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 Journey East: Part I {Sanctuary}

When they got back to the village, it already resembled flaming ruins more than the bustling center of life it had been when they set out that morning. Before Rory could turn the jeep off, Anastasia had leapt out of the still moving vehicle, stumbling slightly as her injured ankle hit the ground first. Tonya was soon to follow. Liam and Richie quickly exchanged glances before following them into the smoke, Rory close behind.

Only Damien stood beside the vehicle, eyes blank, but scanning the perimeter nevertheless.

Then he slowly made his way after the others, taking the time to light himself a cigarette. What he found did not surprise him in the least. Carnage.

Street after street, lane after lane, house after house, there were only corpses. Brutally, mercilessly, murdered bodies. Some of them still stared forward with their faces twisted into grotesque masks of horror. Damien muttered off a string of curses under his breath. Then immediately started blessing the dead. The girls must be having a fit, he thought, darkly but not too unkindly. He had reason to be upset. The longer they stayed in one place, the easier it became to hunt them down.

Up ahead, Anastasia was making her way through the rubble, trying desperately to reach the Training hall. Damien paused in his rituals to watch her, his expression neutral, but eyes focused in inescapable scrutiny. She seemed genuinely distraught. He watched as Richie caught up to her and reached out as if to place a hand on her shoulder. A moment’s hesitation later, he seemed to think the better of it and instead joined her in clearing the rubble. Even in the midst of her obsessive need to get through to the main entrance of the Hall, she paused to turn and look at him gratefully, her dirt stained face scrunched up briefly in the likeness of a smile. Richie seemed to glow and Damien tutted to himself. That little monkey needed to be put on a leash!

He finished invoking the holy spirits and sanctifying the street before moving up to join the others. Just in time to see Anastasia finally loosen the last stone standing in her path and wriggle through into the darkness that was the Hall. Richie pulled out a couple more stones and squeezed through after her. Rory cursed at the two, and Damien found himself oddly glad to have someone to share the sentiment with. This girl was too much like their little Richie. Foolhardiness of youth, maybe? There was a line between bravery and foolishness, and he strongly believed those two needed constant reminding. Meanwhile Liam and Tonya had finally broadened the gap enough so that they could all go through, and Damien followed them inside, wondering what the hell they had gotten themselves into this time.

The Rapist Scum of U.P., India

Find someone attractive? Just follow her home with your “friends”, barge in when she’s alone and rape her to your heart’s content. Doth the lady protest too much because you’re a ugly fucking asshole? Set her on fire and let her die.

Or are you more of an outdoors-man – oops – rapist? [You don’t get to call yourself men if you are no better than filthy, diseased cancerous cells plaguing the rest of our society.] Well, if the great weather and better escaping opportunities are your thing, then find a National-level athlete and “tease” her. If she protests? Why, run her over with your car, of course!

Or do you think all of this is too risky? Would you prefer assaulting someone who can’t fight back at all? What is all this protesting and fire and running people over? Well, in that case, be a sick, pathetic, vile little less-than-human pig, and rape an infant, the younger the better. Oh, the number of years your soul shall wander Hell. *laughs* Three thousand sons wouldn’t get you salvation, Asshole. What kind of God do you think would forgive such a thing? Just because you’re a messed up @#@&#@^ coward, doesn’t mean your God is a dirty pig too. Ha! In fact, I keep my faith in the fires of hell that are burning for you.

Moksha, it seems. Your skin should be slowly peeled off with hot iron knives, before your flayed body is dipped in tar and venom. May your screams resound endlessly, rapist-murderers. And may your death make you cry a million times before claiming you.

God, how I hate those who prey on children.

You disgust me.

I loathe you.

Justice for all? Words are wind..

So, today, one of my friends posted an article on my wall. It was called …And Justice for all. Some excerpts of the same are as follows:

Guilt is premised on an individual being conscious of his actions and of its possible repercussions when he commits the act. So the individual ‘knows’ that he doesn’t have any right to harm a fellow human, yet in a moment of weakness, does it. Would that moment/those moments define the entire personality of the individual?

Should taking someone’s life — reducing someone to a state of nothingness, after following constitutional due process — to further law’s ends, find a place in twenty-first century lawbook then?

Should there be a component of retribution at all? Who stands to benefit from this? In retaliation against one act of madness, perhaps a few moments, does anyone have authority to take someone’s life?

Can’t there be a better way of accommodating the person in society, the one labeled criminal by law?

Perhaps there can be. The perpetrator can be turned into an asset for the society. This can happen only when the law attributes criminality not to the individual as such, but to a criminal component in him. It would follow that once ‘that component’ is removed, the individual can be of benefit to the society.

Reaction:

Hmm… I don’t think my heart is big enough. But, this is why I would prefer to stay separate from the system. I think this article makes a lot of sound, valid points… but when someone crosses a line with me, they are as good as dead. To me. And, we’re talking silly lines here. If someone were to hurt or kill someone I cared about, the only reason I would pray that the Courts let them go is so that I can kill them myself.

It’s like Sanzo says, when you first kill someone, you undertake the probability of being killed yourself.

Also, this article speaks of crimes done in moments of weakness. For which, most legal systems have adequate defenses in the form of grave and sudden provocation, and the like.

Further, there’s nothing forgivable about stalking a 4 year old child, then raping and murdering her. In that case, the victim is chosen because the perpetrators know that she can’t fight back. It is our duty to her, as well as to all surviving innocents everywhere, that people who commit such heinous crimes are not just punished for it, but utterly removed from society [whether through Death, or exile to space, or as human experiments (though that probably won’t end well) is all a matter of debate] 

Point being, it isn’t just about the criminal or the victim’s family. It’s about the victim, and all other potential ones. And the fact that if you can’t protect a child’s life, you better be prepared to avenge it, otherwise what use is our existence? It means less than nothing.

I Can’t Take it Anymore [said the Pied Piper]

The Murdering
The Raping
The Torturing
The Terror
The Violence
The inability to stop involving the children!

There’s this theory scientists are looking into that suggests that our Universe might just be a giant computer program. There’s another theory that says that human beings existed longgg ago, even indulging in Nuclear warfare. All over the world, unexplained, mysterious ancient artifacts have been discovered that at least point towards the fact that we don’t know everything about the past. To me, these two theories could co-exist, as could they with the theory bout aliens watching over our planet. The reason I bring this up is because I like to believe that some of our older tales and information have trickled down from these futuristic ancestors of ours.

For instance, take the story of the Pied Piper of Hamlin. Long story short, there’s a village of lazy, greedy people that get affected by a plague. Being lazy, they do nothing about the situation until it gets utterly out of hand. At which point in the story, the Pied Piper makes his entrance. He plays music for the people, but finds them super-stingy. It’s only the children that stop to listen to him. And, then too, they’re most often dragged away by their parents. Then, noticing a couple of reward-on-getting-rid-of-rats signs, the piper goes to the palace/mayor and claims that he can rid the city of the rats in 2 days (or something). The people smirk at him, and agree.

That night, the Piper gets up, and starts playing a soft tune. He plays in his room for a bit, and then steps out, his lips never leaving the pipe. As he walks through the village, slowly, rats start filing out of hidden nooks and crevices, falling into line behind him. The piper plays and plays, and the rats continue to pour out, as if in a stream, and slowly, yet surely, the piper begins to lead his absurd following towards the river. As he stands by and plays, one after the other, the rats leap off the stone bridge to their doom, and the few villagers awake to witness this, shudder and bar their doors.

The next morning, the piper goes up to the council/mayor and asks for his reward. “What reward?”, says the mayor, feigning ignorance.

The piper’s eyes grow cold. “The rats are gone.”

“Yes, and?”, asked the mayor, even as the greedy, stingy people looked on. “What had you to do with it?”

“I got rid of them, like I said I would.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” said the mayor.

“Are you sure?” asked the piper softly, head bent low so that his cap prevented anyone from looking into his eyes. “You’ll regret this.”

“Are you threatening me?!”, asked the mayor. “Guards!”

The pied piper raised in hands in a non-threatening gesture, and slowly backed out of the packed hall, which let out a collective sigh of relief. Something about that man was very unnerving.

That night, when the inhabitants of the town are fast asleep, a beautiful tune starts to sound in the night air, soft enough to not wake a soul. Except, one by one, in every house, the children start to wake up. Quietly, they drop out of their beds. Stealthily, they sneak out of their homes. One by one, every child turns around and bolts the door shut. The pied piper continues his song, and the children fall in line behind him.

By now, parents have begun to notice their children missing. At first, they worry. Upon finding themselves locked in their little houses, they begin to panic. The fear spreads through the town like wildfire. “Look! There they are!”, screams a little boy’s mother, pressed against her window and pointing out into the distance.

Faint strains of the piper’s song can still be heard by villagers.

“He’s going to drown them!”, sobs another mother, even as her husband falls into a faint.

But the piper turns away from the river where the rats had leapt to their end, and starts moving towards the nearby mountains.

By now, some of the parents have managed to free themselves. Soon, most of the town is free, and they rush up and down, collecting torches and horses to ride out after their children before the night swallowed them whole.

Meanwhile, the children hadn’t looked back once, their eyes focused on their leader with the strange hat and the musical pipe. If any of them had bothered to turn around, they would have been surprised to see how far they had come, certainly further than most of them ever previously had.

Except for one boy. The town’s only cripple, the lame child had fallen behind as the trail of children followed the pied piper up the winding mountain path.

Soon, he was the only one the search party that was sent out to find the kids could see.

The pied piper, along with all the children of the village – they just vanished into thin air. When the distraught parents finally reached the crippled boy,  they found him standing and staring at the side of a mountain, tears streaming down his face. “They didn’t wait for me.”, he finally said, sounding as if his world had shattered.

The parents of the village were inconsolable, and wished that they had done right by the pied piper, but they never saw him, nor any of heir children, ever again.

~~~ The End ~~~

Okay, so that was pretty much long story long, but, well, I like telling stories. And, since it has been forever since I last read the Pied Piper of Hamlin, it’s more like a cover than the real story. I’m sure I got a hundred things wrong. Just think of it as the modern retelling. :\

Anyhow, the reason I brought up the tale of the Pied Piper, as well as the theories about computers/aliens, is: What if this story isn’t just a metaphorical reference to the fact that children will leave you if you stifle their fresher spirits with your jaded talk of wealth while they still believe in dreams?

I personally think it’s an allegorical reference to Moses and his leading of the people into the desert in the quest for the promised land. Or the advent of Christianity after the Jewish community unfairly treated Christ, who dealt with it so well, that nearly all of their children “left” to “follow” him.

Either way, I think if Aliens are involved (or a supercomputer program, or God-like futuristic ancestors), the implications of this story would be a lot more straightforward.. and a lot more sinister.

Treat your children right, or we will take them from you.

If humanity doesn’t change its ways, the planet will either find a way to destroy us, or we, the planet. The virus will most likely affect our ability to reproduce, counting on the barbaric nature of man to ensure it’s spread across the globe.

And we will die.

Sometimes I think that is the only way to stop the screaming in my ears.

How can you stand it?

Sometimes I think that to die would be more of a relief than an adventure..
Especially when I think of the children.
Our descendants should be ashamed of us…
and if they are not, then we should be ashamed of them.

Atrocities against Humanity: Syria – Leave the Kids Alone!

“Images of the killings in and around Baniyas have transfixed Syrians. In one video that residents say shows victims in Ras al-Nabeh, the bodies of at least seven children and several adults lie tangled and bloody on a rain-soaked street. A baby girl, naked from the waist down, stares skyward, tiny hands balled into fists. Her round face is unblemished, but her belly is darkened and her legs and feet are charred into black cinders.”

This is not a scene from the World Wars, or Iraq or Vietnam. This is Syria, today.

Sometimes I think to be a speck of dust would be more noble an existence than being a part of this septic cesspool of filth that calls itself humanity.

And, for all those ready to jump in and point out that a lot worse happens all over the World, and has been happening for centuries, save your breath. That makes nothing better.

It’s, like, at least once a day, I am ashamed of being human. And, don’t ask me to concentrate on all the good things few human beings are doing to help other living beings on this planet (both human and not so) – we’re only fixing what *we* broke. It’s the least we ought to do, considering the most inhuman acts today are carried out by humans.

I don’t even know why this bothers me. But, it does. Perhaps because it’s happening right now. It’s happening as I sit in class, as I play DotA, as I read Game of Thrones, as I sleep and – the children. Why would you murder the children?

It’s all the same everywhere. Are people really inherently evil? I get angry too. If I knew I could get away with it, I’m sure there would be at least a couple of people who would end up dead (okay, 5) But what kind of creature tortures infants, man?

RIP people I never knew, and never will.. May you find better worlds.

TL;DR – Humans suck. Here’s some more proof.