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.