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"

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.

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.

When the grass is always greener

On the other side, ...

Apples grow on the tiny blades of grass,
Butterflies plant new trees,
Birds chirp a new anthem.

On the other side, ...

The water is crisp, blue color of glass,
Allies rise up in arms,
Kids slurp on the candy cream.

On the other side, ...

Shrilled songs of love, sung by highland lass,
Prize antelope hung by the pyre,
Little twerps, sing their fabled rhymes.

On the other side, ...

Life is always cute, live by the crass,
Cacophonies of a dreams lost,
But alas, the other side, is the other side.

On the other side, ...

The weed is the greener plant.

The Black Horse

Step on the shadows,
Ride to the edge,
Take the reigns, 
Let go of the fear.

Step on the light,
Ride the darkness,
I am the night,
I am the knight.

Step on the blaze,
The burning thunder,
A hundred years,
Of cringing pain.

Step on the blades,
The death makes sense,
A millennium, passed,
Decades I count.

Step on the dead, 
I am lost,
Lost, lost I belong,
The rider of yesterday.

The Oracle

The tent by the tree,

Did hold a lot of truth,

The crystal ball dictates,

And puppets we follow.

'You will kill your brother',

She screamed in her trance,

But only anger did I pay her,

And running I came out,

Out of the tent by the tree.

'She's a lunatic', my brother yapped,

'Don't be afraid', he consoled.

Then came the great war, 

The curse of human kind,

Blood knew no bound, 

As families were ripped apart.

To the army we were led,

Me and my brother, in arms we walked

Until a land mine took us apart, 

He died, or so I did think.

My brother was gone.

And despair got hold of me,

And army did I join to avenge.

The war was bloody,

Both sides loosing good,

Millions die everyday, but no peace,

Millions die, by my hand, no peace to me.

Brothers do fight against each other,

And for blood they yearn,

But for the hypocrite world, I lost my brother,

Or so I did think, until I pulled the trigger.

The day was rainy, dark and cloudy.

And as I dashed to claim my kill,

My eyes, met the man who lay beyond the ridge.

My Brother.

Death Has Wings

I watched the curtain slide, and the crystal glass window,
As the first light of the dawn flooded my eyes,
I heard the morning prayers, blaring through the speakers,
Promising life, and peace forever.

I had heard the same promise, as I had opened the doors,
The same prayers, did I chant that morning,
My hands felt the trigger, as I steered, my life with my hands,
And the life of the kids who sat with me.

It would fly down, It would come as a surprise, they had said,
Its everywhere, Its here as we speak, they had warned,
I felt a chill run down my spine, as my soul shattered in seven places,
I felt the cold, as the death flew down to me.

The curtain fell, the crystal window shattered, as my eyes closed,
The prayers were said, and peace was forgiven that day,
I heard the cries, and my ears were deafened with the sound,
And the brightness of the promise was all that I saw.

Being at War

Lets deal with the devil inside,
Said the voice which had died,
And with the shrill laughter they rose,
To the moon light that masked the night.

He had a knife, and a sword in the right,
"How would you want to die, Master?", he cried,
Only one would survive tonight, this I knew,
Lets play, and lets make this night senile.

He shrieked, he screamed like a wounded lion,
And with the sword, he charged, to take the life.
I shrieked, I screamed, like the master, the slave,
And to death in glory, did I charge.

The night is long, lets drink to Life,
The days are gone, lets drink for joy,
He danced, a madman's dance, magic on his tongue,
And he danced, a firefly's dance around the sun.

And when the dance ended, he took the sword,
A slash to the right, and his own throat in line,
The blood that sprout, like fountains, as he breathed his last,
The devil was gone. so was my pride.

If I Go Down

Hey girl, have you ever seen,
a sunset on the moon.
Don't be surprised, for i'm insane,
and the world just made me.

Hey girl,are you surprised,
that i have fallen so low.
i am not for real coz i'm insane,
so if a i go down,
i'll take you down with me

Hey girl, standing by peach tree,
hoping for an apple to fall.
Don't you know that those were lies,
and you are still feeding on them.

Hey you, don't be surprised,
that i have risen so high.
I'm a god not a human, So
if a i go down,
i'll take you down with me