Counterproductive Conscience

Okay, so he had a gun to my head.
' You would'nt wanna shoot me.'
' Why not?'
' Bad Karma.'
'I think you're forgetting that you're the bad guy here.'
'Am I now?'
'Yea you killed many people.'
'You are going to kill one.'
'Yes I am, but one that killed many people.'
'So does that make me a bad man.'
'Yes it does.'
'According to whom.'
'According to me and everything I believe in.'
'But what if everything you believe in is wrong?'
'It cannot be.'
'Why not?'
'Because Its what's generally accepted, the guy who kills many people is the bad guy and killing him aint that much of a crime.'
'So would you kill a police officer or a soldier then?'
'They had to do it to protect the rest of us, besides I am a pacifist.'
'If you are a pacifist and you do not believe in war then should'nt you kill those who commit it, because they are killing against your beliefs.'
He started and then stopped.
Then he spoke
'I should just kill you already.'
'Yes you should have, but now you have all the time in the world to kill me, you've got the gun, my last wish is to have a decent conversation. Surely a good man like you can grant my dying wish.'
'No, you are trying to confuse me and dampen my intention.'
'So your intent to kill is pretty strong?'
'My intent to kill you is.'
'But why would a pacifist want to kill so much?'
'Because scum like you should not be alive.'
'Why not?'
'Because you destroy lives.'
'You are about to destroy mine too, will you shoot yourself later?'
'No...'
'You like to kill, but you dont because the world and the society dont allow it, so you take shelter under the idea of pacifism where you shield yourself from an oppurtunity to kill, because you are afraid that you might enjoy it. Fear propels your psyche to escape from situations that may create it.
Do you not think so? Think about it from an intellectual perspective.'
A slight tremor shook his arm as he cocked his gun.
' No' he said.
' If your urge to kill me has only increased after what I have said, it probably means that you see the truth in what I said, your psyche wants you to shut me up so that I will stop revealing aspects of your identity that scare you, because you diffuse your identity over all of humanity and you see this animalistic side to us, that you cannot tolerate. So I think its fair to say that killing me is the best way for your subconscious to vent out its lust to take away another's life. Perhaps it may also make you feel a little more powerful. So if by dying I can help you then go ahead kill me.'

I could see beads of sweat emerge from his forehead, as his pupils dilated to maximum as he grasped my words, his hands were shaking. The conscience was getting filled up like a bag, i figured that he would eventually crumble under the burden.

'Shoot me, I am done talking.'
'No.'
'But you came here to shoot me.'
'No I wont, I am going to call the cops and wait for them to show up.'
'But isnt it wrong enough to want to kill a person?'
'Yes.'
'So you came here, wanting to shoot me down and leave, because I was the only one that you had an excuse to kill, I was the bad guy. But now once I showed you your true nature you want to not kill me but you want others to do it, once again just to protect yourself, seeing that you are a man who does everything with himself in mind, even kill, why am I the only bad guy in this room?'

He dropped the gun and sat down, I walked upto to him, picked up the gun in my leather gloves and walked out of the room.
The man had suffered enough.

THE CHASE

‘The infamous assassin cum art thief Hulohot was killed today in the city of Delft by officers of the European Law Enforcement Agency (ELEA). The ELEA had been tracking Hulohot for almost 3 months while he is said to have been in the Netherlands to steal the famous Castafoire emerald. A special squad of the ELEA tracked his location on Sunday evening to an old cottage in Delft. Officers soon stormed the building and a short exchange of firing ensued following which Hulohot was declared dead from a headshot. One ELEA officer was also killed in the crossfire, Lt. Rosa.’

This piece in the newspaper grabbed my attention almost immediately, as I read through it several times each time grasping different parts of the passage and putting together the whole. I had just woken up and my hypnogogic state made it all seem like a dream.
As I made myself coffee I thought about how this very well could have been a dream. I was indeed associated in my small way with these two people, more directly with Charize.
As a psychologist I Charize had been visiting me on and off for the past ten years. I have seen her grow through the ranks. Working for the ELEA I had seen bizarre stuff, but none as captivating as what Charize presented.
The first time she came to me was in 1990, I can remember that day very vividly, she was part of the operation that was trying to capture this man, I forget his name…..hmmm….yes it was Hulohot. She said that there was something that had drawn her to this case, something that she couldn’t explain and that all she could think about was finding this man. She even showed me a photograph of Hulohot. Initially I began thinking along the lines of Freud, but unfortunately modern psychology does not allow one to be that free with their thoughts and ideas.
The next time I saw her, was a year later, I vaguely remember that occasion because she started by saying that she thought she was going crazy, she told me that she hadn’t been with another man for the last year and that she didn’t know why but ever since she started chasing hulohot she just couldn’t be interested in other men, this was very bizarre because she seemed to have somehow tied her identity to the chase of this man, a chase that her hippocampus seemed to thoroughly enjoy. It was strange that she feel this way about a man that she had never met, but when I confronted her with this fact she said :
‘ Of course I’ve met him, I’ve even danced with him’
She had waltzed with him at a party being hosted by Gianlungi Bouton, the art connoisseur, but of course she hadn’t known that it was him then and her whole fascination with the man had begun after the party and after the world had finally seen its first photo of Hulohot.
Now I was sure that Charize was in some trouble of the cognitive kind, she had taken the carpet that was her identity that covered different kinds of terrain and had wrapped it around this single man.
But why?

THE GLASS WALL

It was impossible to tell its thickness for sure but I could tell that it was fairly thick.
White and transparent and cold to the touch.
I could see shapes on the other side and I could hear sounds, sounds of people, laughter and sometimes music.
I could hear moaning at nights and roars during day.
I could see hands and legs and heads.
And then I looked sideways only to see the slab stretch forever.
I felt like some kind of analyst, strategically placed to analyse the glass and the figurines behind it.
But I hated it.
I spent most days looking for a door of somekind.
Funny thing is, I don’t remember how I got here.

THE WRITING SESSION

' You cant just sit down and write stuff', James said.


'Why the hell not?'


'Cuz thats not how people write', he said as I walked him out the door.


'Well thats just how I write then. I am going to just sit down and think of stuff to write about and you guys can go and do whatever the hell you want.'


'You bet we are, we are going to get all the clunge while you sit here like a fuckin bender.'


'Get lost' I said as I shut the door on his face.


I grabbed a glass of orange juice and walked upstairs.


A lot of ideas crossed my mind as I thought of ways to organise and write them into a story.


So I sat at my computer and I opened a new document as I prepared myself to write a story.





Deja vu.


I remembered this situation only too well.


I remembered wanting to be sophisticated, wanting to be like those other guys, like Nick Drake or somebody.


Wanting to be that guy who could spin tales and carry people to different worlds, to draw their minds to the matter, whether it was consentual or not.


Wanting to be the closest that we can be to magicians and wizards and oracles and prophets, a writer.


But I guess sophistication is an aquired thing.


I remember spending the last 5 hours in front of the blank screen, trying to produce ideas perfect enough to deserve writing.


So today I guessed I wouldnt try so hard, as so many thoughts crossed my mind I drifted off to sleep.

The Killing Joke

Warning: This is not for those who sway to the optimistic or realistic set of mind. Everything I choose to state here, is but a personal , momentary, perception of the world. A fleeting fancy for me, even, but worth considering nonetheless. Those of you who are cynical, nilhilistic or psychopathic, green haired, and endowed with a blood-red Glasgow smile, read on.

§----------------------------§

Have you ever wondered what it would be like to know, and to understand, the true pointlessness in your life?

No?
Well, don't let me keep you. The door's that way. Hit yourself with the doorknob on your way out.

But if you have, I have something to share with you.

The world is shrouded in pointlessness.

An infinite universe, extending out into the far reaches of existence, as we know it.

The cold, dark, null.

With us, as a sole exception.

Or are we?
Depending on your belief in things, either everything came down to an all-seeing, all-knowing, bearded man with absolute cosmic power, made Adam, (and his seemingly lesser half, Eve), naked as babies, and stuffed them in a rather large garden, that lacked in nothing, euphoric to the human mind.

*facelaptop*

Or maybe we're just a massive mistake.

One thing after another. An event that snowballed in the most epic of proportions. Evolution. So if that puddle of slime finally coalesced into a pink meatsuit, such as yourself, it wasn't by the direction of any God. Or any guiding entity.

Simply put, we're just a big joke.

Hold on. I can hear what you're thinking. I do that sometimes. Anyway, linger a moment to ponder upon yon wise statement.

If all we are is just an epic coincidence, a series of events, unfortunate or not is quite another topic, then what is life, this false blending of colors that we see, but a joke?
And, if I haven't made myself quite clear, this isn't a joke of the humorous kind. The opposite, infact.

It's a much more morbid sort of humor. The kind you feel when you're on Death Row, and you've got a smile on that face again. The kind you feel when you're a cancer patient, and you're tripping out on crystalmeth with not a pain in the world. The kind you feel when you're on your deathbed, and you know that nothing you ever did, will make a difference to anything, and you smile.

Ha.

We reach, we scratch, we crawl, we bleed, and we betray, to attain power, wealth, fame and position.

For what?
Ambition?
Recognition?

Self-Satisfaction?

By whose standards? Not your own.

Achievement in this world, is but the expectations of your father, handed down to you. And his father to him.

This cycle goes on all the way back to the first man who ever stood a moment to think, "What is the point of it all?", and shit himself in fear of realization. Instead, he created things of distraction and deception. Hollow images to make the world seem more real and less pointless. Thus we have the system, of modern society.

EVERYTHING YOU HAVE EVER DONE, OR EVER WILL DO, IS A LIE.

Why?

Because in the end, it served no purpose. Ayn Rand wrote, paraphrased and summarized, "Everything is a tool. A means to an end. What lie does a thing live, if it serves no purpose?"

Hence, everything that you are, is a lie.

You serve no purpose in living. Not in an universe that tends towards non-life.

You effect no lasting changes in a world that will outlive you, in a blink of an eye.

In a single moment of this world, the memory of you after you die, shall be forgotten and dusty.

Your Life. Is a Lie.

And what is this if not dark, dark humor?
Humor so grim it makes you want to tear your eyes out.

You now realize how little a shit the world gives about you.

And this, is the funniest joke of all.

Why?
Because we are made to live it anyway. Because most of us cannot bear, not living even this, pale shrouded lie.

So weep tears of blood, and betray everything you ever stood for.

Indulge in every dark fantasy your twisted mind could ever conceive. Go beyond the bounds of mortal men in the lengths of your depravity. Ravage your body and mind in self torture, to make the world scream.

Why?

It's all just a joke.

§----------------------------§

A Beautiful Day

He stood tall, wore a jacket over his t-shirt and jeans faded from being worn too much. 


His clothes were nondescript, gray, like an old movie with no sound. He walked down the stairs while pulling out a set of keys from his pocket. A flash of color, a bright yellow key chain dangled.

As he opened the door and inhaled the fresh air, the cold rushed into his lungs, wiping away the last remaining vestiges of sleep. A beautiful morning. A shadow of a smile played on his face, almost not even there. His eyes closed as he remembered those moments past that kept pushing him along. All those moments past.

His eyes opened slowly, reluctant to face the real world. The smile vanished, washed away by pain.All those moments past, now lost.

At least it was still a beautiful morning. It was early, too early for the sun. It was that time between Night and Day, the dark is gone and the sun lies just beyond our sight. You look around and you can see, but its not day yet,rather the entire world lies in the Shadow, and is lit by an ethereal blue light.


He walked to his bike,putting on a pair of shades. As he sat down and turned the key in the ignition, he placed his hand on the throttle. Worn but well maintained, he had restored this 89 model bike to his preference,and it was reassuring to the touch.He had bought it with money he saved up from his first job, which made it even more precious.As he kick started the bike and revved the throttle, the silence ,so deep around him, was broken by the steady throbbing of the 500 cc engine.

He rode out.

The city is still asleep,save for a few. He rode through the scant traffic,to where the concrete gave way to the wet ground,where the buildings were replaced by trees. 


Here,the world was Green.

He opened up the throttle,and the bike replied. The engine roared as he sped past, filling the air with the rhythmic beat of his ride.He changed gears with a satisfying click,and accelerated. The wind whipped around him, as the whistling in his ear turned into a scream.The road melted away...

She stands at the edge of the lake, the fading rays of the sun caught in her hair. The light reflects off the water and shines bright, gently lapping the rocks , and we are surrounded by green fields on all sides. There stands a tree to the side,its branches hanging over the water, its base surrounded by small yellow flowers, and I knew this was a little piece of heaven.

She was still the most beautiful thing there

It is the 14^th of March,2011,and I am in love.

As she took in the landscape, I hold her from behind, my arms around her slender waist, and kiss her neck .She places her hand against my cheek before playfully slapping me away. She turns and put her arms around my neck and asks me if I love her. I kissed her nose and tell her that i do, and always will. She pushed me away in mock anger and called me a liar. I smile and shake my head, as she laughs and runs to the bike. It’s a beautiful day.

He slows down, his journey has come to a close.He cuts the engine,and the sudden silence envelops him. He is surrounded by fog,as he tramples through the wild underbrush.He walks to the edge of the water and gazes for a while, his head slightly cocked to the side. The fog hangs over the water, like a haunting presence. It was still dark here.There was a sense of foreboding around this place now.

He walked towards the tree. The flowers are gone now, dead. He stands a few feet away,and pulls the jacket closer around him.He stares at the tree.He is lighting a smoke now,and the ember illuminates his face with a deep orange glow each time he takes a drag. He never looks away.

The sun breaks over the horizon,and slowly the light falls strong, driving the Shadow away. The tree is bathed in the light,and the lake is no longer dark.

He puts out the cigarette,and walks away with his hands in his pockets,only to come again the next day,like so many days past.

The birds are chirping as he reaches his bike.The sun shines bright,and there are green pastures all around him

It's a beautiful day.

Chapter II

The first rays of the morning sun shone playfully through the curtain. A light breeze fluttered the windows, as the rain fell lightly on the ground outside. She shivered against him,as her arm drew tighter around,rubbing against his beard.He smiled down at her,and kissed her forehead lightly.

He whispered ,quietly,like the rustling of leaves as they sway to the slow music of the breeze. She slowly opened her eyes and smiled back. As she blinked at the light,she opened her mouth to say-

His eyes flew open. His hands searched for her, empty hopes,fed by memories that were fading into oblivion. Memories that were being buried.

He sat upright on the bed,and shrugged off the blanket. He winced as he stretched, the bruises of last night making themselves apparent now,begging for attention and care.

No time.

He opened his bag and pulled out a switchblade.He had cleaned it last night when he got back-

-his face and clothes were splattered, his hands and the blade covered in it,still dripping to the grass-

-and now he examined it with a clinical eye. It opened with a satisfying click. The blade was serrated and long,the base strong enough to not break if it strikes bone.

The door bell broke his reverie.

He was alert now,quiet.

It rang again.

He walked stealthily towards the door,and his fist tightened around the dagger,blade pointing to the ground.He paused near the door,not wanting to give away anything to the person behind it.

A fist pounded on the door,and he jerked away a little,his senses heightened.

He stepped to the door and glanced through the keyhole,and was met by darkness.

A shiver went through him,as prepared himself.He was weak now,but would not go down easy.His fist tightened.He took a deep breath...

He jerked the door open,grabbed the man by the neck and kept the blade under his eye.

The man smiled at him,his eyes covered by knock off Aviators,and his black kurta slightly billowing around him.He was well built,lean and sinewy,and had the look of a man who had survived the streets.

And he had.

This was Baba.

Baba was a small time druglord. He had an entire slum under his thumb,a big deal for a man so young.He controlled the drugs that rose from the sewage of the city and dealt them around,and played around with other such activities of the illegal nature.Despite the sinister profile,he was a man of honor,and a friend who could help in dire times.

These were dire times.

He slowly took his hands away from Babas neck,and without another word retreated into the house.He came back shortly with an envelope and gave it to Baba.Without a second glance,the envelope disappeared and the slumlord turned away.

"Wait", he called after Baba

The man in black paused at the stairs.

He spoke softly,"The next name...When?"

Baba lowered his head a little,he seemed to consider for a moment, wondering for the third time if he would be sending the man to his death.When he finally spoke,there was regret in his voice.

"Soon."

Soon...

Loup Garou.

Vivian sat on the soft grass, bathed in the silver light of a full moon; her ethereal golden eyes fixed on her father as she immersed herself into the story he was telling- the story of how they came to be.

“Before the time of the Loup Garou there were only humans. Our human ancestors devoted themselves to the Moon Goddess, Selene. They gave their entire being to her and so, she gifted them with the ability to be more than just human. They were able to invoke the beast within them, the beast that is present in all of humanity, and bring it to the forefront. Whenever they desired they called upon the beast and turned into wolf-like creatures; beautiful, strong and powerful beings.”

“Selene is the mother of all Loup Garou; it is to honour her that we howl to the full moon.”

“Like our creator the night is our realm. It is at this time, under the watchful eyes of the Goddess, do we truly become Loup Garou.”

The moon, as though listening to his tale, shone more brightly than before and Ivan’s desire to leap into the surrounding forest and change into his wolf-form intensified. He could feel the fur rising on his back but he had to finish telling his daughter the story of the Loup Garou.

“Selene was a very passionate woman, driven by her emotions above all else. And so, her Loup Garou are slave to their emotions. We cannot fight our feelings Vivian; they are stronger and more compelling than those that even the most passionate human experiences.”

Ivan smiled as he watched his little girl widen her eyes and grin. She thought she understood what he was talking about but it would be some time before she understood his full meaning.

****

The star filled sky stretched above Vivian like an immense canopy. Tonight, the Moon Goddess had chosen to hide herself behind the glitter dusted black curtain, to watch her Loup Garou stealthily. Vivian sat perched on a massive boulder, face turned towards the sky, lost in the memory of her father’s story. At her feet lay the mangled corpse of Astrid. Astrid’s eyes were glazed over and her bloody and nearly-decapitated face was contorted with an expression of pure terror. Her body was torn and gashed and covered with deep red marks. She was covered in blood, she was surrounded by blood. Astrid looked nothing like the beauty she had always been.

Her red, fox-like fur was slowly receding as she returned to her human form. The Goddess’ gift was not for the dead. The dead could not be Loup Garou.

Vivian tried to rub off the blood from her muzzle and claws. Her mind was reeling.

“What had happened?”

The pack had met in the woods for the Ordeal, where the males fought for the right to lead the pack and the females fought for the right to be the leader’s mate, to be the ‘Queen Bitch’.

With his formidable strength and power it was no surprise that Gabriel won the Ordeal.

And then, the bitches’ ‘‘Dance’’ began. The females flew at each other- biting, clawing and tearing each other apart. They formed a mass of writhing fur- one indistinguishable from another. Slowly, they broke apart as one female after the other admitted defeat and fell back. Only the auburn Astrid and the honey-coloured Carmen were left and Carmen looked like she wouldn’t last much longer.

Vivian had no desire to take part in the “Dance”. She was fond of Gabriel but she did not desire him as a mate. Yet, at that moment when Astrid was so close to victory, so close to establishing herself as the ‘Queen Bitch’ something changed within Vivian. Emotions she had never known existed took control of her body and mind as she leapt onto Astrid, while Carmen beat a hasty retreat. Vivian fought as she had never fought before. Her claws sunk into Astrid and tore away at her flesh. Her sharp teeth left deep wounds whenever she bit Astrid. The auburn female howled and screamed like never before. As the two wolves fought that fatal battle they moved away from the clearing where the pack was assembled. Vivian beat Astrid mercilessly until she finally killed her.

Now, sitting on the boulder Vivian could not understand what she had done. She was filled with loathing- she hated herself for killing one of her own kind. She hated the killer that lurked within her. For the first time in her life she hated being Loup Garou.

She was “Queen Bitch” now- ‘how fitting’, she thought to herself, bitterly and sarcastically.

A rustle in the bushes to her right caught her attention. From its black middle two ice blue eyes that somehow always radiated warmth peered out at her. There was only one member of the pack who had eyes like that. Gabriel.

Her heart began to beat so fast that Vivian felt that her chest would explode. She was gripped with desire so strong that it took all her willpower to control the urge to howl. Her fur stood on its edge. Vivian’s blood sang in her veins as she was engulfed by Gabe’s heady and spicy scent. She wanted Gabriel.

At that moment Vivian heard her deceased father’s voice, a whisper in her ear, reminding her of a story she had long forgotten. “The Ordeal is won by the two wolves that are the strongest and the most powerful; the two wolves who are soul mates- meant to walk this earth side-by-side and lead the pack together. Selene brings them together- she unearths those emotions buried deep within us.” Vivian finally understood her father’s stories.

She held herself upright, leapt off the boulder and moved towards Gabriel.

Her father. He and her mother had led the pack to great heights. Vivian was his legacy, his heir. She owed this to him, to his memory. Selene had shown her where she was meant to be- by Gabriel’s side, leading the pack; just as her parents had done.

Vivian threw back her head and howled. She howled for Gabriel. Gabriel howled for her too and the night was filled with their howls that blended together in perfect symphony.

(A Blood and Chocolate FanFiction. All credit to Annette Curtis Klause for creating these characters but this is what I wish had happened in the book)

Calm under the waves

The gentle lapping of the waters calms my thoughts. I blink a few times, letting the salt seep out of my eyes. The sun shines bright against my eyes, but a part of me convinces me that it is ok to look at it. I feel the water rocking me gently, the wind running across my chest before leaping into the sky.

I'm not sure where I am. But it seems absolutely perfect. Like it is where I am meant to be for all eternity. Like I had to be there or else the world would collapse. Like my very purpose for life was the drift across the surface of these waves.

But my life? How did i even get here?

I let my thoughts drift away from the profound serenity of the waters and bring myself to reality. I try to ignore the muffled chaos of the undersea. The chaos that calms me inexplicably.

I try to ignore the velvet warmth of the sun. The warmth that lulls my skin to melt into my body.

Instead I let my mind awaken from this blissful oblivion and feel reality.

In the midst of the wind and waves, I hear distant cries. The breeze that runs wild carries along a voice of a woman. She seems desperate, her voice laced infectious fear. A faint conscious inside of me confirms that she is in trouble. I see her bronzed arms flailing in the distance, a flash of red hair bursting through the waves before crashing back under.

I try to care. But my will only gets me so far. The tranquility of this world, devoid of humanity, is compelling.

The cries weaken, slowly acquiring the rhythm of the waters. The red hair surfaces for a final time in vain. I slip back towards the calm under the waves. I open my eyes, once again to the immutable sun. They are pleased. I feel complete.

My drifting arms brush against another as I allow myself a glance to the right.

I smile curiously as I stare directly into the eyes of a woman, her flaming red hair blossoming out against the surface of the waters.

Her eyelids flicker open, staring sleepily at me. I smile, letting a hand drift towards her.

My searching fingers find hers.

I pull her bronzed arms towards me, comforting her.

Despite the deafening silence, despite the inexplicable chaos, she understands.

The Road To Valhalla,Hall Of the Slain

A whisper over the hill
and the Moon shines down.
Her Glory, Her marred Beauty,
lost on the Dead.

The Moon shines down on us,
So few of us left.
The Grass bathes in the Blood of our Brothers,
So many Dead.

The Living live on,
cursed by the Fates,
To survive,
To live for a few more moments longer in Pain,
in Suffering.

But not Long now,
They are here.
They bear fruits of Destruction,
Death
And Salvation?

The Dawn will Come,

But till the Rise,

We hold our Ground,

And Sacrifice.
For the Greater Good.


I Rise up, Valiant, only to Die.
And Now,

Valhalla.

Her Smile

She entered the room, wearing her usual twin layered facade's. Her gaze flickered from face to face, doing her part as smoothly as ever. Not a second wasted, not a moment lingered.

Finally, her eyes fell on me, almost as if by accident. She glanced away before placing her reassuring eyes back onto me. I bit back down a smile, I sank my toes as deep as my shallow soles allowed. I am more than just an accident.

With a few nod's at the backdrop, she made her way to me. I pretended to be unfazed by her presence, by her apparently indifferent gait. I pretended to be as indifferent as her, to be above it all. I pretended to have no silent husks of anger and jealousy, irritation and maybe, fear.

And then she smiled.

Her smile. It sent this overwhelming burst feedback to my senses.It was like, every molecule in her body, radiated this undeniable, irrevocable flow of happiness, permeating to every corner of my body. Her eyes shone out like the brightest star in the midst of the blackened sky, her skin glowing with an aura of tranquility. It was like a bright torch that shone its concentrated light into the darkest parts of my heart, extinguishing all pain or grief, remorse or anger.

I felt liberated like i had never been before. Like every single wound and flaw, that littered the crevices of my battered mind was banished completely, cleansing my mind of anything impure, anything....human. Anything human, besides the burning desire to immerse myself in this angelic glow.

And then the moment passed, like a transient spark bursting between two doomed wires, leaving a vague blue shadow of its ghost.

And then she turned away, smiling at the backdrop, as if this incredible phenomenon was an insignificant habit she had developed over the years, a cheap trick for no one to learn, and for everyone one to appreciate.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to a person living or dead, if noticed means imma kick yo ass foohl!

Pace

I fly onward, to an unknown place
I fly onward, trying to keep pace
Seven birds with an unnatual craze
I fly onward, to win this race

Arith

No man could ever match Taven's speed. He couldn't be seen when he ran. It was unnatural. Unearthly. He had never been overtaken. You can not outrun something you can't see. Not even the animals could. Not the hare, not the horse, not the cheetah. He was the fastest.

He was respected for it, feared for it, worshiped for it. The people loved him, he wasn't proud like the others. He loved them back. They would chant his name at the end of every battle. For they knew, without Taven they wouldn't have won. The tiny kingdom of Arith knew he was their strongest warrior. They had been able to defend themselves these last ten years wholly because of Taven.

Children would imitate him. Racing was the most common sport in the kingdom. Every child wanted to be as fast as Taven. They idolized him.

Girls would try to woo him. They would wait out on the streets for him to pass. He was irresistible, even the married woman secretly harbored a soft spot for Taven. They loved him.

Even though Taven didn't have a rank in the army, the commanding officers too treated him with utmost regard. They respected him.

It was customary for King Halio to gift Taven at the end of a battle. He was rich. Maybe even the richest in Arith. But no one complained. They all loved him. He was given a lot of benefits, the chief of them being freedom. He was free to do as he pleased. In turn he could be called for battle at a moments notice. This agreement had worked for the last ten years.

They required his aid this time too. Arithrian scouts had spotted the armies of The Alliance marching towards Arith. They would reach in two days. It would be the biggest war Arith had ever fought. The combined force of three nations against one small kingdom. They would rely entirely on Taven. They trusted him, they knew he'd win this one for them. The man with the magical feet never failed them.

Messengers were sent to find Taven. He would have to be informed of the war. The messengers were excited to be given this important job. Each wanted to be the first to find Taven. It was a prestige issue. The messengers would erobe remembered.

But they never found Taven. He wasn't anywhere in Arith.

The Arithrian hero, had failed them when he was most needed.

And thus the kingdom of Arith fell.


An exerpt from The Fall of the Weavers by Drowan Trott.

Shit on a Stick

Salvage what you can,
From the bottom of my mind.

Dredge the murky waters,the shallow thoughts.

weary,be,of dark corners,blind turns,
shadows await,shifting.

waiting.

is there an end to questions?
do answers come soon?

deep in thought,open in mind
but on the knife's edge,reality hangs

suspended,animated.

The silvery strand of spiders web,
is all that holds up this world,and the madness of the next.

to live is to die,
to die is to be reborn.
to be reborn is to live again,
but to live is to die once more.

Addicted

People are idiots.

This is a universal truth. You know it, I know it. So let's skip that bit where you act outraged and come up with an argument.

If you're an optimist, someone who believes in the strength and courage of the human race, then let me break your belief into tiny little pieces.

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

We crave what hurts us.

All of us. Our entire lives spent crawling on our hands and knees, searching for relief in cruelty and misery.

People are idiots, not because they lack the sense to know they crave for a fire to burn their hands, but because they disguise this need under labels to deceive themselves.

Alcoholism, drug use, smoking. Examples that come readily to mind.

And now in your mind,with each of these images, you associate to a worn-out junkie, shivering in the cold, life broken and wasted.

This is what society has done. In the eyes of the world, addiction is only the domain of the weak, the poor and the powerless. They could never succumb to it. They possess willpower, they have ideals they stand by.

You're all bloody wrong.

What of love then?

People's lives are spent wandering in between achievements and failures, looking for love.

The world lauds the concept of love. It commercializes on it. Profits are made from the rush of estrogen to our brains. A whole industry revolving around a single gland.
But what does love ever get you?

For a few months there is the feeling of bliss. That rush of "love" returning whenever you see your partner.

And then it fades. Some trace of it will remain, if you're lucky. But eventually, implacably, as sure and definite as the death of a star.

It will disappear.

To be replaced by a sense of obligation. Where there was once devotion to your relationship, there is now duty to maintain what you spent so long a time forging. You are no longer a lover in love, you are a janitor sweeping and dusting the walls. A captain trying to keep his ship afloat, not knowing he's headed for an inevitable glacier.

Regardless, it is not the failing of love that I use to illustrate my point, but the result of it's failure.
Shock, Denial, Anger, Sorrow, Acceptance. The cycle of reactions after the bridge is burnt.

Reactions from this point on differ. Some, in fear of ever falling prey to the soul-wrenching agony they had to suffer, vow off love. To them, it is nothing more than the wheel to the mouse. A pointless exercise to keep them occupied, while they go about the business of living. A lie they perpetuate to themselves. For with being human comes the need to find love. It would be easier to live without a heart than to tear love from your being.

Some march forth with renewed vigor. Determined to find their soulmates, they dive once again into the murky waters, hoping to find gold at the bottom. Only to drown before they can emerge to the surface.

What every hapless Knight in search of his damsel-in-distress or Princess in search of her Prince Charming fails to realize is, that no matter how many times the love is thwarted by the Evil Dragon, they will eventually continue upon their quest. Only to have pain inflicted upon them once again.

I pose to you a question now.

Why is this?

Human instinct is to learn. To understand. To Grow. If we could learn that fire burns. why can we not abstain from love?

Do not sing me songs of love great and fair. Recite not to me ballads of kings and queens. I know the answer to this question. It is time for you to know it as well.

We crave love not for pleasure of love, but for the pleasure of misery.

It is in misery that we revel. In cruelty and times of despair that the human spirit breaks through. Only through the gray light of sorrow can the sun be seen to have any relevance at all.

You may be skeptical, you may choose to not believe. It is your choice. Remain unknowing, unwilling to admit the truth to yourself.

It is human nature to seek out pain.

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

That is the way of this life. Short as it is.

We crave it. Just as much as every heroin addict craves his next hit, shivering in the cold, tossing back and forth, weeping and sniffling.

We are addicted.

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

Chance

When a coin is flipped, there are two outcomes. Heads, or tails.

An equal chance of two completely different outcomes taking place.

Unfortunately, reality bears little to no resemblance to a coin. For every action, there are a million probable outcomes, a billion consequences for each outcome.

And no I'm not talking about whether you choose to drink tea in the morning instead of coffee because that one friend of yours told you to.

I speak of real decisions. Things that make a difference.

I'm sure you've wondered.

What would have happened if you had made that one phone call to someone you'd loved and wronged?
Would they be beside you right now? An indelible part of your life. A place where they belonged.

Or would they?

I seem to digress, but the point I seek to make is this.

What would have happened if Jesus Christ, Proclaimed Lord and Savior of the Faithful Masses, had never been born?
Unimaginable. Intolerable. I must be burnt at the stake for even thinking of such a thing.

But in the mean time, let us be hypothetical.

It's fair to say that in such a case, Christianity would have never come into creation. And that Judaism would be the dominant religion in modern times. A reasonable assumption. For with no one to crucify, the Jews would have never been cast into the light of murderers and traitors that they had to suffer for centuries.

With no one to prosecute, Hitler would have never been anything but a painter. Perhaps a shoddy one at that. And not someone who shook the world to it's roots.

The Crusades would have never happened. There would have never been anything for armies to march across the world to rape, pillage and murder,

No purifying the Earth from the "scourge" of the Muslims in his name.

And leading into Modern Day, no demonizing of the Islamic nation. No reason for terrorism. No 9/11. No Saddam Hussein. No Osama Bin Laden.

If the Church had never existed, Galileo would have never been strung up for the simple desire of wanting the world to know the truth.

Copernicus.

Newton.

Darwin.

The list goes on. With no bit and bridle placed on science's progress, the world might have been a better place. We'll never know.

No Church, Catholic or Protestant. Another wall torn down.

Think on it yourself. There are so many ways the world would have been changed, but for the birth of one man.

Jesus Christ.

Reality bears no resemblance to a coin. But every once in a million tosses, the coin follows a third outcome.

It falls on it's edge.

With every waking hour, people foretell of The Rapture.

Judgement Day.

The Apocalypse.

Perhaps, somewhere in this slew of infinite possible universes that we call reality, the one we inhabit is that one coin?
Think on it.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I in no way intend to insult the followers of the Christian Religion by suggesting that the Church not existing would have made this world a better place. What I DO say is, that the world would be different. For better or for worse, we shall never know.

KEEP THE STREETS EMPTY FOR ME.

She was used to a world that radiated tranquility and peace. A world where the ground was a carpet of green grass, soft mud and slippery moss; where the air was fresh and felt like nectar in her lungs; where the trees were tall and evergreen. In her world there was always a sense of home, of being right where you belong.

This world was all grey.

Storm clouds hung low in a slate grey sky and seemed to press down on her, making her gasp for air. It was bitingly cold and despite her warm coat, she shivered. The wind blew in sharp gusts, with a force like she had never experienced and cause her brown, beady eyes to water. An acrid smell hung in the air and every breath she took burned her lungs. She coughed and spluttered and her head throbbed. She was miserable and sick to her core.

Yet, she kept on walking. She could not bring herself to rest in this place, with its menacing grey structures that loomed above her and seem to jeer at her helplessness.

***

Under a flickering streetlight, in a pool of blood, lay a man. His sandy hair was turning red and his clothes were soaked in blood.

It was like a scene from a murder-mystery play with bad lighting. It was like he was a little red island in a dark grey sea.

He lay with his back to her so she went over and nudged him, gently at first and then with more force. He rolled onto his back and she saw his terror-stricken, glazed eyes. Glistening red wounds covered his torso.

She froze, filled with horror but unable to take her eyes off the macabre scene. She wanted to run, but couldn’t feel her legs. She wanted to scream but only a squeak came out. She was young, innocent and naive; the gruesome sight seemed more like a nightmare than reality.

At that moment the wind died down and all was silent for a while. And then came the sound of dogs, howling with all their might. Fear tore at her heart and she ran, as fast as her slender legs could carry her, away from the dead man.

***

In a street corner, under another flickering lamp, stood a man and a woman. He wore dark clothes that enabled him to blend right into the grey surroundings. The woman wore a short skirt, fishnets and boots- the hallmarks of her profession. They were having an argument and their angry words were the only sound to be heard in the otherwise quiet street.

Feet aching, she came to a stop near them, unable to take another step. The man noticed her first and commented on her beauty. He did not have a pleasant face and the lack of light made him look even more sinister. And with all the war paint on her face, the woman did not look friendly or comforting.

Grinning maliciously the man lunged at her but she leaped aside in time. The man hit the ground but was unharmed. He sat up and looked around with a dazed expression on his face. She looked to the woman to see if she would help but the woman appeared unconcerned. Panic-stricken she turned on her heel and ran. In her haste she stumbled over a pile of garbage and then cut her belly on a piece of sharp metal. Bleeding profusely, she dragged herself over to some cardboard boxes a good distance from the man and the woman. She sat down and leaned her head against the boxes, her heart pounding and her breath coming out in shallow gasps. She was hurt, terrified and confused. Thankfully, the man seemed to have forgotten about her. He did not pursue her.

In an attempt to comfort herself, she closed her eyes and imagined herself back at home. She imagined herself lying on the soft, green grass under a crystal blue sky, with the sun warming up her entire body.

Her body relaxed, her breathing stabilised and she drifted off into a deep sleep....

***

A medical student walked briskly down the street; he did not like this part of town and had only taken this route as it was the fastest way to get home.

He saw her sitting in the midst of the cardboard boxes, covered in blood, her eyes shut. He walked over to her, kneeled down and felt her pulse. It beat faintly, indicating that she had only moments left to live. Her wound was deep and she had lost a lot of blood. She would die before they could reach a hospital.

‘Poor thing’, he thought and shook his head in remorse. And as life slowly ebbed out of her he wondered, ‘How did a deer end up in the south side of the city when the forest was in the north?’

Absolution - I

The cigarette dangled off the edge of his pursed lips, scattering tiny flecks of ashes into the air. The glowing cinders died out as they flew off the edge of the rooftop that he was perched on.

He bent down to glance at the telescopes eye piece one more time.

There he was, under the crosshairs, sipping his blood red wine, with that cocky grin on his red lips. He wore a black tux with a red bow tie, and a red rose in his breast pocket. He sat opposite to a pretty girl in a glowing white dress, with flowing brunette hair. She was delicately placing the thousand dollar caviar into her soft red lips, somehow managing to flash a smile while doing so. They were talking about something. They were laughing.

James had long foregone the habit of laughter, only managing hollow smiles for his landlord or his neighbors. He could only grimace bitterly as he bit down onto his dry sandwich, watching the couple. The restaurant was a costly one. One that James had eaten in during their celebrations on their latest breakthrough.

The three of them had been there. James, Morgan and Sarah.

They had been working on the nanotech cancer treatment research for almost three years and had finally succeeded. So to celebrate they decided to dine in style for once. For a change they abandoned their take out Chinese food, eating near the test tubes and lab equipment, to put on their finest suits and gowns and tip their champagne glasses together for five hundred dollars a bottle.

But this time it was only Morgan, and his latest catch, fresh off the covers of Vogue. Sarah was gone. And James was on a rooftop, watching the two of them.

He felt a pang of pain when he realized where they were sitting. It was near the very same window that Sarah had leaned over and whispered into his ears.

“Let’s get outta here James. I think a little celebration of our own is at hand.”

He could almost smell the lingering musk that lined her neck. He could almost feel the tingling sensation, when her lips grazed his earlobe ever so slightly.

Now the only smell that he got was that of the rusted iron bearings that held the railing at the terrace. The only sensation he felt, was the burning desire for retribution.

The wind whipped his over-coat into the air, resurrecting the dying glow of the cigarette tip. He took one last look at through the telescope before spitting out the cig and turning away.

He could not do it.

He had already rigged Morgan’s car with C4 earlier. It was child’s play after their work at the lab. And yet the trigger lay in his duffel bag, untouched.

He could not do it.

So he did what he had done every day for the past two weeks. He packed the telescope in his bag, along with the M40 rifle that he dragged along, trigger untouched, and walked away.

He reached out to turn on his apartment lights, groaning as he stretched. The scar that ran up his arm was still fresh. As the tube-light flickered on he noticed the dark brown clot that had formed around the wound. He began scratching at the scabs, letting the wound bleed afresh, letting the scar remain intact, and letting the memory remain burnt in his mind.

He winced as he remembered the plexiglass shards, digging deep into his arms, as he frantically tried to reach Sarah’s writhing body. Her unearthly screams reverberated across the still and silent room. Her pale face, contorted with terror and pain, flashed across his eyes. He buried his face in his hands, rubbing his eyes weakly. This cannot go on.

He had finally managed to get himself into bed, without any violent flashbacks. The darkness of the room calmed his turbulent thoughts, soothing his distraught mind. It was almost as if the lack of anything around him made the relative emptiness inside just a little more bearable. After the first two hours, his eyes finally drooped shut.

He was back in the damned lab. Morgan was saying something that James could not hear. He was angry and frustrated.

James could hear Sarah saying, “It’s absurd! Why would they deny the opportunity to finally go into alpha test phase. The animal results were completely impeccable! We KNOW it’s going to work.”

He realized he was back to the time when they had been rejected by the board. That god forsaken day when he had doomed her.

They had stopped talking and were staring dejectedly at the bubbling bacterial canisters. James felt himself open his mouth.

“Why don’t we try it on ourselves then?” His mind screamed NO! You IDIOT! You fu-

Morgan looked up incredulously. “Why not! We know it is ready. We can do this.”

Sarah paused for a while before nodding in agreement. “The board doesn’t have to know until we hand them our positive test results.”

Again James opened his mouth, his actions sealed by the unchangeable past. “But none of us has cancer Morgan, so what now.”

Sarah smiled weakly, raising her hand like a schoolchild. “Sir, if you would recall, I was just diagnosed with an adenoma.”

Morgan clapped his hands triumphantly. “So what are we waiting for! Let’s get her prepped!”

James shot a nervous glance at Sarah. She mouthed it’s gonna be okay baby.

Her comforting smile, that beautiful reassuring curve of her pink lips, faded away.

He was now in the testing chambers. The rhythmic bleep of the machines seemed to remain prominent despite the haziness of the dream. He could see Sarah walking into the Hyper baric chamber, with the bright white spandex suit, clinging onto the contours of her slender body. She flashed him a dazzling bright smile before strapping herself onto the machine.

Morgan’s reflection appeared on the smooth plexiglass that separated the chamber and the observation room. He nodded at James. James nodded back.

He watched as Morgan entered the commands for the nano bots to be injected.

It all seemed to go smoothly for the first three minutes. The radioactive dye showed the blood deliver the bots past the liver and towards the blood brain barrier. They floated easily towards the targeted benign tumor that hung awkwardly at the edge of the gland. As they began to get to work, dissolving the mucous layer, James noticed Morgan’s nervous expression, turn from worried, to pale, to downright aghast.

James rushed over to the computer screen. “What is it?! What’s wrong!”

Morgan tapped desperately at the screen. “Look at the code! It hasn’t been programmed correctly! The specific receptors have been left empty!”

“What?! What are you talking about?”

“James! They are not going to stop at malignant cells!”

“Then shut it down goddammit!”

“NO! Relax. I could just enter the commands now. It’s alright. It’ll be okay.”

James stared at him incredulously. “Are you out of your mind?! That’s Sarah we’re talking about. That’s not some lab monkey. That’s my fiancée for god sake!”

“And that’s 250k worth of nano bots. That’s the last we’ve got. I am not going to let 250 grand just decay and come out with urine. We can still stop it. I just need time.”

“You know I cannot let you do that Morgan.”

Morgan turned away from the computer screen for the first time. His eyes had a grim determination to it. It was a look that James was familiar with.

“I’m sorry James. But I just cannot let this go.”

He shoved James out of the viewing chamber and locked the sliding glass doors, as he scrambled to his feet. James screamed at Morgan angrily, ramming himself into the hard glass. Morgan ignored him and hurried back to the computer screen. He glanced at Sarah.

That’s when the screaming started. The bots had finished with the adenoma. They had begun with her. James muffled voice managed to reach Morgan.

“Morgan please. Jesus, don’t do this.” His voice was shaking now. He could not bear to look at Sarah.

She had opened her eyes and began screaming out in pain. The bots were digging into her cerebrum. Right into her pain centers. And there was nothing James could do about it, besides plead with Morgan.

Morgan was banging at the keyboard. He looked out to James. His expression stopped him cold.

“It’s not stopping!” His muffled voice reached his ears. “ James, it’s not responding anymore!”

No..

He gave all hope with the sliding doors and ran straight to the hyperbaric chamber. His eyes were brimming with tears. He looked around desperately through his blurred vision, looking for a sharp object. Each of Sarah’s screams made him shudder with weakness and despair as they rung in his ears. He felt helpless, like a man drowning with a dead weight tied to his leg.

Before he realized he found himself hurling a chair at the glass, creating a tiny crack as a small shard fell off. He punched it in and dug his arm into the tiny hole. The protruding edges dragged along his hands as he reached inside. If he could just get to the canisters, he could kill the bots with radio waves. But the canister was out of his reach.

Blood spilled off his ravaged arm and dripped onto the floor. Pain streaked up his arm as if his muscles were on fire, but he did not notice. He could only hear Sarah’s blood curling screams as he kept stretching farther and farther.

Almost there….just a little more….

He woke up, thrashing in his sweat and blood soaked sheets. He was breathing hard. The nauseating feeling in his stomach pushed him to stumble to the toilet as he held the rejected night’s sandwich in his throat. He retched violently into the metal sink, wiping his mouth on the towel.

Looking up at the mirror he realized that his face was wet with a blend of sweat and tears. He looked into his bloodshot eyes.

His mind was coiled with hot bands of regret and anger, a sickly red creature, holding his thoughts in an inescapable vice of pain and fury. All his guilt and repentance fueled his hate and blame on Morgan. There was a fire in his eyes.

And through the fire he could almost see Sarah’s beautiful pale face appear behind him. She leaned in close like the day in the restaurant and opened her blood red lips.

“Kill him for me, James. Kill for your love.”