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.

Gunfire

 The music was slow at first, melodious, soothing, slowly transitioning into the slow grunge, thrashing guitars, the peddles doubling on the bass drum, and the sickening chime of the crash. A headache greeted me, as my senses flowed in slowly, first a blur of a light, blinding ofcourse, then the scene unfolding. I was disoriented, and the heavy metal playing in the background din't help much either. "I am not drinking any more", those were the only thoughts which I could care about at that time as I sat nursing a throbbing head. The hangover was bad. I could coin a new definition for bad. It was that bad.

"You are finally up, it was a blaaaaaast man, and you were crazy"...

I tried hard to recognize the owner of those words, "And who on earth are you?", I blurted out.

She laughed, a giggle or a cackle, I could not differentiate, the headache sure was deafening.


"I do not except any less from you. Here drink, this should help", she handed me a cup.

I took a sip, bitter.

I took another sip, "coffee"; my brain echoed.

"There's breakfast on the table, I am heading out for a while." The door closed as she exited the room.

I don't know how long she was gone for, but my mind bounced around, fading in and out of the throbbing headache.

The coffee started to kick in, as the room cleared into view. A rustic living room, an art piece over the sofa, and food on the table. My interest piqued as my stomach grumbled, and It sure was a good sandwich.

She returned some where around noon, I was still on the sofa, fighting the last bit of the hangover. "We have pizza for lunch", she declared as she entered the room. Three boxes of pizzas neatly arranged on the table.

I should admit, I sure was hungry, but there were more pressing issues to be addressed before I could enjoy a scrumptious meal.

"And you would be???", Her face sure was puzzled as I directed this question onto her.

"We spend the night together. I am your date"

Her sound echoed as my head grew heavy, and darkness.


The music was slow at first, melodious, soothing, slowly transitioning into the slow grunge, thrashing guitars, the peddles doubling on the bass drum, and the sickening chime of the crash. A headache greeted me, as my senses flowed in slowly, first a blur of a light, blinding ofcourse, then the scene unfolding. I was disoriented, and the heavy metal playing in the background din't help much either. "I am not drinking any more", those were the only thoughts which I could care about at that time as I sat nursing a throbbing head. The hangover was bad. I could coin a new definition for bad. It was that bad.

"You are finally up?"...

I tried hard to recognize the owner of those words, "And who on earth are you?", I blurted out.

She was annoyed, she grumbled or cursed,  I could not differentiate, the headache sure was deafening.


"I do not except any less from you. Here drink, this should help!!", she handed me a cup.

I took a sip, bitter.

I took another sip, "coffee"; my brain echoed.

"There's breakfast on the table, I am heading out for a while." The door closed as she exited the room.

I don't know how long she was gone for, but my mind bounced around, fading in and out of the throbbing headache.

The coffee started to kick in, as the room cleared into view. A rustic living room, an art piece over the sofa, and food on the table. My interest piqued as my stomach grumbled, and It sure was a good sandwich.

She returned some where around noon, I was still on the sofa, fighting the last bit of the hangover. "We have pizza for lunch !!", she declared as she entered the room. Three boxes of pizzas neatly arranged on the table.

I should admit, I sure was hungry, but there were more pressing issues to be addressed before I could enjoy a scrumptious meal.

"And you would be???", Her face sure was puzzled as I directed this question onto her.

"We live together !. I am your wife !"

Her annoyance echoed as my head grew heavy, and darkness.

The music was slow at first, melodious, soothing, slowly transitioning into the slow gurgle. It soon transitioned into a screeching bugle,  approaching its end of life. A headache greeted me, as my senses flowed in slowly, first a blur of a light, blinding ofcourse, then the scene unfolding. I was disoriented, and the blaring alarm in the background din't help much either. "I am not drinking any more", those were the only thoughts which I could care about at that time as I sat nursing a throbbing head. The hangover was bad. I could coin a new definition for bad. It was that bad.

"You are finally up?"...

I tried hard to recognize the owner of those words, "And who on earth are you?", I blurted out.

A baton to my gut was the answer to that question.

"The idiot is up with his routine."

The guard walked away throwing in a plate of bread and some beans...

The price of a dream

 "If money is all you can offer, here, I have much more." I felt the cold metal hit my face. The earth embraced the rest with a soft sob. "Please sir, I just need a hand full of grains, its for my children. They are dying."

The thud of the door was all I got as a reply.

Its a pity, I had faith in gold. "If only I had some gold", I had convinced my self as I traded a man's life for his gold, but, even gold failed me today. What worth does gold have, when the Gods are out in vengeance. A world cursed by the Gods, death the only answer to all our prayers.

All I could hear was their cries, the pangs of hunger, the frail bodies. I could not stand it any more. Their cries became my only source of courage as I pushed my dagger down the man's heart. I searched for grains, but only gold did I find. My eyes brightened, for gold could buy solace to hunger, but the door shut on my face told a different story.

The walls to his house were easy to climb, and slumber played a part in his demise. The bundle of joy wrapped in the nature's gift to humanity, the handful of grains. His safe was not difficult to find. With my loot close to my heart, I fled the ravaging dogs, and the gnashing guards, grudging vengeance for their fallen master. The chase was long, arduous, tiring, but victorious I emerged as the hounds lost my scent, thanks to the turbulent stream I waded.

My house was just round the corner. My body was tired, the lack of food and sleep for the past three days had taken their toll, but the joy of finding the last hand full of grain for my children fueled my spirit. I pushed on.

The lights were dead and the house was still. There was no crying. "They would have slept of hunger, they will wake to a sumptuous meal", I monologued to my self. The door I opened had a different tale. The strong stench of death welcomed me as I pried the door open. My beloved lay motionless, with a dagger to her heart and a letter in her hand.

"They stopped crying."

Those were the only words. Next to her I found the lifeless bodies of my children. They cried their way to death, and a morsel I could not spare for their last meal.

The air grew thick, and grief engulfed me in its cold blanket. Three lives I took, and the Gods took three from me. Vengeance was served that day. Gods would be happy. A tear forced its way out of me. I had failed to protect what I swore to protect.


                                                    **************************************


"How did the simulation end?" Agness was curious about the new model they had developed.

"It was the closest we could simulate a global food crisis. Good job, I see a good research paper out of this." John replied, turning the dashboard into the view.

The last line of the dashboard read: 

"[18/09/2023 13:05:40] Total Death by hunger: 1.5 Billion

[18/09/2023 13:05:41] Simulation End."

The Cat named Envy

 Mother was always partial to Henry, with her loving caresses, kisses and hugs, and for me, I was just the sob story she would narrate along with a glass of wine.

Life was not always so dismal. I was once upon a time the center of her affection, the star of her story, that was until Henry arrived one evening, wrapped in a white loin cloth, feeble, helpless and always yapping. I remember that day, I was back home with my sitter. Cinderella was playing on TV and my sitter was chatty on her phone. The door bell rang, and my movie was cut short with the arrival of Henry, Mother and father by his side. That day I saw in their eyes that he was their new knight in the shinning armour, the hero of their story. By the sixth month after his arrival, we shifted. My entire life uprooted. My friends lost to a wows of posts and messages, which never happened. They moved on with their Uber life, while I was stuck in a farm. Just because the city air was not breathable for Henry, I had to leave behind my dreams, my friends and my life. The world revolved around him.

Life at the farm was not all that bad. It was happy at first. The slow farm life, and new faces in the local school kept me tied down for a while, but it was not the same. I missed Anie's gossip on who dated whom, or Rebecca's pompous treats at Starbucks. Down here in the countryside it was more of a 'Oh my he looked at me, I should blush' and 'I got a piglet as a pet, here, have a candy'. But who am I to complain, I was just another character in Henry's biography.

The farm life was pretty glum and boring. Nothing new to look out for, that was until I met Shein. She was an odd one. A black sheep in a school full of goats. She had an aura about herself, and I would not blame her for that, because she was actually a witch, and for the first time in over a year, I looked forward to go to school. Henry had learned to blabber nonsense, and walk around the house like a drunk monkey, not knowing when to use his legs, and when to use his hands. For every nonsensical syllable he uttered, mother and father were pretty much in awe. I bet they had their own little contest of who gets to be called out first by lord Henry. Would it be 'Mama' or 'Dada', and between all these, Shein was the only one who made sense. She could talk, she could weave stories from the thin fabric of her imagination. Most of all, we had a common dislike for babies. The gurgling, spiting and puking little soul sucking bundle of flesh.

Again its not all misery, and my light of shinning hope came that summer. Shein had read in one of her mother's infinite spell books a particular spell, which would help me get rid of my missery. A spell which would help me be the star of my life again. Be the light bearer. She was pretty confident of the spell, heck she even had cast it on her little baby sister.

The premise was very simple. Identify an animal, preferably a pig - people say the flesh is similar to a human. Cast the spell, and watch the souls switch. Once that is done, the pig goes to the slaughter house, and the human lives on with the pig's soul, enslaved and indebted to its saviour - you.

I asked Shein to do it for me. She did without questioning my intent. Henry was gone.

Mother was the first to notice. Henry had slowed down, his usual happy gurgles and the attempted word plays were now just a bunch of squeals and screeches. Dad was brought on board, and then doctors followed. "I am the bright one, look at me, love me", I hoped to yell out, but once again Lord Henry won the battle. Mother and Father doubled down on their care for Henry. Every week was a hospital week. Tests followed tests, and the doctors concluded - Autism it was. Henry may be good at something, we would never know. We would have to have patience, atleast that is what the doctors told to console mother. With this new addition I had become invisible.

This would be a turning point in many people's life. They repent for what they have done, confess, blame themselves and forever live in the shadow of guilt. It would have been the same for me, or that is what Shein told me. She tried convincing me to slaughter the piglet which we switched Henry with. The book of spells was pretty clear about the slaughter part. So we did. It was not a great experience - sneaking into the Neigil's farm, and slaughtering his pet, for whom he had treated the entire classroom with candies. Neigil was absent for a week after the incident, but at this point I did not care any more. My life would be back to normal, and compared to that, a loser kid's sorrow was nothing.

Happiness and love did return, but it was short lived. Henry was enrolled in a special program to help him learn. Mother was away with him, but I had once again become the star of my father's story. He would read me stories, kiss me good nights, and make me feel loved again. It went on for a while, as I basked in the new found affection. The attention lasted for a month, until Henry returned. I no longer had the good night kisses, or the stories to fall asleep to. Henry became the protagonist of the story once again.

Life is never fair. Darwin taught us that, and looking back at the years I spent wrapped in the straight jackets, I feel Henry didn't deserve the life either. Shein was supportive of my decision, but she no longer talks to me. I am still alone, just like that evening when Henry arrived. The only difference being, I was not caged back then, but today I am.

The Fortunes of Lohan Gray

Sundays are generally good - for the regular people at least, or that is what I keep assuring myself. Sundays for me on the other hand are a little better than natural disasters. No deaths, I promise you that, but, still bad. Today was similar, just another regular Sunday in my life. It started with a dream, the damsel singing in her lustrous voice, soothing it may seem, and I was drawn closer to it. The only difference being, the closer I drew, the voice turned more and more repulsive. The voice which had the sweetness of honey in it, had slowly and steadily transformed into the death scream of a hog. I held onto my sleep. But a human I am, I equally dislike the squeak of a dying pig. It was my landlord. The usual banter about the late rent. Soon he would be followed by my debtors, who like clockwork would shower their gracious abuses one after the other, and I like an automaton would repeat the pre-programmed words of apology and hopefulness. Next week was a tempting mistress. She was always there, only a little high maintenance, and I, a guy in debt, could never afford her. After I had endured all the abuses, and after all the hopeful lies, the day chose to end on me. The only cherry on this otherwise repulsive cake was Mike. He also like clockwork would show up every Sunday evening, and we would close the curtains on an otherwise non eventful week with a pint at Gary's. We both to our hearts content, to resume the mundane existence to repeat the lies all over again.


The week was lazy as always, Mondays had to be dragged out of the door for Tuesday to arrive, while I slogged my way around the blacksmith's furnace. Wednesdays are usually a bit cheerful, but this particular week was already cross with me. Then came the furrow of Thursday, and all I did was pound away on the red hot Iron, until it was Friday. Thank God it's a Friday, I would hear the townsfolk jeer out, but its a term lost on me. Fridays I dread. It's the day of the town market, where the fury of the townsfolk - flocking to buy the ironware, are directed at the poor work-boy. 

 

But this Friday was different.

Fate has a mysterious way of being the knight in the shining armor, and it came to me in the form of my dead aunt. I had only known of her existence, but due to a fruit basket she had always assumed that she was my favorite aunt, God rest her gracious odd soul. 

Odd one she was, broke the ties with the family, and invested all of her inheritance on a company named after a baby's gurgle. The folks put her up in an institute for the odd ones, and I happened to have a fruit basket the day we put her there. 

Her will had my name in bold. The baby's gurgle had now turned out to be on every person's tongue, and I was the sole heir to all the money that gurgle made. I could already dream of swimming in my dream damsel's lustrous voice.


Mike was the first one who came to my mind. The deed was still a day away, but a celebration was warranted. I took ol' Mike to Gary's and ordered the finest whiskey which my weekly wage could buy. For a change I was not worried about my ration money, neither the dreadful Sunday. I was going to be rich after all, and I could afford to splurge on Mike this one time.


The trance was setting in, and my mind had already built its own sand castles. Mike smiled at me, raising his shot glasses one after the other, cheering me on. I was finally happy. The drag of disaster had finally shed its weights. And I danced, I reveled in the new found joy which wealth would brings.


Was it my sloppy dance or the wealthy smirk, I am still not sure, but something did irk Brigg, the local bully.


"What are you smirking at punk!!", he closed those lines with a few expletives.


I heard Mike let out a scream, as I felt a stinging pain in my abdomen. Mike was always the dramatic one. Brigg was standing a breath away from me, his hands still clutching the penknife sticking in my guts. I felt the warm gush of blood soak my jumpers as Brigg pulled out the knife and stabbed me again. It did not miss the mark this time. My heart felt the cold tip of the blade, as it pushed its way into it. Mike was still screaming, yelling his heart out, I might say, and I slumped to the floor. 

 

At least my aunt didn't die poor.

Can I turn back time?

Light that never fades,
Ever green like a river,
Sweet is the sleep, eternal,
Will I wake up ever?

Men sway, so did I,
God my only witness, but her smile,
The eternal price for pride,
Is my soul so wile?

Rejected by paradise,
I wander, I lust, I slay,
Touch, turns to rot,
Even love decays away?

Caught in a memory,
Intertwined, my other half,
She waits, she wails, by the
Wooden box, does it laugh?

Pearly drops, dampens,
Dry ground, drunk on the dead,
Sleep her ally, love,
Sorrow did she wed?

Death sang a lullaby,
I sang with it, a rhyme,
And as the sun fades, I ask
Can I turn back time?