on the table before him.

The barmaid stared at him for a couple of seconds before taking away the drink from him.

“Well. I would say that about does it, Loony.”

“Does what?”

“Well, looks like twenty-six is your lucky number. “

Anderson stared at her for a moment before taking out some crumpled bills from his pocket
and placing them on the bar.

“You know, one is the loneliest number. “

And he had gathered his coat and walked out.

Seventy, maybe eighty miles per hour. He wasn’t looking at the tachometer. Driving with a
thousand-yard stare, he flicked on the radio. Mouthing the lyrics along with David Gahan
on Suffer Well.

He was jerked back to reality when the song was interrupted by an announcement.

“Hey y’all! This is your DJ Fatboy up at 91.2 KM-Rock! You’ve been listening to Depeche Mode’s
latest, Suffer Well. Man..ain’t they something? Anyway, we got something else goin’ on in this
little town folks… I’ve just been informed by the county police that Old Man Rocher bit the
dust about twenty minutes ago, murdered, by the looks of it.”

He was listening.

“Yep. Found his body, apparently strangled, in his mansion. The maid says the likely murderer
was a woman, in a red dress, who’d come to pay Rocher a visit. Strange enough, though,
she greatly resembled Rocher’s dead wife, Lillian. The maid never saw the woman leave,
and found Rocher’s body upstairs a few minutes later. Heh heh…SPOOOOOKY….ain’t it folks?
Police are currently on the lookout for a woman fitting the description. If ya see anything up,
don’t hesitate to help out the boys in blue,people! Anyway, back to the song. “

He paid no attention to this piece of news. Not much of a surprise, anyway. These days, God
wasn’t making people like he used to.

He drove on, as before, for another hour or so, before he was brought back to reality again.

No, not by another announcement.

A shadowy figure, a silhouette of a woman on the road, sticking out her thumb for a lift.

He normally didn’t pick up hitchhikers, but if he hadn’t stopped, she would have been little
more than a bloody spatter on the road.

“Going somewhere, ma’am?”

The woman was stunningly attractive, platinum blonde hair, red dress, high heels.

“I believe I am. D’you think you could possibly drop me off there?”

There was something in her voice. An odd hollowness. A strange finality and sense of
detachment.

Or maybe it was just him.

He decided it was the latter.

“Sure, hop in.”

“Thank you.”

They drove in silence for quite a while, before he decided the overcome the silence strangling
him.

“So, where to? “

“I’ll tell you when we’re near.”

The woman clearly seemed uninterested in gossip, and he decided not to press it further.

A half-hour later, it was she who spoke.

“Mr. Anderson..”

“How the hell do you know my name?” – He didn’t try to hide his shock.

“I know, because I know, Mr. Anderson. Now tell me, do you mind?”

Before he could answer, she already had lit the cigarette, and inhaled deeply.

The smoke filled the car, and the radio played some jazz which contributed more to this
unnatural mood.

“Your car broke down somewhere?”

“Yes. Somewhere. “

“Heading for the nearest town?”

“Something like that.”

“Well, you were walking in the wrong direction….traveling alone?”

She looked at him squarely now, and inhaled deeply again.

“Yes. Alone.”

He drove On.

After a while, she spoke again.

“I’ll spare you the trouble. I’m Lillian Rocher.”

“YOU? But the DJ said that you’re- “

“Dead? Yes, I believe I am.”

He laughed a little. Not until then did he realize how bad the currently playing song was. Or
how low he was on gas. Or how utterly helpless he felt, locked inside a car with a woman who
claimed to be dead.

“Just relax, Ma’am.”

“Don’t patronize me, Mr. Anderson.”

“Yeah…okay.”

Silence again.

“You still don’t believe me, do you?”

“Which part?”

“About me being like this.”

“Like what?”

“Dead.”

“Oh yeah…yeah I do. Anyway, I’ll drop you off at the next gas station or deputy store. That’s
eight miles more. You can then go about your business while I go about mine. “

Her turn for a dry laughter, now.

“That’s exactly why you’re alone and lonely, Mr. Anderson. Never adventurous. Never willing
to take chances with anyone.”

He chuckled. “Especially dead people.”

“Maybe you’re the one who’s dead, Mr. Anderson. Night after night in cheap hotel rooms,
alone in the dark, laying awake, listening to music through the walls, occasionally hearing other
couples in the adjoining rooms….No wife, no children, no friends, no love. That’s not much
of a life, is it, Mr. Anderson?”

He said nothing, drove on.

“We’re both dead, Mr. Anderson.”

He still said nothing, drove on.

“Tonight, after I woke up, I felt myself rising, taking form, taking shape...And when it was
done, I felt like there was only one place where I needed to go. It was like someone was
pulling my strings. I needed to go to Dirk. Dirk Rocher, my once-husband. Ahh…Dirk…just as I
remember him….from all those twenty-four years ago….he was the same as the day I last saw
him…

…Twenty-four years ago, that evening, when he strangled me to death in our bed.”

He still drove on, eyes fixed on the road.

“ I had to pay him back, Mr. Anderson. That’s why I went there tonight. I killed him. “

“You won’t die.”

“What?”

“They won’t give you the death penalty for it. Just tell ‘em the same story you told me, and
you’ll get off with second degree. Maybe even not guilty by reason of insanity. “

“Well, Mr. Anderson, I wish I could take your advice. Now, we’re nearly here. A quarter-mile
down the highway. Drop me off there.”

“What’s there? A graveyard?” - He chuckled.

“As a matter of fact, yes.”

He stopped the car at the place anyway, and looked at her.

She was disappearing.

“Good bye, Mr. Anderson. Nice talking to you. You don’t seem to believe it, but I’m actually
trying to help you. Don’t waste your life away like I have. Go out and live your life while
you’re still alive. I wasted my life with a pathetic husband, loving him while he ran around
with other women, hoping against hope that he’d get better, that we could have a life
together.”

There were tears in her eyes now.

“I thought killing him would help. But it didn’t. I’m still as lonely as ever.”

She stubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray.

“Do something with your life, Mr. Anderson. Live. Love.  Don’t waste it like me.”

She stepped out of the car and walked off into the cemetery.

Anderson drove for an hour more and arrived at Newport, where he checked into a motel.

He took a shower, stripped down to his boxers shorts and T-Shirt, and got snuggled in the bed,
wrapped in a blanket, watching the rerun of an old sitcom.

He should have laughed; at least, all the people on the show seemed to be having a good time.

Instead, he did something he rarely did.

He began crying.

He shut off both TV and the light, and lay in the darkness, thinking of what she’d said to him.

No wife, no children, no friends, no love. That’s not much of a life, is it, Mr. Anderson?

 Finally though, he did sleep, but only in the early hours of the next morning.

Lonely.

Cold.

Dead.

Cold.

"Nothing Else Matters"

2008-04-03T13:12:00.009+05:30

I wonder, what could you be doing this very instant, this very moment I’m thinking of you?

Are you thinking of me too?

Missing me, like I’m missing you?

As I lay awake, dead in the night, in this darkened room, I think of you, and all that’s happened between us these last few weeks.

And I smile.

So close, no matter how far
Couldn't be much more from the heart
Forever trusting who we are
and nothing else matters

It just seems as if we’re both “The One” for each other. Yes, maybe we’ve both been in a relationship before, but….we’ve never felt more alive in it, as we do now. We can speak so openly with each other, so freely, it’s like we’ve both found outlets for our thoughts – we’ve both finally found an ardent listener to our random, spoken-out-loud thoughts.

I think about you, and all the jokes, all thoughts, all the things we shared between us.

And I smile.

Never opened myself this way
Life is ours, we live it our way
All these words I don't just say
and nothing else matters

We’d both reached a stage, where we needed someone to hang on to, someone to rely on, that one magical person, whom we could always depend on to save the day. We needed someone to trust, someone to have faith in. We had both been broken, shattered by the previous person in our lives, our respective first’s.

…..And then, we found each other. We needed each other. We’d just realized it then, but we were also quite unsure, fearing a repetition of history...

…and we didn’t want that to happen at all, considering we’d always been the best of friends.

….and so we explored our feelings together. We needed to know, what was this we felt for each other? Was it love, or only some strong infatuation? Or the latter, which could evolve into the former and so much more?

I think about you, and all the conflicts we had in our minds, all the uncertainties, how all of it just went away – once we spent more and more time with each other, once we got to know each other so well….

And I smile.

Trust I seek and I find in you
Every day for us something new
Open mind for a different view
and nothing else matters

I think about you all the time, now. And it’s getting worse by the day. You’ve been invading my dreams,invading my mind,invading my heart, and you’ve been ruling, like a goddess, over all of them.

….And I’m glad to have experienced that.

And I smile.

So close, no matter how far
Couldn't be much more from the heart
Forever trusting who we are
and nothing else matters

There were always naysayers. There have always been. It’s human nature. People who’ve been jealous of us, been apprehensive of us together. Warning us both against each other. Our respective circle of friends – and their cynicism. People who predict the failure of our relationship…only and just because - it’s YOU who I’ve chosen for ME...or sometimes, they say it the other way round, just because of YOU having chosen ME.

I think about you, and all the things people have done – all the ends they’ve gone – just to construct a barrier between me and you, and how they’ve failed…

And I smile.

Never cared for words they say
Never cared for games they play
Never cared for what they do
Never cared for what they know
And I know -

Yes, I know. We’re both that special someone for each other. We’re both that strength, that hope, that support, that….that LOVE….for each other.

And so, I think of you, and of what I feel right now :-

So close, no matter how far
Couldn’t be much more from the heart
Forever trusting who we are

And, nothing else matters.

..I smile…

.... I realize,

No, nothing else matters to me now.

.... nothing else but…....us being together

.....and You.

A/N : Thanks, Metallica, for a song that absolutely drips awesomeness!

"....The World You Left Behind.."

2008-03-31T22:36:00.003+05:30

PREFACE : This one was written as a school assignment, which later turned into a competition entry for Seagull Books' Indo-Pak Peaceworks...and was a winner as well! Selected in the Bi-national Top 20! And to be published soon in an anthology.

Max made his way nervously up the rugged hillside, holding his gun cocked and ready. He glanced around him, licking his dry lips, his face set. From time to time he gulped, raised a gloved hand and wiped perspiration from his forehead and neck, pushing down his coat collar.
“On your guard, lads!” – he barked out to his squad. “Keep a sharp lookout for them!”

Tensely,the haggard looking lot stumbled on, kicking ash and piles of debris out of their way. It'd been almost five years since any of them had ever stepped out, onto the surface, the open air. Not since the heavy reverses suffered by both the Terrans and Vasudans in the twelve-year long Terran-Vasudan War, after which both had to retreat into kilometre wide underground bunkers. The war was then fought by mechanized robots, engineered by both sides, on the scorched landscape of planet Tiberia.

..or what remained of it.

For the last five years, the humans had been kept updated and informed about the progress of the war, through regular video broadcasts by their respective robots. Now, the Terran High Command had issued directives to scout the surface perimeter, and it had fallen on Max and his squad – the 42nd Ravens – to undertake that job.

The squad, now fidgety, were almost at the top of the hill of debris. Nothing could be seen beyond it. They would have to cross the hill. Max was the first to reach the summit –

- and he came face to face with a squad of Vasudans.

Thirty-something pairs of automatic rifles went up on both sides, trained ready on each other, but none willing to fire the first shot.

“Surrender or Die, Terran pig! “ – Spat the Vasudan commander in Max’s face, the barrel of his handgun against Max’s temple.
“Likewise!” – smirked Max, resting his own handgun on his counterpart’s forehead.

“Cease and Desist! Stop your futile argument!” – A mechanical voice interrupted their standoff. It was the robots – but….something was wrong…….both the Terran as well as Vasudan robots had interrupted them, instead of fighting!

“Terran Mech Unit! What is the meaning of this?!”
“Vasudan Mech Unit! This calls for an explanation!”

The respective commanders barked.

“All will be explained, in due time. For now, all we ask of you is this – come with us. “ – came the emotionless, metallic reply.

“Where?” – enquired Max.

“……To the home you left behind.”

What greeted them was nothing short of paralytic shock. The cityscape, smouldering, desolate, in ruins, the buildings standing like yellowed skulls –------ all missing. In their place there now existed lush,green, flowing meadows ; rivers with crystal clear water ran across them. In the distance, dense green forests could be seen.

“H……How could this be?”- stammered Max.

“We have been rebuilding this planet.” – the emotionless voice answered, “Having long realized the futility of war - through the Probability Matrix calculations which showed a victory percentage of 0.35% for each side, the Terran and Vasudan robots made a peace treaty with each other, and combined our technology. We created nanobots – microscopic machines capable of performing any designated task. We assigned them the task of rebuilding the planet, supplying them with relevant information from both the Terran and Vasudan History DataBanks. The definitions “paradise” and “utopia” in particular appealed to us greatly, and we restructured this planet on similar lines.” The long explanation left the humans at a loss of words.

“For the last four years, we have been working tirelessly, undoing the destruction you and your kind have wrecked upon this planet.”

”B….But what about the video presentations and broadcasts you’ve been sending us? A…About the progression of the war?”

“Fabrications. False messages, designed by us. Designated to keep humans in their bunkers and prevent any future war.”

“No,NO,NO!! This is NOT possible!!” – cried out the Vasudan Commander, collapsing to his knees.

“Why…Why not??” – a shaken,but still composed Max said.

“We created them, and we’ve striving to make them better,faster,stronger,more efficient,more…….more human. Well,they are human now. More,much more human than any of us….” - Tears were rolling down his cheek now. – “More human…human enough to realize the futility of wars – the pain, the destruction, the suffering it brings… ‘To the home we left behind’ – that phrase somehow sounds so appropriate….it WAS our home, our planet, souce of all life….and we’ve squandered it away..all because of our greed and our petty differences,our hatred for each other? No…there is no doubt. They are MORE human than us!” – he emphatically stated.

“Hope is yet not lost.” – The robot said.
“Rebuilding can continue on a much larger and more efficient scale, once we have the support of your scientists and your knowledge. Call your superiors. Let them know the truth. There is still hope for mankind.” – another stated.

“Yes! Yes! We’ll co-operate! Mankind will once again rise to it’s previous glory !

Like a child learning from it’s mistake,

Like a phoenix from the ashes –

It will be reborn!

If emotionless machines could understand the importance…the significance of peace, could we humans not?

Have we become so intent on destroying each other, that we no longer have room in our heart for love, compassion, forgiveness?”

He frantically reached for his radio.

“…………and as these events transpired, the headquarters of both forces received such emotionally overcome messages, repeating an impossible scenario, but with very much real video evidence….and the scenario turned out to be not so impossible after all, when everyone else saw it with their own eyes. Although they had some difficulty believing their own eyes. What reaction it brought forth I do not know, but it prompted them to end the war once and for all, and contribute and cooperate, to making a better world for all of us.”

“That was the best story we’ve ever heard,Grandpa!”
“Yeah!”
“Tell us another!!Puh-leeezzz??”

Max smiled, now at the ripe old age of seventy-three, concluding the story of Tiberia’s rebirth, to his grandchildren.

“All right children! That’s enough! Give Grandpa some peace and quiet now!” – came their mother, smiling as she cradled and took her children inside the house.

Sitting outside, in the bright, sunny, beautiful morning, Max smiled, gazing into the distance.

A smile of peace, content, and happiness.

Life will find a way…

Yes.

Because…….life always finds a way.

"A Futile Message"

2008-03-08T11:45:00.013+05:30

They had arrived at the cliff, the lookout point of Verdana Mountains. Their field of view comprised the rugged, arid landscape of this part of Sera, dotted with occasional clumps of scanty, barely alive desert vegetation. The only man-made structure that could be seen was the VTDC Sera Coalition military base, with it’s Communications Tower, Barracks, Training Grounds, and the airstrip.

Monty and Lucas lived on the other side of Verdana Mts., in one of the settlements of the Army quarters, with their mother, and their father – the Field CO, VTDC Coalition Forces. Normally, non-military personnel weren’t allowed near the base, but that didn’t stop Lucas and his brother Montgomery from coming here today. They had something adventurous planned out, and they sure as hell weren’t going to be held down by just some rules!

“You got the bag?”

“Yeah!” Lucas, the younger of the two, replied emphatically.

“Man! This is gonna be SO cool…..” Monty could barely control his excitement, bubbling over.

“But Monty….what if we get into trouble? Mommy’s gonna be mad at us then….”

“Relax, bro. What could possibly happen? We’re just trying to tell ‘em something…..give ‘em a message…an ‘eth-ee-cl education’, or somethin’!”

“Wowie….you sound like the geeky guys in those films which won awards ‘n all……for saying that war was wrong…” - little Lucas, obviously amazed at and appreciative of his brother’s ability to memorize film dialogues.

“Exactly. I rule! Now c’mon…..we gotta get to the top! Tag!” Monty said, hitting his brother playfully on the head and speeding off. “Race you there! Hah – bet you can’t catch me!”

“No fair! Why’m I always the one to run after you? Huh?” - Huffing and puffing, Lucas took off after his brother, the bag containing their precious cargo in tow.

“Here we go! All done up! That’s the first one. Ready?”

“READY!!”
”Yeahh!!!

And that was the first one. As minutes flew by, they sent up many more, celebrating each time.

Unaware of being watched.

Far away, the Control Room of the coalition forces sprang to life. Every army personnel was up and about, busy plotting their course of action, now that they had noticed the activities of the – now branded – ‘rebel’ children.

“Two of them, Sir…they’ve launched something in the air…..stationary and floating.”

“Yes…it must be some new rebel weapon….” The supreme commander stated in a gruff tone, chewing on his cigar with contempt.

“But sir, we have a positive ID on the children…..they’re residents of our army quarters,Sir. Identified as Lucas and Montegomery Jones.”

“Jones?”

“That’s right, sir. Children of……General Jones here.” The operator nervously stated, casting a fleeting glance at General Steven Jones, standing alongside, his face aghast now.

The VTDC supreme commander permitted himself a smug grin. “Well Jones…..it seems as if you have failed to give your children proper education in loyalty and patriotism….your children have joined the rebels and are organizing an anti-government protest against us!” He said, spitting out the words.

“Commander, I – “

“Enough with you Jones!” he said, cutting him off. Turning to his Blue beret team, he barked out – “I want those runts brought up here right this instant. Grade III Judicial Hearing. Immediately! GO!”

“Commander NO! You cannot put them up to a military judicial hearing! They’re just children! They didn’t know what they were doing!” Dazedly, Jones looked around the room for support.

No one dared raise a voice. They all wore grim looks on their faces.

“That’s ENOUGH! Jones – get back to your post, NOW! The VTDC Military Court will handle this!”

“So…you think you can just do whatever you want, do you?” Walking around the room, barely able to control his temper, the commander snarled - “ Are you not aware of the turmoil our country is going through right now? ANSWER ME!” he said, banging the desk in anger.

The two children, cuffed and restrained, guarded by four armed soldiers, were ashen faced and frightened.

“No! Please….we didn’t mean anything!”

“Then EXPLAIN YOURSELVES!”

“We….we just wanted to…say that….send a message that….war…war was wrong….and our country shouldn’t-“

“SHUT YOUR MOUTH! You wretches! Do you even know what war IS? War has a dignity of it’s own, son!”

“War is for the brave, the strong, the SUPERIOR!” -bellowed the commander, at the top of his voice.

“War is the only way a country can become great…. defeating other nations! And your launching of this weapon, shows nothing but disrespect for our country’s great cause for waging this war against the world!” – he ranted on.

“Please! They weren’t weapons! They were just-“

“I ORDERED you to SHUT YOUR MOUTH!” – He banged down on the desk again.

“There is NO place for love and compassion…in other words, WEAKNESS, in our war. They are mundane matters which MUST be disposed of, in lieu of the great cause for which we wage this war!”

Recomposing himself, he went on –

“This court hereby finds your activities highly seditious and anti-patriotic.”

“NO! Please!”

Drowning out their cries with his authorative,booming voice, he went on “…and thus sentences the accused, Lucas and Montgomery Jones, to a death penalty.”

“NO! WE DIDN’T-“

“AND PRESCRIBES – “ he went on again, louder than ever – “a death administered by firing squad. Court dismissed!”

And he sealed their fates, and the fate of human morality and ethics, with a blow from his hammer.

The commander personally oversaw the execution, along with his cabinet, including General Jones, the father of the children.

“Shed no tears, Jones.” He said, taking a drag from his cigar. “You are a patriot. It is your duty, to your country, to punish all those who stand against it.”

“Y…yes…yes sir..” Wiping away tears, Jones said. There was no place for weakness in their war….he brushed away more tears, lest he be branded a rebel as well……….There was no place for weakness in their war.

After the deed was done, the general and his cabinet went to the Missile Launch Silo.

“Is their weapon still present in the sky?”

“Yes sir. Still floating there. Within range.”

“Good. Lock them as our Primary target. Prepare AMRAAM-344 missile launch.”

“Sir,yes sir!”

The Supreme Commander beamed inwardly. He was deeply satisfied. He had personally crushed yet another rebellion, yet another civil uprising in their country.

Hmph… goddamned civilians..….all they could do was spread weakness…’love and compassion’…’peace’……..Useless maggots….they never cared for the noble deeds the military did….almost daily…protecting their country! Ensuring their country’s supremacy over all others! …….WE, are the greatest sons this country has ever produced…..!

“Missiles ready…..LAUNCH!”

“TARGET DESTROYED! We did it!”

“Good work, men! We have done another great service to our country….you will all be sufficiently rewarded for this.”

Waves of raucous cheers and celebrations went up in the VTDC Coalition base.

About a kilometer from the base, the remains, the shreds, of about a hundred colourful balloons, reduced to bits by the explosion, gently floated down to the scorched landscape of the earth.

"Understanding"

2008-02-07T19:55:00.000+05:30

”You hold the answers, deep within your own mind. Consciously you've forgotten it. That's the way the human mind works. Whenever something is too unpleasant, too sorrowful, too shameful for us to entertain, we reject it; We erase it from our memories. But the answer is always there.”

Dr.Greene circled round Blair. Explaining his situation, a very complicated one at that. Blair had his face buried in his hands. It was almost too much for him to take. All the memories came crashing back, the floodgates opened. That which is suppressed, never stays so forever.

“So…so….what do I do now,doc? What do I do? She….I……”

Dr.Greene pressed his hands down on Blair’s shoulders,as a means to console him.

“Move on,Mr.Blair. Pick up the pieces and move on.”

“What for? Who for? There’s nothing in my life anymore. No love,no support,no inspiration,no hope…..no one.”

“You’ve got to be steady,Mr.Blair. You can’t let yourself be overwhelmed by grief or sorrow. Life goes on,Mr.Blair..it waits for none.”

“But……but…..I…..”

“Pick yourself up,Martin. Think of her. She would want you to go on with your life. She would want you to be happy. Not the mess you are now…Think! Would she want to see you like this, beaten and defeated?”

“…….”

“Go home, Martin. Think of her. Remember her. Cherish the memories you shared together. Never forget her. But don’t waste your life away because of her passing.”

"Thanks doc…….I’ll…….I’ll try.”

He walked,rather stumbled, out of the psychiatrist’s chamber.

Down the stairs.

Out the front door.

To be greeted by a heavy downpour.

The skies seemed to be in synchronization with his mind. His heart. Grey, gloomy and dark. People around him,all busy minding their own business,walking past him,sheltering themselves from the rain by either umbrellas or raincoats. Others darted for cover under facades of buildings.

He walked on.

Rain pelted down on him ; tiny,hard,sharp drops striking him. He walked on,making his way through the black wave of umbrellas. The rain felt cleansing ; washing,dissolving away the shroud,the shell he had placed around himself, unconsciously.

And he felt grateful to nature for that. Doing him a favour. Something he couldn’t do for himself. He couldn’t just…..

Can't wash it all away, can't wish it all away.

I couldn't make it all go away... Make it all just leave me...

He slammed the door behind him as he walked in.

Throwing his slopping wet jacket down on the floor, he entered the white monotonous cubicle of the shower.

He turned it on and let the hot water wash over him.

The tears flowed silently, mixed with the running water.

Miscible with the water, yet not completely so.

Can't cry it all away, can't grieve it all away

Martin Blair was now in the living room, lounging on the sofa and watching the television. But his mind was elsewhere, fighting against the wave of thoughts arriving and leaving, quite like butterflies.

They all led back to the same subject.

Martin Blair, to the best of his knowledge, was unmarried, lonely, a bachelor; living alone, 10th floor, Aaron Heights Apartments.

The catch, of course, was that he was very much married. Isabella Dodson. They had met at university, and as the years passed by, they felt closer to each other every passing day. And it had culminated in their marriage. Thereafter they spent almost three years, living out their lives as a perfectly happy couple.

Until that terrible episode……. A period of her prolonged illness was diagnosed to be a horribly painful and disfiguring disease called Kaposi’s sarcoma.

And she was at it’s all but last stages.

The doctor’s verdict came like a blow from a hammer, crashing down on their happy lives.

She had a couple of months maybe….three if she was lucky.

To the always cheerful and lively Isabella, even the news was as good as death.

And she did die….but Martin didn’t want to believe it. He blocked it out unconsciously. Everything. Every memory of their days together. Till the last few ones.

The trauma of losing her drove him to it. Every bit of her trace in their apartments - he either burnt or hid away. And his mind forced itself to forget, forget everything regarding her completely. Only recently, had he been having strange dreams and visions regarding her…….it had intensified to the point of insanity, and he had been forced to consult a psychiatrist. And today……

And today the revelations hit him harder than he could have ever predicted.

Memories came by….yet another wave of butterflies. Like a flashback, a montage of their memories together; her last days.

At the doctor’s office, hearing the diagnosis for the first time….

“She’s going to die…?! You…….you must be joking……”

“I’m very sorry…I know it must be-“

“Shut up! You can’t know how it is for me! You’re a doctor! It’s your JOB to HEAL PEOPLE!! HOW CAN YOU JUST LET HER DIE!?!?”

He swept away the flower vase and the pen stand from his desk, they crashed against the adjoining wall. Pieces of porcelain all around….shattered dreams, perhaps…

“Please calm down…as her doctor, I promise I’ll do whatever I can. But…..there’s no effective treatment for her condition. Please understand that…”

He fell down, on his knees, clutching his head in agony and frustration.

“H……How long does….does she have, doctor….?” - Sobbing, he blurted out.

“I’m not sure…a couple of months maybe…three if she’s got the will to survive….but it’ll happen soon Mr. Blair…..I’m sorry.”

“No…….no……..please,god,no!”

Martin switched the television off and went to the refrigerator for a drink.

In their apartment, lying beside her at night, listening to her strained breathing….

“Will you still love me when I’m…….I’m gone?”

“Don’t say such things! You’re not gonna die!”

“You’re a terrible liar, Marty…..it’s showing up all over your face…”- She smiled weakly

Silence was all he could manage.

“So…promise….promise you’ll never forget me…ever.”

In response, he just tightened his grip on her hand.

Martin threw back the drink into his throat. The warmth seemed to burn a hole through him. It made him feel a bit better.

But it couldn’t chase away the butterflies in his mind.

Lying beside you,
Listening to you breathe.
The life that barely flows inside of you,
Burns inside of me.

Another memory, the hospital bed, three days before her……her…..passing.

“What the hell do you want Martin..?”

“I…….uh….I brought you some flowers…”

“Flowers? I don’t want any damn flowers…..Just go home already…..”

“Izzy, what are you saying!”

“Look! I'm disgusting! I don't deserve flowers. Between the disease and the drugs, I look like a monster! Well what are you looking at!?
Get the hell out of here! Leave me alone already! I'm no use to anyone. I'll be dead soon anyway. Maybe today, maybe tomorrow....
It'd be easier if they'd just kill me. But I guess the hospital is making a nice profit off me, they want to keep me alive.... Are you still here!? I told you to go!! Are you deaf?! GO! And don’t come back! I DON’T LOVE YOU ANYMORE, UNDERSTAND? GO AWAY!”

“……………..” He was hurt badly….heartbroken. But he knew it was her disease making her speak this way. She loved him the same as before…

“Marty.... Wait.... Please don't go.... Stay with me… Don't leave me alone. I didn't mean what I said. Please Marty.... Tell me I'll be okay. Tell me I'm not going to die. Help me...Please….”

He wiped away another wave of tears…. This was getting too much to bear.

Hold and speak to me,
Of love without a sound.
Tell me you will live through this,
And I will die for you.

Retreating into the bedroom, he wanted to block everything out again. But the memories, her voices kept ringing out inside his mind.

Screaming with brutal agony, he banged on the walls again and again.

Can't wash it all away, can't wish it all away.
Can't cry it all away, can't grieve it all away.

Thoughts running wild, in this temporary, but suffocating grip of angst, he sought the easy way out.

He fumbled through the drawers until he found what he was looking for. A razor.

He reached for his wrists.

Just then, his eyes fell on the bedside table. The calendar was on it.

Something made him pause in his actions and drop the razor.

With trembling hands, he reached for the calendar.

A date had been marked with red ink.

5^th June.

Their fifth wedding anniversary.

She must’ve done it before her disease forced her to be admitted in the hospital.

He clutched the thing to his heart and sat like that, kneeling on the ground, for a few moments.

He was crying no more.

Cast me not away.
Say you'll be with me.
For I know I cannot bear it all alone.

And he did feel her presence, there in the room with him.

He heard her voice in his head. She was calling him.

He opened his eyes.

She was there.

She was beautiful, as always.

White.

Pure.

Angelic.

Heavenly.

“Marty, Marty! C’mon Marty!” – She was her cheerful self again.

“I’m here….I’m here..”

“Look at you! Stupid,stupid Marty…what were you thinking? What were you gonna do? Huh? “ – mock angry, she scolded him like a child.

“I…..I “

“Hmph! C’mon Marty….this isn’t you…..gather yourself up! Give yourself the strength to carry on! Don’t let me get you down like this!” she chirped on.

“I……I will………I will! Don’t worry….I’m gonna be okay soon…Yeah!” Wiping away tears,he smiled.

A heartfelt one.

“Good! I gotta go now, ‘Kay? I’ll be with you always, so don’t miss me too much!” Laughing, she said.

“Bye,Marty! Oh yeah….you never answered a question I asked you, remember?

“What……?”

“Will you still love me after I’m gone? Will you ever forget me?”

He laughed too,now.

“Yes,I will. Always. And no,I won’t ever forget you.”

"Good. And you'll move on with your life. I want you to do it for me” smiling, she said.

"Yes….Yes.I will.”

“Good! Well then, bye Marty! See’ya around!” She smiled and disappeared in a blinding flash of light.

And he gathered himself up.

He stood up.

He felt like he had done so, for the first time since her passing.

Can fight it all away, Can hope it all away.

Because I’ve got to……..

Because she wants me to…….

I understand.

"Breathe No More"

2008-01-25T14:31:00.000+05:30

She looked into the mirror, her reflection staring back at her in accordance with the Newtonian principles.

She permitted herself a little smile.

She was beautiful.... “…To Die For”, as 'The Vogue' described her once.

She was smiling.

Correction, her reflection was smiling.

She was not.

Inside, she was broken.

Shattered.

Crying.

She wanted to die.

'I've been looking in the mirror for so long,
That I've come to believe my soul's on the other side.'

Now her reflection faltered. Its eyes were welling up with tears. Now it registered anger, now fear, finally sorrow. The tears fell down like so many raindrops, crashing down on the porcelain floor below. Her resistance gave way to all the emotions pent up, all she had shut the door on, crashing out, breaking the doors, the walls inside her mind, her heart.

In a frustration and rage brought on by her emotions, she banged hard on the mirror. Nothing.
Screaming, she banged again with her bare hands. A small crack.
Again. Spiderweb cracks appear now, her determination finally registered by the glass.
Again and again she hit out at the mirror, at her reflection. She wanted her to die.

Die. Be gone from my life. You were responsible for everything! You were behind it all! DIE!

The mirror finally breaks. Glass rains down, stained crimson. Blood floods her hands, her fists.

'All the little pieces falling, shatter.
Shards of me,
Too sharp to put back together.'

When had it all started to fall apart?

She crawled up into a foetal position and softly cried to herself, the blood from her hands pooling up under her now.

When was it all over? Why? Everything had been so perfect……..and now………

'All the little pieces falling shatter.
Shards of me,
Too sharp to put back together.'

Eyes glazed over with a thousand-yard-stare, she absent mindedly fiddled with the broken bits of glass.

'Too small to matter,
But big enough to cut me into so many little pieces.'

Two small swishes.

The cuts weren’t too shallow, nor too deep. But they would do the job. In half an hour or so…maybe even less. She wasn’t sure. This was a first for her.

She lay there on the floor, her life flashing before her eyes. All the moments of joy, sorrow amalgamated in a sort of montage. She smiled. A melancholy smile, while tears overflowed their banks and down to the floor.

Her life ebbing away, with the final few ounces of strength she had left, she crawled up and looked at the mirror again. At her reflection. Trembling hands, she reached out and touched the mirror, in a final effort, perhaps, to feel the woman in the mirror, her reflection.

'If I try to touch her,
And I bleed,
I bleed,
And I breathe,
I breathe no more.'

'Take a breath and I try to draw from my spirits well.
Yet again you refuse to drink like a stubborn child.
Lie to me;
Convince me that I've been sick forever.
And all of this
Will make sense when I get better.'

Her reflection, which had been a shadow behind her. Hounding her in the path of success, influencing her to follow any and all paths possible, just to get to the top. Abandoning her friends, her relations, everything. Blind ambition – as that shadow had taught her.

'But now I know the difference,
Between myself and my reflection.'

She had finally realized her shadow’s motives now. All the while it had been manipulating her, pulling her strings, guiding her in the way she wanted. For success? Yes. But whose success? The shadow’s, the reflection’s own.

Because of the path she chose, she was now loved by all. Loved? All they loved was her outer appearance. Her reflection. Her shadow. And that was precisely what the woman in the mirror had wanted.

'I just can't help but to wonder,
which of us do I love?'

Yes. Which of them did she love? Which of them did she want her relatives, her friends, her fans, all people in general, to love?

The answer was simple.

She had to defeat that evil woman in the mirror. She had to get rid of her. Foil her plans…..all her vile, treacherous schemes. She must have revenge.

There was only one way.

'So I bleed, I bleed,
And I breathe,
I breathe no...
Bleed, I bleed,
And I breathe….
I breathe -
I breathe -

I breathe no more.

And in death, she had the final solace, the final comfort: she had won. Not awards, nor accolades, nor popularity, nor money, nor admirers.

She had won, against her own dark self.