Late Goodbyes: First draft

It was a cold winter evening, the full moon already making its way slowly up into the stormy sky, sometimes hidden, then shining brightly through angry clouds. There was no other source of light in that cold English graveyard. Something that sounded like a clap of abnormally loud thunder startled a young owl into abandoning his hunt with an indignant hoot, immediately followed by a mad scrabbling sound, eerie until identified as badly laced shoes shuffling through the fallen leaves and twigs scattered all around, and over, the unkempt graves.

A girl scrambled out from behind an old twisted tree, and her eyes were wide with fear. She clutched at her side as she stopped to catch her breath, and the owl gazed sympathetically at the still-bleeding cut on her forehead. A muffled shout in the distance made both girl and owl turn warily towards the distant church, long abandoned to the elements. A shadowy figure emerged from the darkness, and as the moon shone momentarily from between the clouds, it reflected off the steel he carried in his hand.

The girl seemed to have frozen in her place, and she watched the hooded man slowly make his way towards her.

“Don’t make me hunt you down, sweetheart.”, he called out, and she trembled at the toneless sound of his voice.

He kept moving towards her, a deceptively relaxed finger poised above the trigger. She no longer believed he would not shoot her dead if she ran.

“Why are you doing this?”, she asked him, eyes full of grief and confusion.

He was close enough now for her to see him glaring at her, and her eyes widened as he raised his arm slowly until the gun was pointed at her, but she made no other move.

He smirked at her, and then fired.

The bullet flew off into the open sky, and the Owl took flight. She couldn’t stop her heart from sinking at that fitting final act of betrayal as she stood alone before him.

“You don’t have to do this”, she whispered, voice low and steady.

The hooded man took another step towards her, “You know you left me with no other choice.”

She bristled at that, “Don’t pretend like my choices had anything to do with what happened! That was all you!!”, she snapped at him, stepping forward herself.

He waved the gun at her gently, “Stay still, babe.”

“You don’t get to call me that”, she muttered under her breath; nevertheless keeping still, her eyes fixed warily upon his gun.

A moment of silence passed, and the man pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket.

The girl watched him as he took one out, lit it and inhaled deeply.

“Are you really going to kill me?”, she asked, plaintively, after he was halfway through his cigarette.

He looked at her thoughtfully, “I think so, yes.”

The girl glared at him, then looked sadly at the ground, “In that case, can I have one as well?”

He raised an eyebrow at her, “I thought you weren’t supposed to be smoking.”

A moment of silence, and then the both of them burst into laughter, the sound echoing strangely across the empty graveyard. They held their sides as they laughed, and she had to kneel down and he had to lean against a tree, and yet they could not stop laughing.

Until she rushed at him with something she had pulled out of her boot, and he instinctively raised his weapon and shot her. She cried out, then smiled, then fell in slow motion to the ground. He kicked over her outstretched hand to find a red rose clutched so tightly that the thorns had poked holes into her skin and embedded itself there, even as she bled around it. And around the bullet wound in her chest. She tried to speak, then coughed up some blood, painfully, and he stared down at her with eyes full of horror.

He knelt down then, cradling her blood soaked hair in his hands, “Why did you do that?” “Why did you make me do that?!”

She smiled at him, and tried to speak again.

He leaned in and pulled her closer even as she whispered something over and over again.

But understanding the 9 words she said in quick succession until he lost her to all the blood seeping into the earth no matter how hard he tried to keep it all inside her, that understanding drove him mad.

And after that night, his face lived under a cloud that never seemed to leave, his laugh never sounded quite the same, and at night, it was said that you could hear him cursing and raging through any thunderstorm, though curiously enough, he appeared perfectly calm and composed the next day, and his loyalest circle of servants made no mention or explanation of the absurd quantities of chinaware, mirrors and glasses they would constantly be acquiring and disposing stealthily off.

And the women he was involved with, only they knew of the nine words he would whisper in his sleep after a tiring, fun-filled evening at home. (Though the ones who mentioned it to him, or anyone at all actually, they never saw him again)

I love you, I forgive you, We are free.

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Iniquitous

Your heart is still as stone, my love

(Or at least, it so truly wants to be)

Yes, I have known that long enough,

Pardon my insolent iniquity?

Still and sharp as the rock beneath,

Cutting all those who mistread, my love

Yet in all its obsidian sharpness,

I thought it a diamond in the rough

My diamond in the rough, my love

Yet it’s my veins you choose to mark?

Once with nectar, now with poison,

Anyone ever mention how you shine brighter in the dark?

But, I fear not, my fellow mortal,

trapped in this sea of mediocrity

For I have seen the morbid future

and by killing me, you have set me free

And when I have drawn my last breath, as decreed by fate

your soul shall harken unto me

But it shall be far, far, too late

And I will not even haunt thee.

For the die is cast, words of the spell spoken

There remains only the way to be free

A heart, finally, still as stone, my love

And it pardons your insolent iniquity.

The Hunt

Context – Firstpost India Minor’s rape: Let men who commit such crimes feel hunted

I usually refrain from saying this but

Kill them.

If there were to ever be such a thing as honor killings, this would have to be the context for it. Because these vile, disgusting, depraved individuals who prey on little children, and our nonchalant attitude towards them, are defining our society right now, like it or not. Defining our nation. And, I’m tired of being ashamed of being related to them. Even if only by nationality.

If we want to redeem ourselves, the next man found assaulting a minor, especially sexually, should be instantly killed by the people who discover him. [red handed] Kill him, cut off his head, and mount it on a fucking pole.

Don’t bother with beating him up, or trying to teach him a lesson before killing him, or attempting to make him feel as powerless as his victim was barely moments ago. These men are not just a result of an apathetic, overcrowded, misogynist, sexually hypocritical society; they are like animals who have tasted human flesh. You can’t redeem someone once he stoops to the level of abducting an infant to sexually use and discard. That’s the limit. That’s where empathy ends. It doesn’t matter what the circumstance. If you cannot treat it, you have to kill it, Indian society.

Enough.

 

Note: What I say above does not apply to any society other than India. I mean, maybe it does but I wouldn’t know about it. I doubt it though, because in the USA, as well as the Scandinavian countries, and many others I’m certain, there do exist facilities for the understanding and rehabilitation of individuals who might be actually sick and thus pedophile. However, in India, it’s more about ease of access. And unlikelihood of being caught-tried-punished. And that’s disgusting.

Just another day in Skyrim

A pretty little pond.

A pretty little pond.

Killed another Dragon today. After so very long. A Frost one. Thought it would brighten things up, but no such luck.. Came across this really beautiful pond though; called Mara’s eye. Or something. It was fuckin’ pretty while it snowed, and even more so when it stopped. Wait, lemme just find a pic.

It’s amazing what kind of wonderful places you can fall into while running for your life. ♥ Must remember that.. [Seems profound]

Though, sometimes I wish I could just fast-travel into the future. An uncharted water-body (half-snowy, but like spring), would undoubtedly be refreshing… but I am just so ready to be done with this entire quest.

*rubbing her eyes tiredly* I guess this is what Ezio knew to be the Bleeding Effect. Desmond. Shloka. Whatever.

And, I didn’t even have the time to Prophesize Death today! 😦
Damn it! These are *my* holidays! Mine! If I want to prophesize Death, then in the name of all the Ancients, that’s what my soul’s green fragmented shards and I shall do, Yahweh Damn it!

No, too tired. 😦

[I really want to smoke with the Lord of Hell, and the one who first realized that God’s absence was complete. I have some serious questions. And, yes, I know what killed the last Cat.

(o) Evil, be thou his good?
(o) “Is it better to out-monster the monster or to be quietly devoured?”

The Cost of Living is High Enough to permit it all; Death.
It’s all about Free Will.

Which reminds me, Does anyone have some spare shots of happiness/oblivion? Hell is out, and Heaven’s all preachy.]

P.S. This is why I (should) avoid sobriety. :\