The Final Cut

The idea of casting someone as young as Elie was frowned upon, but I went ahead with it anyway. Elie had previously acted in one of our lesser-known productions and had won hearts over. I held onto that same hope when I made the decision: "Elie will win hearts over once again." However, unlike last time, this was a big-house production with a lot of money riding on it. The skepticism was justified, and I took it upon myself to pacify the producers' jittery nerves. "Elie will win them over, don't worry," I would say. "You won't regret casting Elie."

Elie’s parents were contacted and the necessary permissions obtained. Money exchanged hands. Elie was brought to the production house accompanied by the mother; it was a strict rule to have a parent around when casting young children. Both were briefed on their roles, and the scripts were finalized, with lines altered so Elie could deliver them naturally. Rehearsals followed, and everyone prepared for the big debut.

The protagonist of the story entered the stage and delivered his lines—pain and angst wrapped in a single burst of verbal diarrhea. He paused, his glance shifting to the distance as grief surfaced on his face. This scene had the entire audience in tears as the protagonist narrated a story of ill-gotten fate: a sickness-ridden family and a child close to the deathbed. Elie entered the scene—coughing, limping, crawling. Elie delivered the rehearsed line. Tears swelled in the protagonist’s eyes as he leaned forward to hug the dying child.

The scene concluded with the Godman entering the stage and consoling the protagonist while holding Elie’s limp body. The Godman mumbled a prayer under his breath, and then the miracle happened. Elie, who was "dead," was brought back to life. There was a cough, then a sigh, and finally a smile. The crowd cheered, the lights dimmed, and the music surged as the audience danced and praised the Godman.

"Today was a good day; we have fourteen new believers joining the Eye-of-God. Elie did great," the Godman congratulated Elie’s mother. Behind them, the crew moved with practiced efficiency, packing the freshly harvested human hearts into ice.

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.

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?
 

The Resident of The Nap Room

I am usually not the kind of person to take a nap during work hours, but, today was different. Mondays were never my cup of coffee, that too after a long night of partying. I should have called in sick, but my guilt din't let me to, and here I was three hours into the day, guiltier and sleepier, trying to grab a shut eye.

I found it difficult to keep my eyes peeled, and get some work done. Instead all I got was half awake slumber, which made me even more tired than before. May be the idea of sleeping on work table was not a good idea to begin with. 'Why don't you take the rest of the day off, or go sleep somewhere else', I heard my colleague chime in from across the table, and the guilt just became my only emotion. Nap room became my next destination, and I left the table for good this time.

'There was a bed!!', I exclaimed in my head, 'Well duh, its a nap room for nothing'. I got my self comfortable on the bed, after flinging off the shoes to one side, and closing the door shut tight. Sleep was just minutes away, and soon I drifted.

My rest in the nap room was a short lived affair. I thought I heard a scream, or a cry for help, as I jolted out of my sleep. I strained my ears - in the half dazed state, to discern what the sound was. That is when I heard the knock. At first it was a soft thump, which soon turned into a loud bang. Another bang, and my eyes were wide open. It took a while for my eyes to get used to the darkness in the room. Another loud thump on the door got me scrambling up on the feet. I frantically scrambled for the light switch, and after a while of groping around in the dark I found the switch. My heart was racing by now, first, to be woken up by a scream, and then a the bang on the door. I slowly approached the door, and placed my ears flat on the wooden boards. hopping to discern what the source of the sound was. Once I was sure there was nothing to be afraid of, I cautiously twisted thee door knob. The lock clicked and the door creaked. I pulled on the door carefully.

At first I was not so sure of what I had seen, and after making sure the door really was open, I tried to feel the layer of bricks that lined the outside of the door frame, just to make sure what I saw was what I felt. It felt real, the coarse earthy texture of bricks, with the coarse sand mixed mortar. The door opened to a wall. I could feel my spirit panic, as tiny beads of sweat formed on my forehead. I closed the door back again, closed my eyes shut and opened the door again, hoping it to be an imagination of a sleep deprived mind. I held my eyes shut while I opened doors for the second time, but, the wall decided to stay where it had originally manifested itself. I tried banging and punching the wall, and in the last bit of terror, resorted to kicking. Nothing budged it, nothing moved it.

I had to keep calm, and think. 'Its just a nightmare, and it will pass', I kept repeating to myself. Once I was sure that my fear was in control, I started thinking about the ways in which I could exit the nightmare. I tried the age old technique of pinching my self awake, and once I realized that it was of no use apart from inflicting pain on my self, I scanned the room for alternate exits. My search for an exit led me to a fire extinguisher by the bed side. I found it to be a tad bit heavier than I had imagined it to be, but it served as a good hammer. The brick wall buckled under the continued blows from the fire extinguisher, first a brick loosened and slowly I could feel the entire wall shake and peal off. One brick at a time, one row at a time, and down came the entire wall falling to the ground. I was relieved to see the wall crumble. I did expect to see a glean of light, but the room, which the broken wall led to was pitch black. I existed the nap room, into the darkness, not sure of what I would encounter further, and slowly groped around in darkness. I was hopping to find an exit, a light switch, or at least a clue as to where I was. After a while of prodding around I chanced upon a handle which seemed like a door knob. I tried the handle, twisted it around a bit, but the door was as adamant as I was. I let the door be, and continued the search, moving farther away from the only light source, which peered from the broken wall of the nap room. The air around me started to get heavier and colder, and I saw that I was pretty far from the only comfort in this nightmare, the bed in the Nap room. My search for an exit in the darkness was cut short by the rattling of a chain. I decided to retreat to the nap room. As my strides became faster, the rattling of the chains became louder. My sprint gave way to a dash as I leapt towards the nap room. I could see the light peering from the crack of the wall. The hope rose in me, to find safety in the Nap room, but that hope soon gave way to despair, as I saw the hole in the wall shrinking. Each of the bricks which I had pulled out from the wall started to fly back into their place, and soon the last ray of light was blocked as I approached the wall. The last brick slid straight into its place, and I was left with nothing but pitch darkness. The rattling of the chain grew louder and suddenly it stopped. I sat cuddled on the floor against the wall, pacing my breath, and the only other sound was that of my pounding heart, I hoped the nightmare would end, and I closed my eyes, but it had a different plan. I felt cold breath against my face and I could hear a laboured breathing as nightmare breathed straight onto my face, cold and sinister. I curdled closer to my self, and my panting had turned to sobs now. Soft sobs, as I lay uncertain of what would happen, until a cold hand grasped me, a cold and tight grip.  I let out a scream, and started frantically clawing and banging on the wall just hopping the nightmare to end. The cold hands that held me dragged me away from the wall, and a despaired scream escaped my being.

The scream was still ringing in my ears, as I opened my eyes, and the familiar sight of the Nap room slowly cleared itself into my sight. 'Bloody freaking nightmare!', I sighed to my self, as my heart pounded like a blacksmith's hammer. My throat was parched dry, and the clear sign of a dehydrated sleep were abound. I decided to end the debacle at the Nap room. I collected my stuff from the room, and opened the door, which seemed locked at first, but after a little fiddling with the knob, it clicked opened.

We all have that phase in our life, where we get optimistic with nightmares, I believe, I too got optimistic with mine, and as for my spirit, it sank inside me, my heart skipped a beat and the cold perspiration found their way back onto my forehead, as I opened the door.

The red bricked wall, greeted my eyes.

The Singularity Theory

Excerpts from Dr Nathaniel's Journals

19 September 3001

How much would you let your ego to blind the scientist in you. How much hubris would lead to your downfall. On this day, captain Marcus, on the behalf of ESRA had asked me to accompany him, to try to save my friend and colleague, Tim. Tim was a brilliant scientist, who eventually fell victim to his own blinded pursuit of the holy grail - The Singularity. I don't blame him for his downfall, I would have wounded down the same path, if my resolve was as strong as his, but today, I stand at the other side of the mirror, bidding farewell to my friend, as he takes the plunge. My heart pains, I failed, to save his soul. I could not save him.
He along with the crew of Rocinante, lay resting in their icy graves, and I bid farewell to them.


Excerpts from Rocinante's Radio Logs.

18 September 3001

'Its a flawed theory', the words still had a ring to it. I was not a person to be bogged down by criticism, especially when I am hell bent on proving my self right. Nate seemed to be supportive of my theory, but a human he is too. He backed out from the expedition. Now its me, and my trustee Rocinante, my space shuttle, the first space ship to transcend the space and time barrier.  We rattled through the blackness of the space, with only one thought in our heads, we have to reach Xerma.

It all started with a thought experiment, which Nate was of full support, but latter had the audacity to back out from.

I dare you Dr. Nathaniel, grow a backbone, stand up against the establishment, as I did. Did you forget the success we had at Sercious? Did you forget, how we managed to prove that we could indeed teleport? But, no, you had to backstab me, leave me alone, and here I am in my pursuit of knowledge. I will prove to the world that it indeed is possible for a human to teleport, and for this I travel to Xerma. You did say that black holes are not the best vessels for teleportation, and that they just push you back in time. But how do you explain our success at Sercious, we found the rover which we shot into the Black hole at Sercious, 10 Million light years away, and that too instantaneously. I say, Dr. Nathaniel, you have your theories all muddled up, its not me, who is full of hubris, but you.
I still stand by my truth. Black Holes can be used as portals, and these portals were set up here by God for us humans to be the masters of the universe, to explore and to reach the far off ends of this unexplored expanse of darkness. Today as the world witnesses me, I will take the plunge of faith.


Witness me.


Excerpts from ESRA-Reckon Ship Radio Logs

18 September 3001

12:00:10: 'We have sighting of Rocinante, crew be advised of the approaching Black Hole gravity'

12:01:30: 'Rocinante is headed for the Event Horizon, awaiting orders to pursue.'

12:01:50: 'Crew be advised, stay course, and observe. Do not engage'

12:03:20: 'Rocinante is accelerating into the black hole. Visuals lost, relying on radio signature.

12:03:40: 'Radio signature Lost. Rocinante is Lost.'

12:03:50: 'Rocinante is officially lost into the Black Hole at Xerma'

12:04:10: 'Rocinante radio signature detected in Sector 40, Rocinante is back on the radar, Set course to sector 40'.

12:05:00: 'Nate here, its futile to pursue Rocinante, they are 40 million light years away. Nate Out'

12:05:30: 'Survivors are the priority, set course to sector 40'

12:06:00: 'Captain, you do not understand, Rocinante existed 40 million years ago, We just lost Rocinante to the Big Bang . Nate Out'

The Traveler-7: The Singularity

The Singularity is the past and the future of the universe...

The leather clad journal thus spake,

His frame shrivelled, form intact, spirit broken,
A man not from our time, floated free.

Clad in white, the first contact ours,
'Earth speaking, speak to us',
'I am lost in space, help me home'.

A gentle tug, a forceful push,
His frame broke free,
Floating like a feather, he fell,
Into the earths cradle he fell,
'Home I believe', he sighed a relief.

He spoke, a feeble cry, words heavy with solitude.

'I have been lost, I believe',
He settled a bit, comfort I think he sought.

I could see pain in his enlightened spirit,
As he searched for his world, eyes racing,
Then his gaze dropped, despair I believe.

'This is not my home', at length he spoke,
'A fool I am to believe otherwise',
'I have transcended space and time', he sighed,
'Travelled through worlds, hoping it to be mine',
'But, alas, time beat me to it yet again', he smiled.

Child of a Lie

Smile with the Sun, half circle through the sky,
Speak, mimic, act out a mortis reply.
The tone deafens my spirit, wading through the night,
Speak my tongue, sing aloud, recite my burdened lies.

Fear runs a-mock, love hides in the bludgeoned bushes,
Surrounded by wolves preying on the undead child,
She cries, she tails a fable, unheard at first,
But a familiar cry for help, I hear you,

The wolves surround me, jiggered my soul, it screams,
Stretched out into a jacket of human carcass, I lie,
Morbid sanitarium, my only recourse of solace,
I wander, pandering through the undergrowth of life.

Poison tipped heart, why do you cry, do you wail,
Pierce me with your hate ridden smirk, let me rot,
The wolves are upon me, I rest, peace my solace,
Take me home, heal this broken mirror of a soul.

I walk the shoes of my forefather,  lying my way,
I plunder life, yapping the same lie, I grow old,
The same six feet of a hole, for me to rest.
Touch me, kiss me to sleep, make me yours,

My child of lie.

Rhythm of the Southern Chimes

The broken hymn,
Rippling through the time,
Splitting across, solace it seeks.
Solace it offers.

The goddess of war,
With her risen swords,
Saint in her own right, stained with blood,
Blood she offers.

The southern wind chimes,
Hymns of the forgotten souls,
Waiting by the gates of heaven,
Should they fall, should they raise.

The echoes of the lost shores,
Waves of the hidden peace,
Crisp with sounds of a new borns' cries,
She raises, a mother of two.

The birth was a pain, she recalls,
The war gave birth to death,
Blood stained cloths she cleans,
Humming to rhythm of the Southern chimes.

The Death of a Star

Lillium's Journal

15th Vulcan, 542, 7.95 Eon.

I just landed on an ancient orbiter by the name Europa, to witness one of the most historic events in my lifetime. Even between hyper jumps I am so exited to see this historical event. My body cries from gravitation drag, but my spirit lives on. I was asked to hibernate for a while, but you know how supper excited I am.

I had read about this giant star from my history lessons, and how an ancient religious entity by the name of Stephen Einstein had predicted the end. Their theories have been long proven wrong, and I just can't believe how dumb witted  people are to believe in some stupid theory as theirs. Any way, continuing with my journal, I have the most priced seat, and the grand collapse is underway. Its similar to the one back during the dis-integration of Terra. It was a beautiful scene back then, the planet breaking away piece by piece as it was sucked straight into the red giant. Thanks to the hypervisors though, else I would have missed everything back then.

16th Vulcan, 542, 7.95 Eon.

Yesterday was a disappointing day, I did see the red giant grow bigger, splashing of its gravitational energy, but you know how slow these things are. I hope to see it turn to a dwarf at-least today.

Since I don't have any more stuff to write about today as the Red Giant just refuses to disintegrate, I will just write about the history of this red giant.
This red giant is called the VT139. It was called as Sun by the pre-historic species known as Homo Sapiens. VT139 had enough energy to fuel an entire planets need, unlike us who require three stars to fuel our energy needs. VT139 was a Nano planetary system, with its third planet having the highest probability of survival. Homo sapiens predominantly lived on Terra, the third planet, before shifting out into other star systems. ( I know, I am a big nerd ). Any way, thats all the history lesson for today, I am off to hibernate. The gravitational drag is finally acting up on me.

17th Vulcan, 542, 7.95 Eon.

The same spot, and the same scene of a slow death. The giant seems to be emitting bursts of radiation. It is a beautiful sight, multi colored rays of protons shooting from the red giant. My com is active with data, many of which are statuses from others in the arena.

And finally after a long wait the Carbon collapse has started. The last of the helium atoms are compressing down into carbon. There was panic in the crowd as the gravitation pull of the Red Giant started to de-stabilise. Electro-magnetice flares could be seen every where on the surface of Europa.
I just hope the gravitational collapse doesn't hamper my pods. The TRS has already placed loop jumpers to puncture the Singularity-State for yet another hyper jump bridge. The time window is really small, but these guys are pros. My brother was on one of these missions once. He was more of a feed compressor though, but he did super magnificently explain how the hyper jump bridge forms within one millionth of a second.

The broadcast was the last thing I was hoping for. Thats all for today the TRS say. It seems they are trying to put up a EM field shield around the Singularity-Point. Its night for me I guess. Another day, another adventure.

18th Vulcan, 542, 7.95 Eon.

The coms have all gone active. VT139 is on its final collapse, and one of the most beautiful of those. The Singularity-Crush. I had seen photon-graphs of those, but this is the first time I would be seeing one up so close. A single burst of the last escaping ray of light as the entire mass just becomes a big dark hole.

Fading Lights

The days labour paid, She folded her feathery palms,
Walked the long way back, Into the night, she disappears.

The blue of the night shone through her eyes,
Fading into the night, she hums the lullaby of a lost sleep.

A drop of ink smudged on her pearly face, She lays, dreams,
Inkblots dance on the white canvas of her being.

Circle of life, drawn out from the darkness into light,
As the dream drifts off, into the realms of nightmare.

She twists, she turns, sleep doesn't let go,
A flutter of uneasiness settles,  into an invisible prison of sleep

The sleep tarries a bit, swooning her with its wicked gaze,
Then lashing down with its claws, It tears her dreams.

In the end, the inkblot spreads, covering the white,
In the end, darkness wails, as the curtains fall to a fading light.