When going gets tough

Chapter 1

I am sorry - It is a very empty sentence, when there is no one on the other side to receive it. Kaiel learned it the hard way, as his hands pressed against the gaping hole in his wife's chest. Warm blood gushed out squirting from in between his fingers, and tears trickled down his cheeks.

"SOME ONE, HELP US"!!!!

It was his last ditch effort to turn around his life.

"SOME ONE, PLEASE"!!!!

The street sure was crowded, but that day his screams were silent. People looked at him, shaking their heads in sympathy, and then moving on to face their own troubles.

"SOME ONE"!!!

The gushing had stopped by now, and he knew there was no point in turning around his life. He had killed the last person who ever cared for him. He quietly rose, wiping the tears on his sleeve. He stepped away from the pool of blood

and the disappeared into the alley way. He knew better not to stick around. He knew better, not to pay the last respect, the city will devour her.

"The blood trail would have already caught their attention", he glanced at his blood soaked hands.

"I have to find a place to loose the trail."

The small alley way opened into a crowded butcher's market, he felt safer. "I can disappear here."
 

and he picked up the gun from her lifeless hands, pocketing it. He glanced around. The still faces of the onlookers disgusted him.

"SHE COULD HAVE BEEN SAVED" !!!

He let out a helpless scream. People dispersed, and hum of a distant siren caught his ears. "The pigs have finally heard the call". He sighed to himself, as he picked up pace, walking away from the crime. His phone chimed, "Damn, the next task is already sent!!! They must have been watching the whole incident."

Chapter 2

It was a hot July evening, when he first met Lix.

"Is the fleet shaken?"

"What???????" Kaiel strained, sliding his headphones away from his ears,

"IS THIS SEAT TAKEN"

He was not prepared for that kind of a commitment.

"No!", only one syllable he could manage, aaand she was already at home on the seat.

July became August, September, October, and by December Kaiel had mustered enough courage to drop in the big question.

Some would say it was too early, and others would argue the contrary, but for Kaiel and Lix, it was perfectly timed. "Yes!!!!", She answered with a smile, and the following month they were happily ever after driving a "Newly Wed" car. She was the morning, and he was the sunshine. She was cloud and he was the silver lining. It never ceased to amaze people how much love the world had.

But, all happy things do have a sad ending, and for Kaiel and Lix, things were not so different. Once the "promises to a never ending love" phase was done, the "ever lasting"  become "will it ever last?". Their cooing and canoeing turned into conflicts and bickering. Their ups and downs mirrored the world around them, and just like their love, the world saw a turmoil. While their life was being torn apart with the human fallacies, the world around them was being thrown into a disarray brought in by

a social plague in the form of an addictive role playing challenge series. The challenges were a set of games, promising fortunes - if completed, but cruel at its core. Lex and Kaiel, with their love struck eyes were safe from it for a while, but soon were dragged into the depths of hell when the love that they swore by faded into the shadows of regret. The game was simple, an operator gave the tasks as messages on the phone, and the players finished the tasks.
The only catch was the cruelty associated with each task.
an alien invasion, not the one out of the popular science fictions, but the invisible one.

"Human kind's annihilation is its own curiosity.", some great person had said once, and the world now was on the brink of chaos because of this curiosity. The ussual suspect was the cure for cancer. Some lone scientist somewhere, in the pursuit to find the cure for cancer had curiously dabbled with syphilis and rabies viruses, and now these viruses were the new normal. A super bug  as contagious as syphilis and as deadly as rabies. It turned its victims into mindless zombies.
The government was quick to action, crucifying the scientist, and declaring a state of emergency. They had their agents, and these agents made sure that threats were eliminated.
 

Chapter 3

Kaiel joined first, and by the time Lix was involved, Kaiel had already been tasked with three murders. Lix always wondered how Kaiel slept peacefully, and as days passed by the paranoia started gnawing on her soul. What if I am next, she always wondered. The bedroom, once taunted as the temple of love soon turned into a dungeon of mistrust, and soon the guns under their pillows were their only solace. Sleep evaded them and paranoia set in.

The breakfast was the most stressful event of the day, with each trotting a hidden arsenal of guns and dynamites. The paranoia soon turned into a deep rooted fear, and sleep soon became the enemy. They could not sleep.

The lack of sleep was followed by its distant cuisine - The hallucinations. The eyes which once saw love, was now burdened with fear and hatred.

On the contrary, the tasks brought in a sense of discipline. Every gash, scratch and cut was very sincerely addressed - following the protocol set by the task masters. It became necessary as these wounds would soon become a decisive factor in deciding who would live and die. Lix was the unfortunate one. She was wounded in one of her operations.

Trust was immediately discarded and every one around her became a potential assassin. This new found insight also meant she was equally dangerous to every one around her. Trust was already bartered for doubt, and soon Lix and Kaiel parted ways.

It was approximately three days after they had parted ways that

Kaiel received the next set of instructions. The instructions never had the name of the target, but only pointed to the location and a description of the target. He was a bit perplexed, as the location was a crowded street, and the description matched that of a person whom he knew. His steps were heavy, but the destination became his new goal. He reached the end of the street when a familiar site greeted him. Lix was at the other end of the street, and he knew who the target was. Lix realised she had been marked as the next target. Its not hard to figure out that you are the mark, when there exists a barrage of attempts at eliminating you. Lix was very careful, and she made sure she was never spotted. May be the end of world made Lix sloppy or her wounds were really painful, but soon she walked right into the trap which was being led into - A crowded street. She saw Kaiel standing at the other end of the street, and knew who her designated assassin was.

They both approached each other, guns drawn, ready to strike. Kaiel was cautious, not knowing how Lix would react.

"None of this was personal", Lix's voice wavered as she addressed Kaiel. He knew what she meant. "Baby, you don't want to do this.", he retorted.

Lix knew what she had signed up for. She knew the alternatives.

"I have known love with you.", her words followed with a gunshot.

Kaiel leapt forward, his hands grabbing Lix as she fell.

The Boy who spoke in Idioms

 I am not exactly the social type, and I am not really proud of it, but it is these limited set of social exposures which almost always brings me in contact with people whom otherwise I would have rejected as out right social outcasts.

I vividly remember the first encounter. It was wee hours of a chilly January, and I was out on one of my usual "Think in the stillness of the night" strolls. I don't quite recollect the topic of my mental misery that morning, but it was intense. I would occasionally mumble arguments to the pressing thought experiment, and shake my head in disagreement as the argument failed to justify the premise.

"I can offer a penny for your thought." The voice startled me out of my self imposed isolation.

I was so deep in my own head that I had not noticed any one else sharing the trail with me.

"Oh, Its nothing, just some philosophical arguments to keep me busy while I hike along the trail."

"Your mumbling caused a stir, now I am all ears with ants in my pants".

He piqued my interest and I decided to share with him the topic of my mental discourse, and at his requests, my self centered mumbling was turned into a louder monologue with an occasional contribution from the stranger on the trail. The stranger  was a young boy in his early teens, with a face full of patchy pubescent growth, and occasional pitch shifts in the voice.

The chance meeting soon became a regular event,  because we both lived in the same neighborhood, and he took the trail every day that time to collect his newspaper deliveries.

He was not exactly the mouthy one, and I realized why we could comfortably share the trail every morning. He loved to listen. He was silent most of the time, but on the occasions when he spoke, he would always be on point. My mental monologue now had an audience and a critique, and I soon realized the lengths I could push my arguments, thanks to a second brain. I slowly started enjoying the company, and this went on for a while.

Life in most cases blind sides you, and in my case it was in the form of a transfer. By the summer I had moved to a new neighborhood and soon my mornings were back to the old "isolated in my mind castle" strolls. I would not deny that I missed having someone add colour to my arguments, we humans choose to move on, and I did the same, but having some one to share the thoughts and conclusions was something I dearly missed.

I soon found a stage where I could share my profound thoughts, and soon had quite a following at my work place. My colleagues had become my sound boards and loyal audiences. This facade went on for a while, until I overhead a water cooler conversation, where some one was really annoyed with the constant showers of "intellectual fallacies" forced upon her. I confronted her, and gave her the stage. Her responses really stunned me. She said and I quote "You are not exactly the philosophical sod you believe your self to be. A kid armed with Idioms can add more to your arguments, than you can with all your knowledge."

Her words brought back what I had forgotten. 

I missed the boy who spoke in idioms.

Podcast with Warriors: Kragg's Adventures.

Host: Good morning dear listeners, today's episode is the first of it series where I interview war hardened warriors. Today with have with us "Kragg", also known as the "Immortal zombie brained vampire.". Hello, Kragg, why don't you introduce yourself to our listeners

Kragg: *Ruffled voice* Howdy, its a pleasure to be part of this podcast.

Host: Let's start with a simple question. Whats your favourite wake up routine.

Kragg: That is a tough one, but I know what I love the most in the morning, "The deafening sound of the battle horn, panicked men, gunfire, painful screeches and a cup of brandy".

Host: Interesting and vivid. How long have you been in the war business.

Kragg: If my memory serves me right, it should be close to a 1500 years.

Host: So you are an immortal?????

Kragg: Calling me an immortal would be a stretch. I am from the Inguari tribe, and men in my tribe live upto 5000 years. Humans do not understand our tribe, so they just call us any thing from the  immortal soldiers, vampires, zombies or just some expletives to denote defiled creatures of nightmare. In the recent years we tried UN, but gave up and just accepted one of the names the humans gave us.

Host: That is an eye-opener. I support diversity, inclusion and non-discrimination, so you are always welcome here, brother. Why don't you tell us about your recent war experience?

Kragg: The most recent in my memory is "The war of three states", and I have no clue which three states are the participants of this war. All I do is fight for the highest bidder, collect my payment, and splurge it on immoral deeds, and then wait for the next war to break out. Its a pretty good gig. The payment is good. There is ample amount of blood and gore, and the cherry on the cake is the pillaging. I have raided close to 300 towns, and have partaken in some 1000 pillaging including the smaller villages.

Host: Ooooh, Pillaging, sounds interesting, care to share your observations during these pillaging fests?

Kragg: You are putting me on the spot. The human rights people are not going to like my response.

Host: *Disclaimer* The following are the experiences of the warriors, the channel doesn't support or condone the choices or activities these warriors share during this interview.

Kragg: You are a crafty one. Humans are always a predictable lot.

Host: So with the disclaimer out of the way, we can continue with our story.

Kragg: Well my favorite part of the pillaging is where I get to play with human egos. As long as they are winning, their ego stands out, but the moment they start losing, they bring in their Gods and curses. I have never really grasped the idea of "Gods and punishments", but I like playing with those ideas. That reminds me of one of the pillaging I was part of, and It was a boring event. The other human soldiers were more interested in defiling the living, and it kind of took the fun away from the entire idea of "pillaging". There was no killing of innocent civilian and out of sheer boredom I tried intimidating  one of the inhabitants of that village. He brought up God, and just to humor him, I pretended to feel angst and pain. It was a fun experiment to see despair setting into his eyes, as I tore his limb from limb, while fake-crying in agony of the curses he put on me. It was enlightening. The actual fun started when I brought in his son. The extend to which a parent would go, mostly in curses - I mean, he had no arms or legs left to flail around, to protect their offspring is commendable. The kid I used as a medium to understand the extend of human grit. I pulled out the kids tongue first, along with the vocal chord ......

Host: *Cutting the feed* Due to the graphic description of war on kids, we have to cut short the podcast. Thank you for being loyal subscribers. Your support means a lot to us and people like Kragg. Thank you all, and we will be back with a fresh episode of "Podcast with warriors"

Memoirs

A candle, flickering in the gentle breeze,
A smile, captured in an immortal freeze.
Tears, to wash the memories anew,
Faces, but none to her rescue.
She faded, wilted like the flower of the spring.

A letter, folded with a gentle crease,
The words, muffled in sorrow, a cunning tease.
Stories unfolded, each labeled untrue,
None to blame but alone like the morning dew,
She faded, with her, the lies untold.

A slit, cold drenching water, answers to her pleas,
A void, awaiting her, life does death frees.
Pain, slowly fading away as fear grew,
A gasp of fresh air, to the end her life drew.
She smiled, at the empty fate, a promise never to cry.

She was my soul, I wither as she dies,
A promise to never grow old, frozen in time,
As the autumn fades, ushering the winter of her life,
I wait, for this winter to tide my lies,
I watch the boatman carry my soul across.

Circle of Guilt

 Her eyes were fixed on the small leak that had sprung up in the faucet. "It was just an accident!!!", her inner monologue tried to pacify her thumping heart, as she paced her breath, a frail attempt at calming her nerves. The broken faucet was not the cause of her fear, but rather the image of her mother flushed hot with anger. "There is still time. I should be able to fix it", she continued her monologue. Her young mind raced to find a fix to the problem at hand, occasionally shaking her head as she discarded the fixes one after the other. After a little struggle with her thoughts, her face lit up, and she scrambled to the garage.

Sheryl's mother used to be a sweet person, but time is always a villain. It manages to turn the sweetest of them all into sour and snappy old souls. The constant hustle and the daily grind added fuel to the  ember which time had so generously kindled. The day the faucet broke, was just another day on the grind for her mother, and as luck would have it, she was home earlier than usual. That day instead of sprawling cloths lying on the floor, she was greeted with a fountain in the sink, a flooded kitchen, and Sheryl with a pipe wrench.

The anger turned into a blinding rage.

...

"I got my grades", the little girl had a grin sprawled across her face, as she handed her grade card to her mother. Sheryl was a dotting mother, and the joyous grin adorning her daughter just brought a smile on her face.

Sheryl had made sure not to walk down the path which her mother had walked. Sheryl had learned from the mistakes of her mother, and made it a point not to let her day, no matter how frustrating or grueling it was, leave an impression on her daughter. No matter how difficult the day was, the hope of seeing her daughter smile, gave her the courage to face what the world threw at her.

"Lets celebrate our little win, Mommy's treat for my baby". Their celebrations were special, but limited to within their means - A happy meal from the nearest burger joint, and the toy as the icing on the cake.

The ride to the burger joint was not so joyous compared to the occasion - Sheryl's car scrapped a parked car, the parking lot was full, and a thrifty decision to park on the curb won her an expensive parking ticket. Sheryl had her calm demeanor challenged, and a slow anger and frustration was cooking deep inside her, but for the sake of her daughter, she was all rainbows and sun-shines.

At the counter they ordered their favorite meal, a cheesy ham burger, salted fries and a large cup of coke. Sheryl's daughter always volunteered to carry the food back to the table, and with pride did she carry them - a trophy highlighting her victories, and today being a bigger day than all the other days, a trophy she carried. A loose shoelace played the spoilsport to the merry making of the kid, as she stumbled, splashing the contents of the cup, and the cheese spread on her mother. Sheryl was a bit annoyed by the clumsiness, but continued holding her facade. A small beady tear swelled up in the kid's eye, as she saw her hard earned prize splashed all around.

"Its okay baby, we will get another one". Sheryl consoled the now sobbing kid, as she wiped the tinny beads of tears rolling down her cheeks.

The kid felt a pang of guilt, as she was well aware of her mother's struggles. Between the sobs, the kid mustered enough energy to let out an apology.


"Sorry Mommy, It was just an accident."


Its funny when people say that words have the power to move mountains. For Sheryl that day, words stirred something buried deep within her.

The anger which she had locked away from her daughter, turned into a blinding rage.

The Litany

 Act V

The pungent smell of gasoline, metallic fumes reveling in back of the mouth with some searing human flesh; not exactly the aromas to knock you back into your senses. The seat-belt dug deep into my shoulders, as I hung upside down in my seat, with the fire melting the faux leather seats.

A click, a smash and a crawl.

Words easily describe the scenario, but those were the longest half an hour of my life, as I slowly crawled my way out of the burning wreckage of a life.

A long sigh later, I tried picturing the scene, piece by piece, memory by memory, memories with holes, but still memories. A gush of tears moistened my eyes, as a face flashed in one of those pieces. Blake, a name very familiar, a name familiar enough to make my eyes water, a name familiar enough to make my gut knot in disgust. He was family, and his face etched itself, as I faded into the darkness, un-beckoned to the distant sirens of hope.

 ...

"The mongrel died!!! What a shame".

A tear trickled down my face as I lay in the burn ward, surrounded by the pigs guarding my escape.


Act IV

Blake was lively that morning, a fresh plan of revenge, a fresh plan to give back to his fellow humans. "Kill two birds with one stone", he kept repeating to himself. He had it in him to make a difference, and he had been pretty hell bent on his idea of making a dent in the society. But, our world is our world. His dents felt more like a verbal jab to a self proclaimed righteous person. Uncomfortable enough to evoke a sense of guilt, but not potent enough to make them act differently based on the guilt. A guilt good enough to help build a resolve, but not powerful enough to keep the resolve. Blake was all talks. A saint at heart.

His ideals were weird, but somewhere I connected with him. The lives of others who suffered with him mattered more to him. He would give away his meal to the hungry, while with hunger he made his bed.

"We are just taking from the rich and giving our brethren what they deserve." His words were always filled with care, and that morning too. His self was motivated with the love for his fellow beings, who like him had been deprived of the life that they deserved.

The plan had been brewing in Blake's mind for some time.

We were given our own roles to play. I knew to drive, so I drove, as Blake rolled down the glass, and let the air breath a promise of new life.

He made us believe - stealing the heaven was easy, but, getting away alive was difficult.


Act III

 
"Pain makes devils out of the saints"

I had seen the change in him. I had seen the change as he buried each of our brothers.

"They take everything and give us morsels to live on, but we should endure, a bit more, we should endure."

Those were not merely words, but those were the words which changed him. Death added weight to these words.

We were a generation of the war, orphans of war, born fighting a war, a war of rights and wrongs. Not our war, but the war of the righteous, war of the saints - we were forced to believe that. The war of those who slept in their silken robes, while we slept with hunger as our companion.

"Peace is the time when the rich plot the next war", Blake would often say, and we were sick of this war, and sick of this peace. We wanted what we deserved. Our own heaven.

Blake was convinced he could bring a change, and we were to play a part in his plan. We were four horsemen of the Apocalypse, Blake often remarked.


Act II


I am the personification of death, I drive a hearse. My guide is our fate, a hand crafted map.

Blake rode shotgun, his arms resting on the rolled down window, the wind ruffling his hair.

Jeremy was the arms expert and Craig did what he was good at - "Intimidate", the war had made him tough.

The car rolled into the parking lot, as each of us took our positions. I was instructed to keep the engines warm, as the others disappeared into the womb of the greed.

Our target was the richest of them all. An oligarch who had made a lot of money selling weapons in the ongoing war.

Blake, Jeremy and Craig entered through the back door. Gun fire was expected, and I clenched the gas peddle with each pounding lead.

The battle was quick, and I heard the gunfire drawing nearer, as Blake and Jeremy exited the building. "Craig is dead, they killed him." I could hear Jeremy wailing as they entered the vehicle.

I drove like a mad man. I was justified in my driving. I drove like a mad man, as we were pursued by the minions of the oligarch.

The first rocket hit the rear wheels, reeling us forward, but the second was not so merciful. It hurled us over in the air. The ensuing blast engulfed the passenger side of car, and I saw Jeremy lashing out in pain as the fire snuffed the life out of him.

Blake smiled at me, as we were thrown up in the air. His gaze deep and painful, he wiped a tear that trickled down the corner of my eyes.

Act I

"Read it backwards, you will feel the pain I feel."  He said, as we crashed.

Soundtrack: https://youtu.be/1qKS51qh4OY

The Untold Lie

 "What is pain, without its pleasures!!"

Caleb was loud and drunk, flailing around a blade daring his peers to go through his challenge.

No one took him seriously of course, a town joker trying to make a name for himself, and as Caleb waved around a weapon of mass flaying, no one thought that he was capable of the one thing he kept bluffing about. Soon his drunken challenges turned to sloshing tug of wars with words, and at the end of it,  his best bud, Forge, carried him on his shoulders to be put to rest on a bed in the trailer.

"I will not drink again !!!", Caleb woke the following day, prophesying the week ahead till Friday, because, worst come to worst, he would again be making the same prophesies on the coming Saturday, the same way he has been doing for the past six years.

Caleb was not exactly the way you see today, he was an honor student, waiting to be the next success story of his town. It all changed that one fateful night, when a challenge turned pretty ugly. Ugly enough to make Caleb blame himself for the out come and live out his life like a nobody, waiting on the side of the road for a truck to take a wrong turn and end his misery. He was not brave, not brave enough to end his life. But he did pride himself in putting others to the task, and six years ago on a Friday night, that challenge was the one thing he regretted to this day. But again, this story is not about the pointless existence of Caleb, but about the meaningful life which his friend - Forge, lived.

Forge was always the silent types, only standing up in direst of the situations, and he stood up that fateful night. He stood up, but only to help his friend escape the consequences of his action. A tad bit late. That was all that was required to turn his life upside down. "If only!!!", the two words which ring his ears to this day. But again, Caleb would have fooled you into believing this story was about Forge, and he is a convincing actor - Caleb. This story is rather about Eli, who lost her life on that fateful night. The fateful night when Caleb lost his sense of self. Forge lost his sense of self worth.

Eli was a happy go lucky kid. A single child to a church going couples immersed in good deeds. A topper in her class, and always there to protect and raise her voice for the downtrodden. But again, the world doesn't care about people like Eli, they just want jocks like Caleb, and their buddies who would make life miserable for kids like Chris.

That fateful night, Eli was there to stand up for Chris, stand up against the formidable force of Caleb and Forge, the formidable force of "drunk" Caleb and "righteous" Forge.

She witnessed Chris slash his wrist, letting the jet of blood drench the walls, as Forge and Caleb cheered him on.
She was there, putting pressure on Chris's wounds, as he lay gasping, while Caleb and Forge went through their trauma of having pushed their classmate to death.
She was there, when Caleb decided a baseball bat was the best when it would be batting on her head, while he hid the crime, pinning it on Chris.

The police was there that night, "A murder suicide, a stalker bludgeoning the girl to death, and then taking his own life, leaving two classmates in shock and trauma.", that is what the newspapers wrote the next day, no one knew the truth.

Forge pondered as he lay down to sleep. The untold, the lie.