Toying with an idea

I toyed with it.
It had been wanting to get away from me. It had been, for the longest time now, wanting to escape from my clutches.
But I toyed with it, giving it a push and shove, yet holding on to the leash which held it fast.
It was hot, angry and fire raged all around it.
I could feel it scorching me; I could breathe the sulphuric fumes.
But I held on to it without fear.

Today, I toyed with it.
I opened a window and let loose the chains a little longer.
I pretended not to hold the chains and hid in one corner, a dark foreboding corner, where the sunlight could never set foot; where eyes could only dream of penetrating; where night always fell and stay fallen.
It crept towards the window, always peering back, yet it crept towards it.
And from the corner of my eye, I observed it, chuckling to myself.
It heard the taunting snicker reverberate through the echoing room.
It flared with anger and hate, so fiery that I could feel it burning my hairs in my little dark corner. The heat tore at my skin, cooking my flesh and I could smell the charred stench fried human suffuse my olfactory senses.
And with the ferocity of a thousand raging bulls, it took a mighty leap at the window...
and I whipped back at the chains.
It landed on the ledge, teetering, struggling to fall out, yet, I was tugging it back in.
The chains were red with heat, searing into my hands, blistering, and sticking fast to it. It filled me with such immense pain, yet it felt so pleasurable, joyful in fact, just clenching it tight in my fist. Pain didn't exist as I was tugging at it, cackling with so much laughter at toying with it, balancing precariously on the window ledge.
The enraged thing burst into flames of a magnitude that the brightest Sun would shy back into night. Fortunately I was in my dark corner, the corner of nothingness. Despite suffering from the burns, I would never die from it.
I laughed even louder, jeering at it, sneering and with a mighty tug at the chains ... ...

I blinked and dabbed my eyes with a tissue.

Player Girl

So there's this girl

Who has had about 3 relationships before in 23 years of her life.

The first was just a bummer.

The second was someone really, really nice, but she didn't see a future, and she broke it off

The third was a narcissistic idiot

And so now, this girl is just a jaded little someone in the sea of people, who are similarly jaded

So this girl, who isn't ugly, who actually is quite pretty, has the attention of a million people

Everyday, she would get hit upon by strangers

Guys who got to know her went gaga over her, for some reason or other.

Some waited under her block for her to get home

Some called her day and night

Some kept asking her out

Some drove her everywhere

To any ordinary person, she would seem to be like some royalty

Some princess who shouldn't really be one

Now, this girl is really jaded

Not stupid, not dull neither dim

Just jaded, and perhaps very scared.

She could ask questions like "does that guy like me?" when the poor guy is almost on the verge of proving his "love" by death

She was enjoying all the attention though

But when it came to one step further with regards to any mention of a possible relationship

she freaked out

To her, it meant that all the attention the world gave her would stop

To her, it was a risk because this guy could just stop giving her all the attention eventually and she would end up with nought

However

She also realizes that, eventually, if there was no resolution, all this attention would stop when people get tired

She was caught between the devil and the deep blue sea

Eventually the attention would end

Of course, she could keep getting new attention while the old ones gave up

Or she could commit to one and take the plunge

But being jaded, really jaded, she didn't want to ever take the plunge

And so, one fine day, a new attention giver came along.

Now this guy is really unique

Somehow, everything seem to fall in place

She began to falter and there was a huge conflict going on in her head

A fight between a jaded self and the emotional self

But the guy kept his efforts up

The girl found herself bending to his will

Even when the guy hinted some signs of jealousy of all the attention she got from other guys, she got worried

Soon, after 2 weeks

The question was popped

And she had so wanted him by then

She said yes

However, the turmoil wasn't gone

She didn't take the plunge

Instead, it was like a bungee rope

She’s still giving hope to all the other attention givers.

She’s in total confusion now

*tsk tsk*

Maybe she might cut the bungee rope

Maybe she might just bounce back out

And I'm convincing her to cut the rope and enjoy the free fall

Unfortunately, I know some things about the guy, and I never gave her my judgment of the guy

So now the girl has given that particular guy a hint of a possible future relationship

Yet, she's not giving a hint of NO possible future relationship with the rest of the attention she's getting

And possible future relationship is as good as now because she's fucking up and caving in already.

She can't stop thinking of that guy, and as each minute that passes when her phone doesn't ring with a sms, her mind goes into the wildest negative thoughts

Thoughts like

He’s already beginning to neglect me

He’s already won the game and now he's quitting

And so forth

And she can't concentrate on work

As for the guy, who knows what's on his mind?

Was it games he was playing or was he serious in this girl?

Was it well though and reflected upon, his motives for going all out for her?

Or was it a moment of folly, succumbing to lust, emotional emptiness or the fear of loneliness?

Or was he feeding his own ego, playing a game of being wanted and adding another trophy to his wall?

The sweetness that had gushed from him throughout these few weeks had moved the jaded girl so much that everything in her, the concrete resolve of jaded relationships, had turned jelly

Now she's hurt and disturbed by the thoughts of the guy's motive

She’s in denial.

She openly and proudly claims that she won't like anyone so easily

But deep inside, she's really gone.

And as now as she struggles through her day, trying her best to shut the image of him out of her head with open denials

She can't help being distracted ever so frequently, checking her mails, checking her phone.

She curses and swears at herself

She thought she was in the game herself.

She thought she had all the attention under control

But now, a real player comes along.

Yet, through all this cursing, she's still falling; plunging fast into this deep abyss called "love"

The irony of something so blissful, yet she's berating endlessly at, was wrecking her sanity into pieces

"It's my game, how dare he come ruin it for me....."

"He’s not messaging me..... Where is he now? What’s he doing?"

"Wake up! Stupid bitch! Don't be a loser!"

And she reads, re-reads each and every email from him. Each and every sms

And...

Sanity slowly slips...

Slowly....

As delirium takes over her fragile mind.......

THE END

Nemesis

Do you know what "nemesis" means? A righteous infliction of retribution manifested by an appropriate agent. Personified in this case by an 'orrible cunt... me.

from Snatch

NOFX

Admit Defeat, Live in Decline
Be the Victim of your own Design

NOFX

Solitude

Laugh, and the world laughs with you;
Weep, and you are alone.
For the sad old earth must borrow its mirth,
But has trouble enough of its own.
Sing, and the hills will answer;
Sigh, it is lost on the air.
The echoes bound to a joyful sound,
But shrink from voicing care.

Rejoice, and men will seek you;
Grieve, and they turn and go.
They want full measure of al your pleasure,
But they do not need your woe.
Be glad, and your friends are many;
Be sad, and you lose them all.
There are none to decline your nectared wine,
But alone you must drink life's gall.

Feast, and your halls are crowded;
Fast, and the world goes by.
Suceed and give, and it helps you live,
But no man can help you die.
There is room in the halls of pleasure
For a long and lordly train,
But one by one we must all file on
Through the naroow aisles of pain.

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Maud Muller

... ...

For of all sad words of tongue or pen,
The saddest are these: "It might have been!"

... ...

3rd Last Verse of Maud Muller by John Greenleaf Whittier

First Fig

My candle burns at both ends;
It will not last the night;
But ah, my foes and oh, my friends -
It gives a lovely light.

Edna St. Vincent Millay

Antigonish

As I was going up the stair
I met a man who wasn't there!
He wasn't there again to-day!
I wish, I wish he'd stay away!

Hughes Mearns

Invictus

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbow'd.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looks but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds and shall find me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

William Ernest Henley

In My Mind

I cradled it in my mind,
like a baby
in all it's innocence
and idiocy.

I soothed it in my mind,
like a baby
with all it's incessant
crying.

I fed it in my mind,
like a baby
and it's indominatable
hunger.

But it controls my mind,
unlike a baby
with it's gentle
innocence.

It eats away at my mind,
unlike a baby
and it's blatant
ignorance.

It desecrates my mind,
all that matters
and all that I have
left.

The Road I Walk is Lonely Indeed!

The road I walk is lonely indeed.
Whatever that I must need
I have to scour alone;
Oh how the loneliness chills the bone!

Indeed, lonely is the road I walk.
Despite the many friends and foes
that cheer me on or mock,
my path has only me and my woes.

Lonely Indeed! This road I walk!
I stumble and fall as I knock
around on rocks and boulders;
All these bruises I have to shoulder.

I walk this lonely road. Indeed,
Satan or Saints I may cross.
The way was never easy to lead
especially when I feel lost.

Indeed this road I walk is lonely.
Though the grass bow to my stately
trudge in the cold, harsh wind,
it was only a figment of my mind.

Indeed, this lonely road I walk,
gives me no shelter from the storm
clouds, nor the fragile stalks
of daffodils that shed to my mourn.

Tis a lonely road indeed! I tread
each step, each step heavy as lead.
Malice, Kindness, Spite or Grace,
These things, alone I must face.

The road I walk is lonely indeed!
To survive, all I really need
is the blood that I bleed!
The road I walk is lonely indeed!

The 3 day war

I survived the 3 day war;
Death and Destruction I saw.
So I won, but at what cost?
When all my sanity I have lost?

In Control

In control, till I didn't have my space, I'm now incontrol

Losing My Sanity

I managed to keep my sanity till late,
till I discovered it missing (I was quite dead!).
Found them puffing away; Heaven sent!
Now I wonder where the rest went.

The Hungry Baby Dinosaur

There was once a little baby dinosaur, which I spent much time playing with it. We had much fun but energy took its toll, and soon, the baby dinosaur got hungry.

It was confused about how the feeling of hunger felt, and it said, "I'm having this funny sensation in my stomach. It doesn't feel good. I feel like crying."

I petted its head and said, "My dear, that's called hunger. You could cry, but there really isn't a need to."

"Ok, I shan't cry. Then what shall I do about Hunger?"

I held its hand and said, "Come, let's go find some food! What would you like?"

It reared its cute little head up in joy and gave a shrill little baby roar, and said, "I eat ANYTHING!"

So we went off into the woods and found ourselves some pizza and pasta from a little known shop.

It was a really cute little dino, and I had loved it so. And after we had our fill, I told the baby dino,"If you had cried then, I would have let you eat me."

"I wouldn't, then I would have no one to play with anymore. Instead, let's find food together!"

The Devil in White

I've realised
that I've always had a friend by my side.
He was always there,
in times of happiness and sadness,
in health and sickness.
My friend,
the Devil in White.

Baggages

He walked the entire length of the depature hall. It was unfortunate that he came in from the wrong end when the ticketing counter was at the other end. Then again it wasn't his choice. Still he had to walk the whole length.

It wasn't really an unfortunate ordeal to have to walk the whole length of 50 over counters. It was at most like 200 metres or so, definitely of no issue to a man of 27 years. A healthy build with only the slightest hint of a hunch; strong strides showed no signs of any tiredness and a stoic face radiated an aura of determination.

But the problem with walking this stretch of endless ticketing counters; flight information screens; the throng of the bustling crowd, was the fact that he was headed for a much longer flight ahead. And that meant he had 2 large suitcases and a huge haversack carried over his shoulders.

How long was the flight? He didn't know. He should find out, afterall he's taking that flight. He wasn't sure where it was flying over, what to keep him occupied on the flight or even the time of the day now and when he arrived. In fact, information was slowly slipping off his mind as he tried to recollect what he had read on his confirmation receipt. He realised, the only one thing that was real at that moment, was the fact that he knew was tired. Very exhausted, lethargic and drained.

Thoughts and memories were slipping out of his head like a leaking tap. Drip...drip... drop by drop, he couldn't recollect his identity number. Drop by drop, he lost recognition of where he had to go or what he had to do. He swore, with whatever remaining mind he had, that sanity was snickering away as it left his head.

No one could see what was going on with the man though. But on closer inspection, he was nothing more than a walking zombie, much like an empty shell; the remnants of a molted insect. Nothing more than an insect.

"Let me help you with that"

And gentle hands reached for his shoulders, easing the haversack of his back. He wasn't shocked nor taken aback. He didn't even look behind. More than willing, he let whoever it was take it. It slid of his back and at that precise moment, he felt that the leaking tap was being shut tight and sanity began to seep back in his mind.

A young lady walked to the front, cradling the haversack in front of her, and peered deep into the man's eyes. As his mind returned to reality, he began to rediscover the meaning of gratitude and indebtness.

"Come, I'll help you to your counter. Where is it at?" she asked, with a lifting lilt and a touch of joy which penetrated deep into the man's heart.

"Right at the far end, counter 58." he replied, and the airport music played on Sinatra's Strangers in the night.

If I Can Stop One Heart from Breaking

If I can stop one heart from breaking,
I shall not live in vain;
If I can ease one life the aching,
Or cool one pain,
Or help one fainting robin
Unto his nest again,
I shall not live in vain.

Emily Dickinson

A Man Said to the Universe

A man said to the universe,
“Sir, I exist!”
“However,” replied the universe,
“The fact has not created in me
A sense of obligation.”

Stephen Crane

The Night Has a Thousand Eyes

The night has a thousand eyes,
And the day but one;
Yet the light of the bright world dies
With the dying sun.

The mind has a thousand eyes,
And the heart has but one;
Yet the light of a whole life dies
When love is done.

Francis William Bourdillon

Strangers

(Orignally 10th November 2006, 11:51 am)

He was a troubled boy. Man, actually, he's really quite the adult now. But he was troubled by issues that had plagued him as a child while growing up. So being unable to really shake off the stigma clinging onto his back, he was really still quite the boy inside.

The dark corners around the house always seem to replay scenes of a little boy being beaten badly by chairs, canes, walking sticks, bamboo poles among many other things, while the boy could only crouch and hide as far into the corner as possible, trying to protect whatever he could of his innocent face and sanity.

The broken glass of the antique cupboard by the dining room wall brought flash backs of how a little boy got shoved so violently into it, the back of his head smashed through the brittle panel, the glass fragments and jagged edges slicing and cutting his head and hair; the impact leaving him senseless and disorientated.

Disorientated till even now.

Years ago, as a young and naive boy, as a carefee and innocent little child, a stranger had come to the door. It was a charming man, but the boy was too young to estimate an age. He was clean shaven, dressed in the finest shirt and pants, clean and pressed, and even had a slight sheen to it. Nicely combed and gelled back hair, bright wide eyes with a pair of rimless round spectacles. Carrying a nice briefcase, which was rather big, he had carried with him an aura of respect and to the little boy, awe and amazement.

He had rung the doorbell and the boy was home alone. He had said something about an inspection, that the house had to be checked, for what, the boy could not remember. All he could remember was probably the idea of a monster in the house, perhaps that was what the man wanted to check. And with a simple lollipop candy, the boy forgot about taking precautions against strangers, and unlocked the door.

The events that succeeded that moment was beyond imagination. Beyond the most barbaric imagination. Shutting the door behind him, the man dropped his suitcase and delivered a jaw jarring punch right across the boy's face. At that time, the fist was about the size of his face; it connected and literally sent the boy flying. Just that one blow, the boy had lost his senses. He sat back up dazed and confused, and the next thing he new, darkness enclosed him in the form of a giant hand grabbing him up by the face. He felt limp, and it never occurred to him to struggle the least. In any case, everything flew by so fast that he probably didn't have time to react in anyway. The next thing he knew, he was being forced back so hard and his head crashed through the cupboard's glass panel. Conciousness was smashed out of him and he slumped down against the cupboard, blood flowing crimson rivers down his face and neck, soaking his tiny white shirt into a colorful red.

That was years back. How many? 9 years? 10? He couldn't remember. He didn't have much of a memory, not anymore anyway. The days that followed the atrocity had been filled much whiteness, white rooms, white dresses and robes, white lights and white beds. That period flew past him, and if there was any remnants of memories serving him, it sure felt like he had been dead and frolicking around in Heaven and all it's whiteness. Unfortunately it was not to be, Death had not showered his loving embrace on him.

The boy wished he did.

The vague and sporadic images of his life after "Heaven" was called "Hell". It sounded apt to him to give it a name like that. After the charming gentlemen had delivered near fatality to him, he had cleared the house out, which unfortunately wasn't insured. If there was anything valuable left after the deed was done, was a smashed up antique cupboard. The boy's parents never got over it. They could not believe that a young boy could be so stupid, and if he was so stupid, what was the point in being nice? Stupid people after all shouldn't be able to differentiate between nasty and nice. Nastiness seemed like an easier gift to deliver to little young boys.

The father turned alcoholic from being unable to cope with the lost of wealth. The mother turned miserable from the father being alcoholic and that led to her being temperamental, emotional and the fact that seeking the easy way out from gambling isn't working, basically made her a rather violent person. The little boy looked at his scars and scabs, and he couldn't really remember where or when he got them. But the conditioning he received taught him to remember, by heart, how a cane bruise would look like, and that was usually from dear mother. The bruises and scabs from anything else was easily recognised as well, and that was the loving gift of father who would bring more variety in dishing out his nastiness.

He sat on the floor in the living room, going through his presents, how painfully good bruises felt, how the bright red blood quenched his thirst sometimes, how scabs are fun things to pluck at, how all these markings are like beautiful tattoos, how he felt like there no worries in the world at all other than that accepting his parents lovely gifts was so touching, too touching sometimes.

"Hey mister?"

He looked up and saw a man standing at the door. He was smartly dressed with a neat tie. The shirt had nice cufflinks with what seems like diamonds inset in them, and his shoes were polished shiny. He had stunningly handsome features and an aura of charm radiating from him.

"Hi, I'm really from social services, could you let me in?"

He stood up and opened the door, forgetting everything about taking precautions against strangers.

Oh Eldeweiss!

(Originally 8th November 9:28 pm)

Imagine falling into a deep hole. Deeper than 6 feet mind you (pun intended, in more ways than one :D). Then slowly but surely, perhaps even being a experienced rock climber, and strong and energetic, you crawl up with confidence and the light above is so bright and appealing. Then suddenly, on your way up, you see a nice little eldeweiss by the side.

Now that is weird. Really weird. Because you know that eldeweiss grows on mountain tops. And you are stuck in a deep dark abyss, deeper than 6 feet I reiterate. But despite knowing everything around, that eldeweiss was sparkling in the thin ray of light that was streaming down, illuminating a dew gracing its petals at the most perfect and precise angle. The moment was simply ecstatic, the sight was beyond the words of heaven. It was as if God had shown you a sign, although you wouldn't really fully understand that sign, but you would say it's a sign and just accepted that it was all good (despite the possibility that God give signs for bad omens as well). It nodded gently in a gentle draft from some unseen hole from below, teasing the dewdrop, scattering the light like a million faceted diamond into your eyes.

Possibly blinded, possibly greedy. Possibly touched and mind-numbed beyond words. Possibly bewitched. Of all the thousand possibilities that exists, only one thing was definite. You just had to get to that flower. Maybe you will pluck it, or leave it there. Maybe all you wanted was just to examine it closer and absorb all its beauty into a safely kept memory in your mind. Maybe you want to plant it a kiss. Ho ho, maybe that was another pun. And in that most precise and exact moment when the most definite decision was made, the first attempt to climb over, simply had to fail, among the millions of other possibilities of success.

So you slip as you catch a last glimpse of that innocent little eldeweiss, nodding in the draft, still teasing a million colors into your eye with a single dewdrop. You couldn't help but smile as you fall, for you have caught the most beautiful thing you will ever see on the way to the top. And considering that you are falling all the way down again, you can't help but think that that flower would be the only beautiful thing left in this world your eyes will set upon.

Of Madmans and Minstrels

(Orignally 8th Novemeber 2006, 10:48 am)

"Because," announced Tristran "every lover is in his heart a madman, and in his head a minstrel."

Stardust by Neil Gaiman

These days

(Originally 7th November 2006, 5:03 pm)

These days
the mind floats in space
and the heart hangs heavy

These days
the mind finds memories
and the heart yearns long

These days
the mind reminisces the old
the heart turns tender

These days
the mind grows objective
the heart beats strong

Facing the Demons

(Originally 5th November 2006, 1:10 am)

He stood there in the last moments of the onslaught. As the darkness over the horizon steadily grew darker and bigger, the morning sun began to lose its shine over the land. The dewdrops became lack-lustre diamonds, the once bright green grass became a dull color of wilt and decay and the air became a stale stench of death and hopelessness.

He stood there, knowing that the time of enjoyment and bliss is over. No longer did he think that the land had anything to offer; Solace doesn't exist here anymore; It would only come after this fight in which death was certain. Death was guaranteed.

He felt naked suddenly, and a tear fell from his face. Despite the armour of mail and chain, despite the gigantic tower shield he held, despite the claymore in his heavily chained right hand, he felt naked. It could be because he stood alone, or it could be the confusion that sets in by the thought of facing the incoming demons. Whatever it was, it wasn't the time to sort that thought out. All he had left to do before the final clash, was to pray. And pray he did. He closed his eyes, blinking out the last tear drop, clearing the window to his soul and prayed like he never did before.

To every single god, he prayed. To the brave and the meek; to the lust and the love; to the war and the peace; to the night and the day; to the skies and the earth; to the music and the wine; to the sad and the lonely and most of all, to life and death. He prayed in silence, yet his prayers were louder than the deafening roar of the encroaching darkness over the horizon. So loud that every god in the pantheon could hear his last prayers, even gods from the most distant reaches of the world. And at that moment, every trace of fear left his body, and even death was on his side.

He raised his sword towards the sky, catching the last ray of sunlight that filtered through, and it illuminated all around him. It filled him with a brightness that radiated out from him, so bright that the armour seemed to turn molten red. He trembled at the power that coursed through him, a power that resonated every cell in his body. He heard a loud buzzing in his head that wiped out every other thought in his head. The buzz filled his mind with a message which he swore he heard

Face your demons. Face your demons. Face your demons ...

Completely empowered, he charged. He ran like no man could ever run. He ran as though his armour were weightless. He ran without any restrictions. His steps left heavy foot prints into the earth, yet he felt he was running on air. He ran, and he ran without fear. He let loose a battle cry that resounded through the land and the valleys, a battle cry that would calm an innocent infant's wail yet strike the worst fears in the guilty, a battle cry that would cure the deaf yet deafen the hearing. And with that cry, he clashed into the demons.

He slashed and stabbed with all his might, his unending might. He pommeled and slapped with all his strength, strength of a thousand gods. He parried, blocked and dodged. He fought like the god of war himself, and he moved like the god of water. He fought like a dance that would put the god of wine to shame, and the clashes of steel against steel played a song so mournfully beautiful that the god of song could never sing.

But he took his share of pain. He braved the stings of scorpions and the bites of snakes. He grimaced through every punch, kick and the powerful whip of demon tails. He tore his eyes open for every dust blown into his eyes. He fought on through all the bruises and broken bones, slashes and stabs.

By the time was high in the sky, the darkness no longer blanketed the land. The land was littered with the disintegrating bodies of slain demons. Every single one was killed, every single one was served to death. And as the last dying demons slowly disintegrated, the wind scattering their ashes over the blood stained earth, only one person remained standing. He stood there covered in demon slime and acid blood. His armour was torn and tattered as if it had been nothing more than a rag. His once brilliant claymore now chipped and cracked; its tip was broken. He lost his shield somewhere, which he had thrown after it was cleaved in half. Underneath it all, he suffered wounds no human could survive. He was stabbed a hundred times, and a hundred times more. The cuts ran all over his body like runic tattoos; They had all stopped bleeding, for he was already dry. His fair skin now bruised and black all over. His lips were swollen ugly and split. And as the last ash was blown away, the glow of life surrounding him started to wane as the gods left his body.

He smiled that this battle was fought and he was the one who fought it. His eye glittered as he saw the god of death left his body, who waited to be the last, and pulled on his valiant soul along. And as his eyes fluttered shut, he saw himself walking side by side with death, among a row of valkyries to the glorious pantheon.

The Beautiful Code

(Originally 4th Novemeber 2006, 5:37 pm)

The waiter had a long day. It didn't end yet really. More like half a day had gone by only. But he had a long day already. It was really a long day because he had been waiting for this time of the day, when he would have his lunch. He had waited every second to pass by. He had literally counted every second.

"Would you like to have toppings on your potatoes?"

"Bacon only."

45 ... 46 ... 47 ... He served the topping, gently scooping those crispy, red bits onto the potato. Say please at least ... 56 ... 57 ... 58 ...

"Enjoy your meal maam."

60 ... another minute ... 1... 2 ... 3... 4...

Each second seemed like an eternity. More than an eternity in fact. That next minute was taking too damn long. It was nibbling at him like a hamster gnawing its way out of a cage. It kind of hurt actually. Each second, the hamster sunk its teeth deeper. Each minute the hamster removed another piece.

He made it through the ordeal of half a day. Sure it was nothing compared to many other things, but it was bad enough having to count and serve pompous customers at the same time. He scurried over to the staff canteen and gobbled down his meal. He didn't even know what he ate, it was always some unusual fare that any more thought spared on it could make you think otherwise about being hungry.

Still gobbling a mouthful, he returned his tray and dashed off to the pay phone.

No queue please ... please ... please ...

He was third in line when he got there. Fuck.

The minutes started counting in his head again. Or rather, the seconds. He swore he was counting down to the milliseconds. At times, he was pretty sure time stood still to make a mockery of him. He tried to shake these thoughts out of his head, and dug out a piece of neatly folded paper from his pocket. It was his like his little bible which he would go through over and over again. On it was written nothing more than a bunch of code-like numbers. It was a long string, but still, they were just numbers.

Honestly, he didn't need that paper anymore; he had already memorised those numbers by heart. Everyday, he would have seen these numbers at this moment, and for uncountable days now, these numbers have been his prayer.

When it got to his turn, he fumbled for ten cents and plonked it into the slot. He punched the numbers on the keypad. Punch, punch, punch. Each punch in angst and agony for the day's waiting. Each punch was filled with the pent up emotions of the day. Emotions. Yeah, each punch was filled with emotions. The emotions that were all held back for months. The emotions that chained him down to a tonne of lead. The feelings of emotions that he had to surpress, for reasons he didn't know why.

Punch, punch, punch.

In a minute, it was done. In a minute, a minute that he had patiently waited the whole morning for, all the emotions he held coursed through his body. It ran every length of his veins; it ran through every strand of hair; it ran through his soul. It sent the chilliest shiver down his spine, yet he was feeling extremely warm, almost too hot in his chest.

With a wide smile, he kept that paper neatly back in his pocket and walked back to work. Just another minute, in another day. There's nothing more than tomorrow's minute to look forward to ...

1 ... 2 ... 3 ... 4 ...

I don't know what else to say

(Originally 3rd November 2006, 1:34 am)

"That's about it."

"Just like that?"

"I guess so. What else is there?"

"Abrupt isn't it?"

"Yeah well, I don't see any other way to it. Suggestions?"

"Maybe you can meddle around some more?"

"Tell me about it."

"I don't know really either, it's your work."

"Thanks alot. That's one huge help you gave."

"At least I said it didn't look right."

"I could see that myself. Don't tell me something I already know."

"Bro, you are stupid."

"Fuck you."

Mice Pride

(Originally 3rd Novemeber 2006, 12:05 pm)

The mouse was proud of herself. So fucking proud. Just the other day, she found out how a quick swish of the tail would swipe the cheese off the mousetrap and not have that huge snapper slam down and break her back. Like it did to granduncle.

Sneaky Humans.

She was big headed the day she noticed something wrong about that piece of tuna hanging in midair down a dark, no, black corridor. She remembered warning Nancy that something fishy (pun intended) was going on; the corridor looked pretty much like a dead end. But hell, that bimbotic Nancy could only think of the piece of fish. Sure enough, a door slammed shut when Nancy tried to grab the fish.

Most definitely fishy.

So Gin was way proud over her head as she watched relatives and friends go, especially after refusing to listen to her intuition. She went around telling her stories, "... and that bitch June wouldn't listen to me that the silence was because the cat was waiting..." or "... Baxter suddenly lit up and smelled awful when I told him that the silver strip felt electrifyingly scary..." or "... I swear those pinkish red fishes were tearing Elsie up though I couldn't really be sure through all the trashing...".

Gin was simply confident that there was simply no way that those dumb humans could trick her little mousy intuition. She proudly strolled out that night, feeling quite infallible, always able to spot any danger and booby traps.

Sniff, sniff. A wrinkle of her nose. A good scan round the room. She spotted an odd piece at the corner of the room. Scuttling over, she prowled around it.

Like the cat, she thought, hee hee.

Sniffing again, she didn't feel her intuition tell her anything, and she felt proud. Again. Fucking proud. She wasn't exactly sure what it was though, it smelled cheesy, and anyway, humans had all kinds of weird cheeses. This should be another one of them. Dragging it back to the nest, she happily and most fucken-definitely proudly, called the nest out for dinner.

That night, everyone smiled in their dreams, especially little miss-fucking-proud Gin, as they dreamt the sweetest dream of eating a cheese which the humans called "Arsenic-Laced".

When if not now?

(Originally 2nd November 2006, 2:08 am)

I stood in the open field, embracing the cool spring morning. Patches of white still lay all over the ground, the damp grass soaked into my mocassins and dew drops added a sparkling beauty, as if the stars had all fallen the night before.

I stood there, breathing in the freshness of the gentle breeze, watching the orange orb rising over the horizon, slowly and aesthetically adding it's finishing touches to the great work of art.

I stood there, reminiscing the night before...

Why do you go knowing certain death? Why can't you just stay where there will be no harm?

The onslaught is nigh my friend. The battles have waged for eternity. It's time for it to end.

But the king has countless armies! What purpose has it then?

And more men shall die? More babies stolen from their mother's cradle and sent to certain death? The scythe sweeps wide, and the scythe doth cuts deep. It cuts deeper than the open fields, for it slices the hearts of mothers and lovers.

And so? We have lived so for times longer than our forefathers past! Let the next...

We shall not be selfish. If I alone shall bring the end, then I shall do it. Generations will remember my name and mother's can care again, lovers can love once more. Farewell my good friend, it's not my presence that you should concern, it's memories you must treasure.

And as the sun rose in it's full majesty, it illuminated the dark specks that loomed yonder. I stepped forth and walked towards the oncoming doom.

I took one last moment to suck in the fragrance I would never smell again and reveled in the green sea of diamonds I would never dance in again.

Come, enjoy while it lasts

(Originally 1st November 2006, 1:16 am)

Come, take this pill, it makes you feel so good.

You can see a thousand miles into the sky; the furthest stars would burn only for you to see.
You can hear the softest whispers; the soft, melodic music that the trees sing will be only yours to hear.
You can smell the slightest fragrance; the sweetest honey perfume of the bees is yours alone to indulge.
You can taste the faintest flavours; the gentlest sweetness of pure white snow melts heaven in your mouth.
You can feel the gentlest touch; the massage of the wispy breeze can cure all your aches and pains.

But enjoy while it lasts.

Tomorrow, you shall be blinded by even the tiniest spark;
tomorrow, you shall go deaf from the rustling leaves;
tomorrow, you shall smell every tiny, decomposing stench;
tomorrow, you shall taste the bitterness of your saliva;
tomorrow, you will kill yourself to ease your pain.

So enjoy while it lasts.

To Myself

(Originally 1st Novemeber 2006, 12:44 am)

My grandchild, I love you so.
So painful it was when I had to go.
You left me a note of how you would miss me,
and I was afraid you would become someone you shouldn't be.
I thought if I ended it earlier, then things would be easier;
But by my miscalculation, it only made the pain greater.
And in my last few days before I had to leave,
I spared much thought to ease your grief.
They said your banging the wall would scare me away,
but you had no wrong, I was always here to stay.
I didn't want you to remind yourself I wasn't here
and so in your dreams I never did appear.
Instead I left this note at the back of your mind,
and you finding it made everything fine.
In case you still don't have a clue,
I'm always behind and watching over you.

It was all he needed to know

(Originally 31st October 2006, 5:28 pm)

His father decided to make an early departure. He never really questioned why his father had to go but everyone around looked at the young boy with such sad eyes.

But he did cry. And the crying he did would have shifted the grave. The feeling of the loss, the empty void, held a reservoir of tears so massive that it always flowed. For days and nights, it flowed salty drops of tears, and tasting them would bring only refill that reservoir, and more tears would flow. He never saw his father again, no pictures were left, not even in dreams. But somehow deep down, something told him not to question about it.

Days turned to months, and months turned to years, time flowed along with his tears, the boy grew up to be a promising young man. Stacked sky high in confidence, handsome, smart and intelligent. He had never been afraid to live his life to the fullest, never once worrying what held for him tomorrow. He laughed whole-heartedly, even in the face of danger and death, and always walked away without a scratch. He lived a life as full as it can be, all because he knew one thing:

His father had always been with him, watching over his shoulder.

It was all he needed to know.

Ashes

(Originally 31st October 2006, 1:32 am)

I puffed on Virginia Slims and let it burn as far as I'd let it go. It looked pretty for awhile, but I know the ash had to fall. I contemplated a moment,

and decided to flick it before it fell itself.

I wrote and I wrote

(Originally 31st October 2006, 1:27 am)
I sat here writing, burning and kissing my lovely friends.
I saw a huge cockroach and chased it away.
I saw a couple arguing in the car.
A guy asked for a 24 hour coffeeshop,
I directed him to one that opened late instead.
I saw a man got off a cab and walked home.
I replied my sms's.
I sat there writing, burning and kissing my lovely friends.

Treasures

(Originally 30th October 2006, 1:37 am)

The little fella was dirty. Well, he wasn't really little. More like bowed over and cowering. Some fear perhaps, was gripping him, it's dark and ugly fist wrapping around the fraility of a the man he used to be. He scavenged around the corners of each alley he scuttled to, looking for something, but never really sure what he was looking for. He didn't seem hungry nor thirsty and he left garbage alone. He just kept going down every alley and every street, crawling on his hands and feet, scrutinizing every nook and cranny. It's like looking for a needle in a haystack, probably worse, he didn't know if it was even there. He still searched anyway.

Putting up with the looks of disdain and sneers, he beared with the shunning crowd, the snide remarks and the occasional shove and push, even by kids half his size. Still he never gave up. He probably looked too illiterate to even know what was the meaning of giving up to even consider the though of giving up.

Just as he walked into the last alley of this street, he saw a glint. A slight glitter that caught his attention. Could it be what he has been searching for the past few days? He picked up his pace and dashed through a throng of people and literally dived to it. Braving a few kicks and shoves, this raving madman let loose a little cheer. Oblivious to scraping his knee, he picked up his little treasure and gave a dear kiss to it. He stood up, straight and tall, and dusted himself off. He shrugged off the dark, foreboding aura around him, and suddenly, he blended into the crowd like any other.

Calmly, happily and with a light footed step, he walked to the phone booth and lifted the handset up. Slotting in the treasure he just found, he dialed the number he had always kept locked away in the back of his mind. It ranged and connected. And for the next 5 minutes, it stayed connected.

Then he went back out and took a right to the next street and went into the next alley, trying to find another treasure again.

The Beautiful Secret

(Originally 29th October 2006, 5:14 am)

There was a door, a small one, at the end of the hallway that was always shut. It was locked and cobwebs were spun all over till it looked nothing more than a dusted corner.

Then she stepped right up to the door and said, "Sur Oar Ree Ree Yee" and did a little dance in a circle, a dance so intricate and mysterious, that anyone who saw it, would seem to see two person twirling around in a tender embrace.

Immediately as the dance ended, the cobwebs in front of that door burnt away and that little door blew open, letting in the brightest light that shone brighter than the sun, illuminating every single corner of the hallway. The door grew as more light streamed in and beyond the door, lay the greatest field that Earth could not hold. A field so filled with the most fragrance of flowers and the most vibrant colors beyond the human imagination.

And in what seemed to be the darkest and muskiest corner of the hallway, actually held the most beautiful secret that any man can lay his eyes on.

Jack, Jill and the well on the hill

(Originally 28th October 2006, 6:28 pm)

It was a really sleepy town. Nothing much really happened in this town; everyone just took their own sweet time to do everything, nobody really bothers with anything, and everyone really don't think much of anything.

In fact, the lackadaisical town didn't even so much bat an eyelid when the town council built a well at the top of the hill. They presumed that it had water somewhere in the higher regions of the hill, such that the effort was worth building a well there. Now, that was a really huge presumption for this hill wasn't some little mound barely potruding higher than a molehill. This hill was rather high, high enough to overlook the entire town in its lazy grandeur. It was high enough to see tiny smoke columns rising from the next town. It was high enough to start feeling altophobia.

It was high enough to look dangerous. Still a well was built there.

Now, this town, being so slow and laid back, isn't fully built up. Not everyone had electricity and not everyone had water. The really unfortunate ones had none. Then again, no one really cared.

Here is where we look at this household near the outskirts of the town, who were one of those unfortunate few who didn't have any public utilities, who also didn't really care when or whether they had it or not. But obviously they still needed water to cook, drink, shower and flush disturbingly smelly defacation from their makeshift toilet. This house was occupied by a couple, named Jack and Jill Stoolpitmeister. The only reason why they were named Jack and Jill were because their parents couldn't really be bothered about names, and picked the first name they could think of. It's also the reason why there was a need for everyone to know everyone else's last name; almost everyone else in the town probably have the same first name as you.

Now, Jack and Jill would fetch water daily, together, hand in hand. If you thought love didn't exist, they would be the perfect epitome of love. The treacherous path up the hill was braved by the lovebirds through all kinds of weather. Despite the frequent snakes and wildcats, they would go through the ritual of fetching water with blatant fearlessness.

Years passed and they got older. Unfortunately for them, they still haven't got their running water. The town council was building it an inch a year, or something to that rate as town records show. No one really bothered, and neither did Jack and Jill. They went on doing their daily chore of fetching the water from the hill. It's really beginning to be a chore now; Jill has been showing signs of osteopeorosis; Jack didn't really feel like he could lift the pail full of water, and they had been drawing slightly, ever so slightly lesser through the years.

One fine morning, as the struggled out of bed for the daily work, it was plain to any other, that none of them really wanted to do it anymore. They don't really hold their hands to go up the hill anymore, they would just had more trouble doing so. No one could really support on the other, and each of them would have their own walking stick to struggle along. And as they trudged up the hill, Jack stumbled, rather badly. Apparently some loose rock tripped him.

"Old man, get up, we ain't restin yet."

Jill was already having a tough time on her own, Jack forgave her for not helping. Still that was a nasty little thing to say.

They trudged a little more, and Jack's sore ankle wasn't really helping much. In fact, it gave way and he fell flat on his back.

"Old man! Thinking of sleeping now?!"

Ouch

That was a single ouch in his head for both pains he felt. Jack slowly crawled up and literally dragged himself forward. A twice busted ankle and a slightly twisted back, Jack really should have been a medical miracle for someone his age.

But we all know, miracles are fleeting moments of wonder, and so was Jack's miracle. The minute he got up, he crumpled over and fell. And as luck would have had it, he fell towards the most treacherous side of the slope. The steepest and rockiest. He flailed in a desperate effort to grab at something... and caught his hands in Jill's blouse.

Jill, at this point in time was actually rather comfortably lodged in the next foot up, and when she felt a sharp jerk on her blouse, she was actually more annoyed then surprised. That is, until she heard a loud rip and the blouse came off. She turned in time to see Jack fall and roll down the hill, and lost her footing, teetering over the edge of no return herself.

Jack just tumbled, very much like the clothes in your washing machine. Very much like a ball rolling down the hill. Very much like a ragged doll being shredded apart by fighting wolves. Very much like a multitude of mine explosions leaving strewn body parts everywhere. In fact, the blood red trail of Jack's descent glistened in the sun, which set Jill in fear and broke her teetering. So she came tumbling after.

The police came 2 days later. In fact no one knew they were gone, but fortunately, the town council had come knocking on their door to install the utilities. When no one answered, and upon bashing in to an empty house, a search was ordered. They found Jack, all cut up and shredded. He was missing his left arm; his right elbow hung by a thin strip of flesh; half his intestine was spilling out; his legs though intact, had a overly swollen right ankle. He wasn't at the bottom of the hill though, they found him slightly higher, apparently stopped by smashing his head into a huge boulder, leaving a third of this skull collapsed, and his face quite unrecognizable.

They found Jill nearby, with only a bra for her top. Somehow she had it better, probably deflected by a boulder higher up to a less treacherous path downhill, which explains the smashed in left shoulder. She had cluthched her walking stick tightly, and that helped slow her descent. But she didn't escape certain death in the end; her stick had splintered in half and had stabbed her right through the lungs.

And that was the most shocking thing the town had for the years to come. It was a huge awakening to the sleepy town, and the town council could not help but feel some amount of regret in being slow in supplying water to them. The rude news made people decide to pick up on the way things were going around this town. And in rememberance of these two dear old couple, everyone contributed to the building of a beautiful grave for these two lovebirds, right in the middle of the town square, serving a reminder to everyone that no one should take anything without a care, and to mark the end to the lackadaisical attitude of the town. On the glorious bronze tombstone was engraved their faces, their names and a gentle story of their death:

Jack and Jill went up the hill to fetch a pail of water.

Jack fell down and broke his crown, and Jill came tumbling after.

Contemplated. Did Contemplate.

(Originally 26th October 2006, 9:52 am)

Contemplation dashed out to work today. It was not something unusual actually, in fact, it happened on a rather frequent basis. The problem lies in him contemplating having more sleep, which was a result of him contemplating staying awake longer the night before. But that could go on forever and this story contemplates about only today.

Weaving and contemplating his way through the mindless crowd, things couldn't get worse when the train pulled up to the station. While he was still before the barrier.

Stairs or Escalator?

Fortunately for Contemplation, he let convenience take over his senses and went down the nearest escalator and barged into the stuffed-turkey of a train, just before the doors slammed shut, so akin to sewing the turkey's ass shut after stuffing it full ...

What the fuck was that about?

Contemplation decided to let that sick idea pass, although he let it linger in his head a little too long for his comfort. Being mildly claustrophobic, it didn't really help that he had contemplated such a mind-retching idea of his quite-daily mad rush for the train. He started to think whether he might feel a certain nausea in the mornings to come. And quite expectedly, he started contemplating about pregnancy...

So the gods were kind this morning, blessing the train with the smoothest journey in all statistical history. And by statistical numbers (Of course this was something that Contemplation was thinking about), such an event should not be happening until sometime in the middle of June next year, another 8 months down the road. It was a joyous occassion, and with that extra few minutes, Contemplation (also statistically miraculous) decided quite instantaneously to have some breakfast and coffee before walking into his office.

While waiting for the steaming hot coffee and a plate of crispy bacons, sunny-side eggs, grilled sausages and toasts, Contemplation flipped his laptop open for some morning news. Clicking around several news sites and feeds, he came across a site on daily horoscopes. He contemplated whether the horoscope would do damage to his otherwise good start to the day, and whether it was worth his while to read it among better things, and whether it was worth his time even contemplating about whether to read it or not. Curiousity was called in to rescue his escalating mind and he clicked:

"Consider yourself blessed. With that winning attitude in place, you shouldn't be surprised when adverse circumstances turn out to be immensely favorable. Believe in yourself and mighty forces will come to your aid."

That wasn't so bad.

Instinctively he loomed his cursor, with some weird theme installed which made his cursor look quite like a brain pulsing at the end of an arrow, over another star sign. He winced over that moment of foolishness and began to contemplate.

Read another? But it isn't mine. Wouldn't hurt would it? So what if I know what it says? Should I find out if it's true? But it's really not my business anymore.....

Time is one entity that tricks us all when we least know it. The bacon, sausages and eggs were cold and damp while the coffee had already lost its steaming charm. Contemplation was most definitely late heading into the office, and his cursor loitered around the screen while his mind slowly did its thing. Contemplate.

Rainbows

(Originally 24th October 2006, 6:54 pm)

I hope everyone knows that there is no end to a rainbow. So that pot of gold at the end is really bullshit.

But rainbows are still pretty to look at.

The Fortune Teller

(Originally 24th October 2006, 3:58pm)

Standing amidst the mad hustle and bustle of the overflowing carnival was a single worn and weather-beaten tent. It seemed to hold an old, nostalgic luster in its glory days, but now it could not draw more than a glance in its current colorless and bland façade.

Except for a girl.

Perhaps she caught on the majestic aura that this tent once commanded. Perhaps she saw beyond the fading colors and mended patches to realize how this tent once was the main draw of thousands who would travel over perilous distances to pay it a visit. Perhaps… perhaps…

Perhaps she just wanted some answers to her life, some answers to the confusion that was falling like snow all around her. Perhaps she was jaded by love, or she is happy as a lark. Perhaps, after all, it is human nature to always seek answers, regardless in happiness or sadness.

Humans never seemed to be satisfied, and so she walked into the fortune teller’s.

An old crone sat silently behind a clouded crystal ball. Actually, she couldn’t be sure if it was a crone or a buzzard; she couldn’t even be sure if it was human. It was humanoid at least. And that ball, was so clouded until it seemed to be more marble than crystal. Yet the ball was more mesmerizing this way, and the more she looked at the ball, she thought she saw something looking back. She was sure it wasn’t her reflection, in fact, it seemed like, an eye was looking back at her. A huge eye, with cataracts.

“So you want to know about what the future holds for you?” the thing (not the ball, the other thing) asked.

It was an obvious question wasn’t it? She thought, “Erm, ya.”

“Marry him you shall in four seasons from now. His children you will bear within another four seasons. Your abode will not be near, for it shall be to his liking. But be warned. You will give your life for your heart’s fleeting fancy, and each season will bring you woe: The spring will bear flowers too dull to pluck, too pungent to caress; the summer will bring you unbearable heat instead of idyllic warmth; the autumn will bring you decay and despair, not golden coins that sing the praises of love as they fall; the winter will bring you biting cold, a cold that cannot be warmed by your lover’s hold. And if that hold wasn’t a chokehold, then you would live to see another four seasons, where it will all happen again. However, my dear, you will love him nonetheless, for it’s a wicked spell that the gods have created; a mockery to the likes of you who revel in the joy of the fleeting moment to waste an eternity. For you will tie yourself to the moment, and beg Father Time to stretch that moment for you. And as seasons pass, that moment will be so tight that it will snap at any moment, swallowing you up in the darkness of empty eternity.

Happy, you shall not be, sadness won’t come to you, nor death will ever be a release. That will be 20 dollars my dear.”

What the…

But she didn’t let the thought continue. That ball held her and that gaze pierced deep into her mind. It convinced her not to argue. It convinced her not to question. Perhaps more importantly, it burned every single word the fortune teller said into her mind, and convinced her to pay and leave.

She paid her 20 dollars, but then again she couldn’t be sure; it might have been 40. But she didn’t think, question or argue about it. She turned and walked out.

The next day, she was greedy for more answers, but that torn and battered tent had been gone. In place, a few children were kicking around what seemed like some poor chap’s glass eye.

A pity you didn't pray for yourself

(Originally 20th October 2006, 7:56 pm)

He walked up to the monk, paid his 250 baht, and walked away with a stack of incense, candles and flowers.

A four faced Buddha stood there with a beckoning mien, but the significance of it all does not strike him. Yet he knew it was something he had to do regardless of the deeper meaning and implication of it all. And it was quite irrational at that, the whole place being hot, smokey and traffic was crawling all around the place. One moment he was teared by the thick smoke of the fragrant incense around, another he was choked by the exhaust fumes.

He lit all 12 incense, shaking off the lingering flame, and stepped up to the majestic avatar. People thronged all around and they all apparently seemed to fully grasp the essence of treading around this sanctity. He still couldn't really understand.

Hell, it's the thought that matters.

To each face, with the incense, candles and flowers in hand, he muttered a prayer, bowed as respectfully as he could through all the awkwardness, then stuck 3 incense before the face. A flower was hooked onto a grill seperating the face from the maddening crowd and a candle was lit and stuck onto the ground before it.

3 more to go.

He repeated the same thing for all the faces, each time slightly easier than before as the offerings left his hand, delivered into the fate of this deity. And as he offered up to the last face, he added,

I sure hope you heard me, I said it 4 times.

He dropped another 200 baht into a box and as he left that place, the relief of escaping the mad throng of human bodies and smoke seemed to be underscored with a odd feeling of happiness and joy. The feeling of praying for someone felt inexplicably good but it wasn't really happiness or joy per se; you can't really be happy or joyful from that torturous environment. Yet, it felt like something that would command a positive reaction.

And as he walked away, he thought he heard someone say

A pity you didn't pray for yourself.

Slightly disturbed, he turned around but saw no one near him, just the Buddha facing him.

Off to the zoo!

(Originally 17th October 2006, 6:06 pm)

I brought a child to the zoo, to see a lion, to see a lion

The child was so happy, she jumped, she clapped

The lion was ferocious, and it roared and roared

I brought the child closer, and we petted and cuddled it

What we didn’t know, it was hungry and thirsty

And what’s worse, it wasn’t chained nor caged

So the child got eaten, and I’m none the better, or worse.

Dry Skin

(Originally 17th October 2006, 3:40 pm)

It was a lazy night, probably about eleven plus and music was blaring through the corridors. Amidst rows and rows of bars and entertainment, stood the most laid back and relaxed room of them all. It played soft, gentle music, with a nature-themed decor. The room was filled with rustling chatter and an occasional raucous laughter; otherwise, the room was like a mother cradling a child to sleep.

2 nondescript people, stood up and walked out the smokeless room, each coaxing a cigarette out of their pocket. Once out, they both lovingly kissed their sticks and lit them up. Suddenly, they were like enshrouded in a muffled world, where the noisy corridor didn’t seem audible and all that was heard was like a deep static drone.

Time stood still.

“What’s that on your lip? It looks like tissue.”

He rubbed his lip.

“Wait, it’s still there…”

And she reached over and with two fingers, gently pinched his lips and caressed away the tissue. Time and space, at that moment, didn’t exist. He stood there, feeling the sensation of her skin on his lip, in utter wonderment, no, more like awe.

“Oh. It’s just dry skin.”

The Killing hand

(Orignally 7th October 2006, 5:57 pm)They say that the sharpest blade can kill someone and leave him alive.

And I have discovered that blade.

Every now and then

(Originally 6th October 12:55 pm)

Every now and then, the tree sheds a dewdrop from its leaves.

Every now and then, the wind still whispers your name.

Mountains!

(Originally 19th September 2006 01:24 am)

I proudly proclaimed that LOVE can move the Mountain!

And that mountain fell on me.

The Room

(Originally 17th September 2:28pm)

It was a huge room. But the owner decided not to rent it out.

It was enormous, and the far wall never really seemed to be in sight. But still the owner never rented it out.

He spent countless hours and toiled oceans of sweat, planning and designing how this room would look.

He bled rivers of blood and calloused his hands, building and decorating this room to how he had hoped it to be.

Along the road of beautifying this room, many obstacles came in his way. Through all the spills, knocks and scratches, he slowly, patiently but surely, repairs every inch, nook and cranny.

And with every ounce of energy, he was dedicated, committed and driven, to make this room as perfect as he could.

But never once, did he feel that this room was too big, and never once did he ever wanted to rent this room out.

Pictures came in, furniture and lights. Bit by bit, life was breathed into this room, and despite it’s vastness, life was the wind that blows through this room.

In fact, along the way, many a time, the room actually grew. He decided that it still wasn’t big enough, and he bought the next unit, and the next, and the next and knocked down all the walls. The room grew, still never big enough, but still, never ever rented.

With every new slice of area, he was breeding a growing zeal to beautify it further. Perhaps a relaxing sofa, a comfortable bed or a bright TV. And still, he would go back to the earlier slices, ever touching it up further.

It was a room fit for a king. No, it was really a room for an angel.

But still, he never felt that it would be good enough, nor would it ever be big enough.

Suddenly one day, the worst freak of nature happened. The twist of fate, so evil, burnt the humoungous room. Every single inch got burned. And that angel flew away in terror.

The horror he felt. The agony that wrenched everything in him. Every single drop of blood and sweat put into that room evaporated. And he cried.

His tears flowed stronger than the Niagara falls. His tears washed the fire out.

Now what’s left is an empty room. Blackened.

Disillusioned, shaken and broken, he looks at the room he had held so dear. And he sat down in his tears and took a short break.

Picking up a shovel, he begins scraping and clearing the room.

For he has decided, the angel still deserves this room, and he’ll build it again. The time will be enormous, the work will be unrelenting and the feelings will be unsympathetic, but surely he’ll build it again.

But hopefully, that angel would know, and find her way back.

Would you care for a Clown?

(Orignally 5th September 2006 at 3:34pm)

Amidst the fanfare and confetti, the laughing children and bustling crowds, people and animals alike mingle in the displays, shows and fun.

The lions roar to the whip of the tamer, the elephants trumpet to the constant supply of peanuts. Monkeys playfully stealing bananas while stray dogs go around begging for scraps. Musclemen lifting incredulous weights, fortune tellers weave your future while clowns do their funny antics, making the crowd burst in joyful laughter.

In the air of gaiety at this circus, amongst every smiling face, every boisterous laugh, there is one clown doing his act. Everyone makes merry, gesturing and pointing at him and his hilarious plays, and he smiles back for every foolish stunt he pulls.

At the end of the day, the circus closes. The crowd clears, the animals are either feeding or sleeping. The lions are not roaring anymore, neither the elephants trumpeting. The monkeys’ chatter dies down to quiet preening, while the dogs are just lazing, slowly dozing off to the calls of the night. That lone clown, picks the broom and sweeps the mess of the day away.
Half-eaten cotton candies, strewn pop corn and empty wrappers litter the place. Drumstick bones, half eaten and wasted. Drink cans and half-filled bottles roll around in the gentle breeze of the cold night air.

And as the clown sweeps them all up, he readies himself mentally for the next day, when again he will see the same sights, hear the same sounds and clear the same shit. And as he eases the cramps in his jaws and cheeks for another day of foolish antics, he forces his thoughts out of his head. Thoughts that no one would believe that a clown should ever think of. Thoughts so ugly, that even the circus freakshow pales in comparison. And try as he might, it doesn’t always go away.

And while the clown clears the rubbish, a tear falls down.

Prologue

This is the book that will never be. In the beginning of its conception, it was never thought to be completed, nor will it ever be read. This book holds the journey of a young boy, who from his birth, was never thought to grow old, nor will he ever be noticed. And in his life, his only solace was in the stories that he met along the way, beautiful pebbles which he picked up or ugly stones caught in his shoes.

This book shares his woes and laments, his joy and happiness, and in time to come, as the boy walk along, he takes his rocks out to lay them on the ground, recounting them, admiring them for the color and smoothness, for the moss and the edges, and with a sigh and clap, laugh at them, keep them and walk along again.